Kindergarten

If the world is kindergarten
then the shelters are summer-camp

Manon Roelandt

Ooh yeah baby, you took me to heaven

"The sailor is in town," he says bluntly, blatant staring, eyes grasping my tank tops unconcealed tits, barely veiling my prowling star sparkle pierced nipples.

"Oh, yeah baby, is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?," softly whisper, low-pitched, skillful surrendering to the testosterone adonis, unknowingly quoting Mae West while first gently stroking, than fondling, in amazement, his jeans pants covered huge knob. 

"Oh, yeah baby, you will take me to heaven, for sure, won't you?" 

He's already responding, sliding his hands up my short black laced leader skirt, snooping and finding the bold, naked, fat prowling pussy lips, dripping of lust.

"Sorry, honey, I forgot to wear my slip."I say. "Auggh," I squeak silently, grabbing on his shoulders, burying my head in his neck. His right middle finger slipped, wandering down the cleft, finding my sweat precious diamond glister. "Auggh," squeaking again, now biting his neck, gasping and capitulating. His finger now trusting, tunneling his way in my slippery cave.

Unexpectedly surprised by my indulging attitude, he surrenders. Follows me behind the wast container in the back alley, lowering his pants, paying. 

I spurt off. Leaving his ludicrous erect dangling spear shouting and screaming, astonished. Fucked by a dame! 

Popping the needle in my vain, chasing the dragon. My final thought on my mind was for him: "Ooh, yeah baby, you took me to heaven."

Born to die

Being born, a smudge appears, 
sudden, out of nowhere

like white sheets been slept in only ones
never to been clean again

Being born, the speck seems to grow
only death can take away

life becomes a struggle
fighting other men
battling other women

life becomes a struggle
getting rid of that fleck 

just to notice I'm only smearing
making more blur
feeling more smart

creating more pain and suffering
than I ever could bare

Walking my path in the darkness
Joint by the many
not knowing me
numbing the soul

Death only comes 
the body caving in
because of the coward I am
unable to take my own
claiming my soul

Death only comes
the spirit flexing in
until it snaps
an old oak 
fighting the hurricane 
of human damnation

taking me with it
just born to die

Vancouver Homelessness!

"Yes, let's stop tracking how many people are turned away from homeless-shelters in Vancouver. That will help a lot, would't it?"

I got mad, reading this, and if you don't want to read what I wrote about it, just scroll down to the sentence: fuck the statistics; Or just read it all, you're choice, isn't it?

Delete the statistic, delete the problem!

Population of Vancouver: 603,500 (source: Wikipedia)

Last march count: 1,746 homeless people (source: Vancouver Metro)

Winters opening: 170 beds for the winter (source: Vancouver Metro)

Thus, 0,29% of our population is homeless having access to 170 beds.

And, this is believed to be enough?

You make the count, you have to be a politician to believe that the count makes any sense and that we as society are doing great, shouldn't you?


Fuck the statistics. Just go downtown and look around, will you. There are more homeless people than you remember family-members having cancer. AND YOU KNOW IT!

Don't fuck the statistics. Go and sit near a front desk of a shelter. Every average day more than 178 people call in for an emergency bed. AND I KNOW IT!

It's in everyones interest to care for the homeless. Why? That's where the money is made. 

What do you mean? 

Well, I'm talking about innovators and leaders.

The only reason these masters of life don't fade out in poverty is because they get it right in the beginning of their life (only 10% of them do), their family picks them up when they fall again and again or they keep trying, even when homeless.

Creativity is the single most looked after skill in our society. Well, creativity thrives upon vulnerability (source: Brené Brown). So, no vulnerability, no creativity and no innovation or leadership. 

IS THERE SOMETHING MORE VULNERABLE THAN BEING HOMELESS?

Virtually every entrepreneur goes bankrupt three times, in his or her lifetime, before hitting that big idea that makes a fortune. Yes, FIRST, they will join the homelessness list.

Real leaders also get born twice. You can take this literally. They get so fucked up (read: messed up, will you) by their own interpretation of what their life should be about that they, FIRST, join the homelessness list.

So, they go, become homeless. They go, learn to live while carrying death in their left back pocket. They go, learn to live in the now. They go, learn to embrace vulnerability. 

Only, only than, they will thrive on creativity, only than, they will be flawless as masters!

Imagine, so many of todays innovators and leaders were homeless and could have died if not for yours and communities care.

Well, today they die in the streets of Vancouver! 

I ask you: "Where does our society goes without innovators and leaders?"

Down the drain, that's a guarantee. Isn't it?

A real coffee

"Get the fuck out of my fucking chair before I kick your fucking ass, you fucker!" I screamed. He gets up, startled, noticing the staff, smiles nervously at me. 

"What's happening here?" The staff member yells. 

"He wants to kill me," the dude says. 
"John, we've warned you before, stop that," the staff-member says.

I just grin, showing my teeth. They go away. All I want; sleep, have been up for four days, I guess, not knowing for sure. But first I need some coffee. Of course, the damn thing is empty. 

Fuck it! Okay, filling the cup half-full of sugar and a fourth of cream... adding boiling hot water, until I spill. "Goddamned, fricking hot," stirring, slurping... "Goddamned, burned my tong."

"John, you're going into the logbook, I've warned you enough."

I'm already asleep on the chairs, warn-out from the bender. 

