ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER SUICIDE NOTE TO THE WORLD --- Fiction

Slack jaw, middle of a suicide, in that part of town, poor man's place to die, to be found, gun by the side, clenched in his hand, bottle of Jack nearby.

Where were the medics?

Nobody wanted to come to this part of town, if only he had died on the west side, the rich man's section of middle town USA, where each place had a pool to drown.

I was sitting on the sidewalk, watching the world go bye.

Or maybe by.

There was a bag in my hand, paint fume, huffing my cares away, killing my brain one cell at a time.

We had guns; or access to them, it was easier to get gun than it was food stamps.

Mary Anne stood outside the bus depot, selling her soul one hour at a time, later on, she'd stop by and see me.

"Can I have a puff?" she'd ask as I passed the bag to her.

We'd do harder drugs if we could get our hands on them, sitting there till midnight, one o clock, passing the time staring into the sky, watching the stars flash across the sky.

I had a place; an abandoned building over on Fifth street, where, if we could stand, we'd make our way to, crash hard onto the shit stained mattress on the floor.

We'd awake before noon to restart the whole process.

Back to the street grind, to find ourselves, to lose our soul, one brain cell at a time.

Sometimes a reporter from the local news would make his or her way "Down to the street" to see how the other half lived, those forgotten people, the street people; insane, driving away, ready to die on a call, whatever.

One showed up one day; Cindee, she was new, trying to make her face the answer to whatever.

"How long have you been on the street?" she asked me.

"Forever!!" I said, nodding, taking a huff off of my bag.

My mind was still there.

Jack, the local insane poet, laughed.

"We were fucking born here!!" he said, patting the ground, "Our mother, the fucking Goddess of Huff!! Like a hit? For a good lead into your story?'

She smiled and politely declined and moved on, to more saner grounds.

"Bitch didn't even ask me what my turn ons were!!" Mary pouted.

We all laughed.

We were like tears in the rain, washed away, never to be seen, if we were even there, washed away from existence.

But here we still laid, a shade of our former self, lost in our ways, but still here.

HOW I SAVED THE WORLD FROM AN ALIEN INVASION - or not!!! Stories from Area 51 and a half!!!

September 5th, 2018 - Louisville, Kentucky

Dear Reader, I decided to take a walk down to the Family Dollar store to buy tasty cheese burgers and spicy chicken sandwiches for dinner; it was a humid night but the walk helps me get my mind figured out as it has been a jumble of stuff lately.

As I walked; the usual hand out asking fellows approached me; pushing their hands out in front of me.

I try not to judge but being a broke ass fellow myself, I try to tell them to "Fuck off!" without using those actual words.

I have told my own story of being a homeless person in previous episodes; mostly I slept under a tree for a month and a half while working at a Safeway store; it was fun for about ten seconds but I wouldn't do it again unless some TV network wanted to pay me a million dollars to relive the excitement.

And even then I would want some hot co-stars to be announced later.

As I kept moving; I heard someone yelling towards me.

"Excuse me sir!" he said, approaching me, flipping his wallet out for me to inspect.

"My name is Rob, social security number ###-##-####!"

"Okay, hi Rob!!"

I was thinking I was being detained by a member of the Air Force in some weird sting operation.

"Could you help me in obtaining a meal?"

"Sorry sir, I'm living the dream myself!"

I would have continued my conversation with this fellow but soon he spotted another fellow; a man in a 'Latin Food Truck' and approached him, showing him his ID and repeating his social security number for some odd reason.

And that's how I saved the world from an alien invasion or something.

A TRIBUTE TO MY COUNTRY: A road trip through a life

A TRIBUTE TO MY COUNTRY: A road trip through a life

CHAPTER ONE: A return to my home town

Eyeless wonders in spanish towns, looking up at the stars while $85 hookers suck on pencil tops, scarred with aged knives, soulless wanderers in arid lands, finding nothing but truck stop coffee and pickled eggs.

Beer by the galons.

