Wednesday, November 26, 2014

More Holiday Joy

Another holiday looms ahead like a lousy Super Bowl halftime show: Thanksgiving. I think this and Christmas are he toughest holidays for homeless people, because most of us have no place to go to enjoy fellowship, comfort, and the traditional meals except at the usual bumfeeds. Well, there is fellowship to be found among our peers, but even those among us who are social sometimes get tired of hearing the same tirades, snivelings, dunderheaded discussions, and lame jokes all told over godawful malt liquor. I guess it's just hard to feel thankful while out here basting ourselves in false cheer, and the love of God and the fellowship of man both seem pretty far away when the yule log serves only as an impromptu seat and the mistletoe serves only to keep the rain or snow imperfectly at bay. Even as nice as it is to be gifted hand warmers and knit hats, such utilitarian charity doesn't really feel like presents, at least not like the cool stuff some of us used to get when we were kids.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Another Casualty

Shitty Dave1 died last night, The Abstract World (another Dave) told me. Dave was one of those hardcore street drunks, the kind who will pass out before 3:00 PM in painful-looking contortions on a set of concrete stairs around the corner of the local gas station. The kind of guy who had two (or was it three?) toes amputated a couple years ago because he passed out on aforementioned stairs before 3:00 PM on a snowy day without being properly dressed for the weather and without being with it enough to at least drag the sleeping bag off his shopping cart to cover himself. The kind of guy whose sleeping bags — and even the shopping cart he used to carry them — periodically got stolen. The kind of guy who hung out with jackass thieves, who for the past five months have waited for him to pass out so they could yank all the cash out of his wallet after he'd already paid for their beers; a $1600 a month disability check siphoned into a murky bog of douchebag addict opportunism. The kind of guy who could have used that money to get into housing, so he wouldn't have died on the street only fifty yards away from the hospital emergency room.

Friday, November 14, 2014

Arctic Incursion

I'm sitting in the Friendly House wondering where in hell this damn arctic blast came from. Well, okay, I know WHENCE it came — I just said as much — but I'm still reeling in incredulity at the timing and ferocity of the frigid tendril that crept down the Columbia Gorge the day before yesterday out of the middle of the continent. It feels like Portland's getting a prolonged prostate exam by some naughty jǫtunn! It completely blind-sided us (especially those of us living outside!), practically shutting half the city down when the freezing rain and snow flurries swept over us yesterday; you have to understand, this time of year the average low is just above forty (5°C) and the average high just above fifty (11°C). And, it's not over yet: wind chill will push temperatures in the twenties (-2°C) down into the teens (-10°C) starting tonight and lasting through until Sunday night, after which the weather is predicted to slowly creep back up toward the seasonal average. I hope so, and we end up with the mild winter, but even NOAA seems to be rather poor at making long-term predictions; it's certainly time to begin preparing for the worse.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Fuck This!

Sometimes I just don't feel like doing this. Sometimes I just don't feel like doing anything. I suppose that nihilistic apathy is caused by depression, and by that I mean the clinical depression that is a legitimate and life-diminishing mental disorder not just “feeling blue”. Insofar as this blog is concerned, it's because I get tired of talking about how much of a failure or fool I am, how hopeless and pointless life seems, and how annoying or boring people and life are for me. I never felt like talking about my feelings or about the adversities of life is cathartic; in fact, I've generally only felt more distressed whenever I did. It also seems like a futile and impotent gesture to me, like a torrent of words as purposeful and effective as a stream running uphill into the sky.