"John, get up." Apparently three staff-members have been standing over me for the last half an hour, shouting and yelling, not been able to wake me up for dinner. "Out you go!"

Tired, wearily and washed-out, stumbling out, onto the pavement, under the bridge, falling down, sleep.

"Fuck, why me." Waking up, realizing, my shoes got stolen. Pissed all over my pants, apparently, the moon lighting my path, back to the shelter. "Can I take a shower, do you have shoes for me, can I stay for a couple of days? I must have blacked-out, someone stole all my belongings, god damned."

"No John, you have to wait until the morning shift. Somebody wants to talk to you."

Fall asleep in front of the shelter. 

"Hey, John, get up, you're not allowed in the shelter for a couple of days, you misbehaved!" 

"God damned, fucking bastard, you tell me now, after letting me sleep outside the whole fucking time, in this bloody weather, you mother fucking asshole. Don't you see I reek of piss, I need help, right now!" 
   
"Here John, your belongings you left in the shelter, now go on," he says, giving me my working tools.

"Bang, cling, dang" the computer goes first. "Arrg," I scream, totally loosing it, waving the toolbox hammer, striking at everything within hammer-reach. Accurately taking out, two computers, phone and elevator-buttons. "Yes, now yo must help me, FUCKERS!"

The police drags my ass out, warning me not to go back to the shelter. I wonder how they got here so fast?     

Killed by red tape

"Hey, whatup? Jo, hanging low, bro, the name is Jaz-zy no." Shifting from one leg unto the other, arms hanging baboonish,  swirling, in a rhythm on the bebop sound in my head. 

Not waiting an answer, already changing beat and pace. "I've a job, great boss, will help me, this time for sure, out of this misery. I'll introduce you. You'll see, he's great!" 

Not noticing people have a hard time keeping up, turn around, heading for the shelter-dorm, resting, peace at last. That's how it feels: being lucky.

"God damned, who stole my stuff bro, fuck, why me, even my passport is gone, I don't mind the stuff, but the picture of my brother is in there." Yelling, looking eagle-eyed, lightning striking, not hitting anything, no reaction to be evoked.

"Yes, apparently you moved to bed 7 and you're bag was still in locker 9, so probably the cleaning staff took it out, put it away, and unfortunately I can't find it. So, I'll write it down in the logbook." she said in a monotonous voice, smiling as she solved this problem. 

We found Jaz-zy the next morning, stoned out of his head, on the steps, thrown out of the shelter for the yelling last night (the logbook stated), no bag to be found. Looking to each other, thinking the same: Killed by red tape!

Path to take

walking the path
looking back, realizing 
the shortcuts I missed

money to be made
teaching, evoking 
student enlightenment

baffled to discover 
students different paths

Now my real path
being obvious
no more followers

just helping others 
along their way
humbleness

Day 2 - The Path to Enlightenment

The checklist

"I said to the wife she could take a few days to calm down. Well, she changed the locks. I can't get in, so can I stay in the shelter for a few days?" 

I said to the staff, thinking: "you fucking bitch, fuck you, you mother fucking witch, I'll get you, you fucking BITCH." You don't fucking lock me fucking outside, throwing my fucking boots down the fucking stairs, YOU FUCK. I'll show you..."

Step one: checking in shelter - check, got myself thirty days.
Step two: find crack - check, easy just a few blocks from the

shelter, still the same guy waiting for clients.
Step three: meeting old friends for the journey - check, playtime
Step four: need a fuck - check, always a chick in the shelter that needs money for booze 
step five: go to work - uncheck, my fucking colleges made a video of me drinking on the job, gave it to the boss and posted it on youtube.
step six: find crack - check, still same place
step seven: need fuck - check, chick still in shelter
step eight: find crack - check, 
step nine: need fuck - check
step ten: find money - check, loan from dude
step eleven: find crack - check
step twelve: find fuck - check
step thirteen: find money - check
step fourteen: find crack - check

Four days later: need sleep and food. Shit, they threw me out of the shelter and lost 4,734CAD on the bender. Fall asleep on the shelter-steps, until the cops take me away.

Why do bad things always happen to me, maybe you know?

Angels

When the last ship sails
between the the stars 
I'll be on it.

Sailing away
to the next galaxy
Escaping earths misery
Yes, I'll be on it

You know I'll be on it
You know what I'm talking about
Because I know 
you know.

If you want to come
Just say so
I'l take you along, 
take you away
from this life misery

I'll pass that stoner,
Just take a hit,
Join me on the trip

You'll see 
what I'm talking about 
You'll sail with me

You'll see what I see
Angels in the stars
Awaiting me

Footprint in the sand

"Arrr," screaming out loud, 
"Why me, why now?"  

Dragging my tormented body, 
Thudding down on a log,
At English Bay Beach, 
Davie street Vancouver,

Staring at the ocean, 
Eyes filled 
With sorrow 
Anger tears, 

Corporate dick scams, 
Paying my eight-ball adventures,
Funding my Davie-street 
Fucking overtures

Caught up with me 
In the end,
This ship will 
Sail asea

Corporate dick scams,
Paying my advocates bills,
Funding my fuck-off 
Household


Caught up with me 
In the end,
This ship will 
Sail asea


One more last time,
I pop my leg 

Drifting 
On the mind ocean
Slipping myself 
One last mickey

In the end,
All I left 
Was but 
A footprint 
In the sand