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|Thursday, April 10, 2014, 2:46:40 AM- Tedium ad infinitum|
The guitar god neighbour has gone back to one of his
previous tactics. When he is afraid of a complaint to
police because of his loud guitar and bass, but he still
wants us to know that he is there, he lays down on the
floor and stomps with his boots against the brick wall.
That is what the insecure little shit has been doing for
the past 20 minutes. He wants to impress us. This is
what we get for refusing to put up with his concertizing.
Wall-stomping certainly does bring out his creativity, I
|Wednesday, April 09, 2014, 2:15:00 PM- Spring Is Real|
After a grinding, gruelling meeting of staff & volunteers at the street
mission yesterday I have agreed to return. It was pretty tough alright.
Two other volunteers had left right after I did. They might come back
at a later date.
The services we provide for poor immigrant families, street people,
obscure alchoholic poets, and those artistic types in the neighbour-
hood who have suddenly found themselves on welfare, have been
strained to the max and the coherence & competence of l'equipe
has been severely tested. It will not be improving I am sure.
Today will be a good workout day at the gym. Soon I will be out there
running in the mud on the mountain of love. Still too much slushy ice
for my liking. Bientot we will have the trillium flowers up, and the
adorable little yellow trout lilies. Whoop de doo.
|Thursday, April 03, 2014, 9:44:42 PM- Beautiful Spring Day|
I was tempted to go run in the slush on Mt. Royal today, but
then decided to just play it safe and go run on treadmill at
the gym. Did shoulder lateral raises, external rotator lifts,
and finished off with 7 kg medicine ball roll-ups with a
vertical throw. Full stretch routine.
Came back to the shack and found a letter in the mail
from provincial welfare office, threatening to cut off my
payments and turn me into a homeless man. But you
know I had some of the best spiritual insights when I was
a homeless man, so I am not really worried about that.
I was a homeless man both here in Montreal and also
in Halifax. I had a delayed reaction to the suicide of my
massage teacher. I went to talk it over with Atlantic
They want to see all my pay slips for my volunteer work
at the street mission. They think I am trying to cheat the
system. To send all those pay stubs in the mail might
cost me $40.
I am trying to come up with the $$ for a RDV for my cat
at the vet clinic. He needs bloodwork to see if thyroid
medication is adequate or needs to be increased.
I have a suspicion that some lonely, creepy bureaucrat
who was a massage client at the gay gym has a grudge
against me. Now he wants to turn me into a homeless man.
|Saturday, March 29, 2014, 9:57:02 PM- Tedious little man|
Idiot guitar god in adjacent building is giving us a free concert
on his bass right now. Pathetic little shit. A fucked up princess.
His expensive recording studio is much too claustrophobic for
him. He is definitely not playing inside it. He thinks we need to
listen to him.
Needy, useless, desperate for attention. He is afraid that we
have forgotten about him.
|Friday, March 28, 2014, 3:13:20 PM- First Big Break in Weather|
It is raining today! We got a mid-sized dump of snow during
the night, but it has begun to melt quickly.
The decision to leave the street mission behind is very firm.
It feels rock solid. What is not so solid or clear is how I am
going to take care of my cat, and maintain my own vitality
with the chinese herbs.
When I was at the vet clinic yesterday to get meds they were
insisting that I bring Buster in in first week of April for blood
work. It is part of their protocol to keep updating his thyroid
status. They gave me a huge discount on meds yesterday to
encourage me. But that bloodwork is going to take a big chunk
out of my finances. Something has to give.
April 1 will be my 12th anniversary here in this shack.
|Thursday, March 27, 2014, 10:42:06 PM- Big Change Coming|
I was having a delicious nap about 35 minutes ago. I had taken
a long 2 - hour walk on the mountain of love. It is nice to come
back to the shack, feed the cat, put some classical music on
the radio and lay down with cat for a nap.
The idiot guitar god woke me up playing a little mini concert on
his bass guitar. Perhaps the third time he has played like that in
past two days. Each time a little bit louder. Stupid, desperate,
useless, needy psycho princess.
Today I sent emails to the street mission stating that I was leaving
and not coming back. There have been many small gestures of
intimidation and disrespect towards me from one volunteer who
considers himself to be the alpha male supreme of the whole show.
We need to be able to rely on each other doing the hard bullwork
chores of foodbank and all the other operations of recycling and
garbage work. We need to take care of each other.
I no longer feel physically safe around this person. So my response
is to close it all down, dissolve the anger and walk away. He has
been waiting for my response, thinking that I would find a way to
reassert my seniority or my privilege amongst the other volunteers.
My response is to leave, permanently.
I have no idea what comes next. I have been relying upon that
extra $170 each month. Welfare allows me to earn up to $200
a month beyond my regular cheque. I need that money for cat
medication, and for the chinese herbs for myself. I will have to
cut something out. Maybe I have to cancel the Y membership,
cut the message manager on phone service, cut out internet
at home, somehow make big changes.
I have had that support from the mission for 6 years. Things
are going to be very different, for sure.
Having that pathetic little moron in the next building wake me up
with his bass concert is not helping me at all.
|Tuesday, March 18, 2014, 8:27:06 PM- Ling Zhi Mushroom|
I had good focus and strength doing regular chores at street
mission. Ate a good lunch there. Took all the recycling bins out
to the street.
Then went to the scrutineer's office to register to vote in the
upcoming provincial election. It is going to be a big one, for sure.
Then went to the Y for workout. I have to revise or update what
I said yesterday. I am now about 85% compared to wind power
that I had before the super-ugly flu virus. I ran strong on the
treadmill for 2.5 km, with a 5 minute burst of speed. First time
trying that since recovery. Did lateral shoulder raises, shoulder
shrugs, medicine ball routines down on the mat, and full suite
of stretches after cooldown.