Gasoline cocktails, sitting by a pool, neon sign blinking, half off, EAT AT JOE'S.

We were driving down that highway, mile 185, when the bombs began to fall, only in our heads,Jackson was driving, 95.

"Shit!!" He cried slamming on the brakes, "we lost....that word....."

"Our minds?" I replied.

He nodded.

We had lost our mind, 1993, just out of college, one last trip to see ourselves drown, in toxins, 1953, a good year for such a disease.

Las Vegas was a sell out, Corporations trying to gain a buck ninety five for a spin around a tree.

Traps, roadside signs, SEE THE TWO HEADED SNAKE!!

BEARDED LADY, FIFTY CENTS!!

Two drinks out of a clown's skull, a miracle of science, fiction, realization you're dying one minute at a time, living a few seconds as the miles tick away.

The road kept going, cities, towns, little villages in desert suns, rage, lust, a cigarette in some cheap motel.

Use the swimming pool at your own risk, we don't have a life guard on duty.

Ain't that life?

Drown or swim.

Fail or suceed, still treading, the waves crashing in on us, not waving but drowning.

I have tried to drown my demons but they have learned to swim, maybe in college?

There, in the light of the silver moon, she sat, that vision of painted fece filled tub of garbage known as my hometown.

Saints died trying to bring civility here, this godless whore, as my mother called it, it wasn't her town but some shit town she drove into back in 1969.

She never left.

She said it was hers, a shitty drunk lover, but hers.

And hers alone.

I adopted it when she passed away.

She was buried in St. Ives Garden under a weeping tree, right next to father who died before I was three.

We stayed at the Fleabag Hotel, up the hill, crack head behind the counter gave us the key.

$69 a night, all the meth you could dream of, just two blocks down the street.

Nuns were handing out flyers, JESUS SAVES, in big bold letters.

"Do you need him?" They said, handing us one.

We shook our heads no and entered our room, decorated tastefully in 1973.

Dirty tub, smelling of bleach, as if in attempt to clean, the toilet black, moldy smell coming from the ceiling tiles, dried cum on the sheets from multiple drunken, stoned fucks.

Paintings of palm trees to brighten the smoke stained walls.

Walls thin, hearing the next room's activities.

RCA COLOR TV IN EVERY ROOM! FREE! reads the sign outside.

Three channels, all broken snow filled scenes, in color.

Black and white are colors, the lady at the desk says.

I laugh.

She's right.

We fall asleep, like babies, in a crack house on Arizona Street.

Everything has worth - even a turd!

I walk the streets of a rich, artsy neighborhood.

Trust kids writing and painting, Ive moved up from my living under a tree days.

There's still homeless people, even though our President and his supporters say the job market is doing great.

I was homeless.

I had a job.

I was making 800 bucks.

Rent was 900.

So there I was, homeless.

I was still writing, drinking beer, as a way for sleep.

Everyone wonders why the homeless drink.

How else do you fall asleep when you're too scared to fall asleep?

I have a house now, a condo, but not because of anything our government has done or hasn't done.

I remember, everyone is 1 misstep from becoming a homeless reject.

People see you as trash when you are homeless.

No one is trash.

Everyone has worth.

Even a turd.

Everyone, even the rich, are one step away from being in that place, homeless.

To be screamed at, GET A JOB, even though you have one.

I wish people would remember, everyone has a worth.

THE HOMELESS GUIDE TO LIFE, THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN - Chapter one

 THE HOMELESS GUIDE TO LIFE, THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN

Video - Johnny Cash - Hurt

Dedicated to open fields and open beers, and a girl we shall call Martha!

Note to the dear reader(s) - Back in the summer of 2017, I, your dear author, spent a little over a month homeless.

I was pretty damn lucky, had some friends who let me crash at their place when I first lost my dearly departed parents' house to the big bad wolf (or state, matters who tells the story - a long story deserving its own book and movie starring Tom Cruise as me!!!)

