Saturday, October 24, 2015
The World Is Damned
At least, I realize that the world is a damned, going to hell place. Better then the staff at the shelter; not the clients, because they just do, no perception of time whatsoever. Ones you start to snort, time stops, leaving you leading life as a kid, only after going cold turkey you staring at an elderly strange face in the mirror and asking where these past ten years went?
You know, you dumb fuck, you chased the dragon, you got high on crack or you swam with Jack. At least you enjoyed the time watching the non-image left by Shaw when they took over the cable and left the TV screen blue until the shelter payed their monthly fee.
Leaving the staff in terror expecting a riot, getting killed one by one, as a day without TV is as a day not lived.
Ummm, 17 inmates keep watching the blue screen, for another hour, nothing happened. Just a mere anxiety ghost from the bubble people. Completely lacking any sense of reality, yet, claiming to have a direct line to the truth.
It took two months and seven days to get past the numerous committees and budget holder to allow Shaw to restore the shallowness of the patients habits. Meanwhile, all DVD's got stolen by a shelter client, in need off a mere ten bucks.
Well, at least someone got a good half an hour out of those dumb series. The last time a Christmas lady brought by one hundred and fifty DVD's with movies, the staff got them, claiming the bedbugs protocol.
Clients know this because they have nothing else to do than to carefully observe staff custom routine. For sure, that's what poor people, addicts do, intervening in the blind spots. Catching every opportunity to steal, scam and cheat. Just give us a blink, I'll pull you a fast one. AND YOU KNOW! Right in your face streetwise reality, isn't it?
As staff have their own way of dealing with the scum of the earth while claiming to be the angels on earth. The clients also make their calculations for the public doesn't know that 50% of their gifts go directly in the hands of fucking genitors, desk-clerks and self-proclaimed managers. Bookkeepers, at best, that's what they are.
The best idea they come up with the last three months was going on a hike. Bubble people, they don't know. Who wants to go fucking hiking when you're up at four AM to collect cannes before someone else gets them. Slaving away until 11 AM, cashing in 20 dollars, hard cash.
YES, LET'S GO HIKING AFTER WALKING SEVEN BLOODY HOURS, after licking every liquor bottle found in the urban cities trash cans, not even leaving a drop going to waste. We recycle, YES WE DO. I already had my drunken mans walk, scalding, blazing and fulminating at innocent bystanders.
They don't know, I'm just reliving my own past, yelling at abusive parents or whatever, ghosts of the past, replays of brain glitches, hunting my slowly quenching existence. Body is stronger and more difficult to kill then I expected. Just getting more and more crippled, day by day, dragging body to the graveyard, not finding the ditch to lay down and die, for I have to find the shuffle first and dig my own grave, carvings in stone, for I have to write my own epitaph.
OHHH, give me the strength to get sober for an instance to do just that. But first, another puff, that will help, for sure.