Ten minutes in steam room. Dried myself well and dressed well
before going back out into cold. Just to be extra cautious I
stopped into drug store to check blood pressure: 118/72. Seriously,
if you have trouble with high blood pressure you might want to
do some research on the ling zhi mushroom, or reishi, in
I will be ready to run in the mud on the mountain of love, tres
|Monday, March 17, 2014, 9:48:57 PM- St. Patrick's Day|
I had an alarm for 6 bells this morning, made a quick blender
drink with moo cow moo and strawberries, banana, protein powder,
etc. and fed the senile cat, made sure he had plenty water.
I had a rendez-vous over at the ophthalmology clinic in the
Queen Victoria Hospital, on the southeast flank of Mt. Royal.
I walked over the mountain just as the sun was rising. Lordy-
Mama! What a gorgeous sunrise! It is not often that I find myself
walking on the mountain of love at sunrise.
When I had my eyeglasses prescription changed a few months
ago, the optometrist wrote out a referral for a glaucoma examination.
I really now think that she does this for all the geezers who come
to see her. I do not have glaucoma. This is the second series of
tests at that clinic. The ophthalmologist said there is no evidence,
but started the process for me to have the same tests done next
My senile cat was saying, man, you don't need to go to that creepy
hospital. Just have some more catnip, all will be fine. That is his
solution for everything - more catnip. But I like this old, rather
Gothic looking hospital. The staff in there are super-dedicated,
warm people. I like everybody who has taken care of me there.
So, anyway, that sunrise walk and then the walk back home over
the mountain was about 4 kilometers in total. I decided against
a full-blast treadmil run at the Y today, and just went out for another
30 minute walk in the park, steady hard bop, instead. Came back
home, stripped naked and did 140 pushups in 10 minutes (40-45-55).
Then did 240 crunches, twists, reverse situps, etc. So, maybe a total
of 5 or 6 km walked today.
Tomorrow I will go for a good treadmill run at the Y, after doing the
regular clothes sorting chores at the street mission. I am about
75% returned to lung power that I had before the encounter with
the supernasty flu bug.
|Saturday, March 15, 2014, 11:10:04 PM- Lottery Addiction, etc.|
Some times when I am doing chores at the mission and
completely focused on the task at hand, I can be a bit short
and cold with people from the general public who show up
to ask questions or bring us donations of clothes, housewares.
or canned food, etc.
This happened the other day, and one of the other volunteers
spoke to me about it after the unknown person had dropped
their donationos and left. She said, "do you know her? Why
were you so cold with her?" Of course in that momentary
exchange I was not aware that I appeared cold or indifferent.
It was only because of the critique of the other volunteer that
I became aware of it.
There are many, many people in our neighbourhood who have
careers in the arts, in cultural organizations; in fact, this postal
code and the one adjacent have the highest density of people
who make a living in the arts, music, theater, dance, circus,
small press publishing, poetry, all of that stuff. Highest in all
For the past 30 years funding for the arts from federal and
provincial governments has been absolutely pitiful. Not since
the days of Lester B. Pearson and Pierre E. Trudeau has
funding for the arts been a priority. The National Film Board
and Canadian Broadcasting Corporation both flourished with
adequate funding and encouragemnent. Many other groups
benefitted from grants and bursaries, etc.
The lottery industry became legitimized back in the mid-70s,
and then gradually over the years, governments have decided
to use them to provide money for the arts and leisure activities
of all kinds. Peple just became accustomed to swinging from one
grant to the next like trapeze artists. It is a precarious life,
but many people have adapted to it.
For the poor people who are severely addicted to the lottery fix
it is like a perpetual prison. Everything is postponed, delayed and
devalued until that magic moment when the big win comes in.
We have people on welfare who spend more than $50 a month on
lottery tickets. They might not always have enough food on the
table, but they have lottery tickets.
The lottery industry is nothing more than a parasite on poor people.
It prevents them from becoming adequate, sufficient and able to
confirm their residence in the moment. We do not get to know what
they might be capable of without this imposed imaginary prison.
We have no idea who they are. Everything is concealed and kept
in a coccoon until the big win comes through.
Many people in the arts community think that the whole world
loves them, that they are at the top of the heap in society, and that
they are honoured with wealth and lots and lots of free time to create.
They think that the government knows how important they are, and
that is why they earn a good living, etc. They really think that their
shit don't stink. There is a snoot vibe, and I have a hard time tolerating it.
Anyway, I do know that person who came in and dropped off the
donations. Not really well, but I know that she is very well connected
in the arts world, both as an artist, and as an administrator. I was
introduced to her a long time ago by one of my massage clients.
She is one of those people who would bristle if I was to make
a comment about how much lottery money she has scored over
the years, and how many broken dreams and fucked up people
are connected to that money.
You would never in a million years get a grant to do a piece
of dance or theater about the terrible lives of lottery addicts.
Forget it! Find another topic!
There does not seem to be any way out of this problem.
We are stuck with a government which distrusts the arts
and culture. Funding is at an alltime low. At the street mission
these days when we do food bank we see new people in
their late 30s, early 40s who have never been on welfare
before. They have lived on arts grants for the past 20 years
and now suddenly have nothing. They look bewildered and
lost. Maybe they will start to buy lottery tickets now, too.
|Sunday, March 09, 2014, 5:32:38 PM- here we go again|
unhappy little shit playing bass louder and louder again.
he is definitely not playing within his expensive recording
studio. much too claustrophobic in there.
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