The windows were the air, the floor was the soft grass(weeds) under a roof of a large tree's branches covering my head in a place I called Camp Bob.

It was a good place to lay down a tarp on the ground, to lie there and stare up into the night sky, watching the stars do their dance as I drank a few beers I had bought from the grocery store I worked at as a cashier.

Yes, my dead reader, I had a job, it paid enough for a life of beer, chicken and donuts.

Luckily, this was in the summer, little rain and very few fellow "campers" (besides myself, there was not a soul at the small park I called home).

I was a king in a land of tall weeds and deranged geese who guarded me from the bogey man who lurked at 3 in the morning, howling wildly and snarling at my guardians.

I started a journal, as I sat at the steel picnic tables scattered through the area.

And maybe someday, I will try to finish this "guide" to not just the homeless life, but my life in general.

In this section of my life, I learned that even as a homeless grocery store cashier, I wasn't even close to the lowest pits of Hell, there were others worse off than me; families with small children wandering the streets looking for shelter, a bit of food.

Folks who mere weeks ago had a home, a roof over their head, like me, who had just hit a huge bump in the road.

There are resources out there for folks but there are many folks in that situation I found myself in and not enough resources to go around.

Contrary to popular belief, the land of milk and honey just doesn't have enough honey let alone milk so there are long, almost to infinity waiting lists.

I bought some food for people, I was lucky I could do that; give a shirt out of my backpack so a person would have something to wear; even helped a man find work and get back to higher ground before the flood of despair drowned him.

I guess things happen for a reason; today I found myself at a higher level, but I will always remember, we are all just one step away from falling from our place, to land under a tree.

Enjoy!

A NOTE FROM AUGUST 2ND, 2017 as written in the original "Black Book"

Dear reader, my loyal friend, it is August 2nd, a lovely Wednesday.

I was going to make this a diary of sort; daily musings of my life's little adventure but I slacked a bit.

Someday, I'll settle into my chair and type from memory the thoughts.

The first three chapters of this thing called the Homeless Life are jotted down as they happened, life in camp, the darkness my friend, my pen that sword to keep me sane.

I may end up and fill in the pieces later; such as meeting Jesus who was on a quest to find and retrieve his stolen guitar.

It was stolen in Utah from his broken down van.

It made its way to a pawn shop in Billings, Montana

Jesus sold water to dumb tourists to get the money to buy a bus ticket to the bus terminal in Butte, Montana where I got to meet him and to become a character in my book, a figure in my memories!

~CHAPTER ONE~

Dear reader,

You may be asking yourself,

"How do I become homeless? It sounds fun, like camping, except no mountain streams and the beer is warm!"

And boy would you be correct!!!

I am currently homeless.

I have a job but find myself without a roof.

Who needs a roof?

Or a bed?

Or a toilet or shower?

The world; oh dear lovely world, is your toilet.

Or, if you shy, there are always public restrooms.

Public restrooms are a god send to the homeless.

You need to take a poop.

They can also double as a makeshift wash station.

The dollar store is also a homeless person's best friend.

Every thing is one dollar.

You can easily pan handle a few bucks.

Tell people your car broke down and you need a new kidney or your children will die over in Iraq.

No, you don't need to have kids.

Adopt some.

Welcome to the world of being homeless.

I went to the dollar store and bought a cheap tarp for ground cover.

I learned quickly that the ground is cold and hard.

Icky bugs crawl on the ground.

At some point in your first days outside, you'll hit a point where you'll collapse, right there on the ground.

(Added note by the author - my collapse point was three days.  72 hours of no sleep, going to work for 8 hours a day as a cashier, made me into a delusional poet.)

You'll wake up with a worm crawling out of your nose.

Then, my friends, you'll care.

Nothing says "I'm f*cking homeless!!" than laying there at 2:30 in the morning fearing the boogeyman is out to get you.

Don't worry, there's nothing to worry about except being raped, murdered and/or being eaten.

Piece o cake!