Does anyone else think this man would make an excellent spiritual leader, wacked out on steroids?
Was that a wiggle or a struggle?
Friday, April 6, 2007
Fiction again for You
I live in Boston, if you can call it living. You see I am homeless, and have been since the VA kicked me out of the hospital back in ’99, 8 years ago. I’ve done my time, served Uncle Sam and the powers that be, all I got from it was the rotating door of rehab, outpatient programs, and $600 per month. Maybe because I killed babies, or so they said; maybe because I burned villages, or so they said; or maybe Sam just wanted to forget my generation existed because we were an embarrassment then, and remain so today. However, politics is not what this story is about, oh no.
You see, I saw her sitting on that bench all alone, such a young, proper lady in that business suit, deceived by her crying. Normally I would never approach the elite, or homeowner, but with tears she looked so vulnerable. Plus, it was such a very cold night to be alone, the gossamer smoke billowing from the row houses around the park. So I sat down next to her (even across the snow my footsteps did not crunch, I learned to walk softly and carry an M-16 at some point) and asked her problems. She wiped the tears away and went to leave, but I asked her to stay. Then I told her about my daughter in Ohio, or so I thought. I explained how someday I would see her again and because I was a drunkard, I had the foresight of tattooing the address to my chest. That is not so unbelievable coming from a veteran bum, is it? Instead of dog tags, I used my flesh as steel, just as General Grant told his men to do so long ago at Vicksburg. We talked, and talked, her problems became insignificant in the wake of my flow. "I used to worry I had no shoes until I saw a man with no feet." I love that line. Time grew thin and she had to get home, husband, babies, she’ll look better after a night’s rest, etc….me, I need to get to the shelter, but first a nip.
Cheap whiskey always tastes better on a cold night, a companion that warms the body and soul. The problem is the booze can disorient you, and this happened to me on many occasion. Finding shelter was difficult this evening so I decided on the next best thing, a heating exchange grate from the highrise next door. I need to sleep this off, and at least it will be warm.
Ahhhh morning, wintry Boston mornings are quick to awaken even the most hungover bum, and I have just enough money for a bagel and coffee. As I cross the street I see my date from the night before and smile, she looks busy talking to the police, I hear "her name and address are tattooed to his chest," and I look back to see no footprints in the snow.
You see, I saw her sitting on that bench all alone, such a young, proper lady in that business suit, deceived by her crying. Normally I would never approach the elite, or homeowner, but with tears she looked so vulnerable. Plus, it was such a very cold night to be alone, the gossamer smoke billowing from the row houses around the park. So I sat down next to her (even across the snow my footsteps did not crunch, I learned to walk softly and carry an M-16 at some point) and asked her problems. She wiped the tears away and went to leave, but I asked her to stay. Then I told her about my daughter in Ohio, or so I thought. I explained how someday I would see her again and because I was a drunkard, I had the foresight of tattooing the address to my chest. That is not so unbelievable coming from a veteran bum, is it? Instead of dog tags, I used my flesh as steel, just as General Grant told his men to do so long ago at Vicksburg. We talked, and talked, her problems became insignificant in the wake of my flow. "I used to worry I had no shoes until I saw a man with no feet." I love that line. Time grew thin and she had to get home, husband, babies, she’ll look better after a night’s rest, etc….me, I need to get to the shelter, but first a nip.
Cheap whiskey always tastes better on a cold night, a companion that warms the body and soul. The problem is the booze can disorient you, and this happened to me on many occasion. Finding shelter was difficult this evening so I decided on the next best thing, a heating exchange grate from the highrise next door. I need to sleep this off, and at least it will be warm.
Ahhhh morning, wintry Boston mornings are quick to awaken even the most hungover bum, and I have just enough money for a bagel and coffee. As I cross the street I see my date from the night before and smile, she looks busy talking to the police, I hear "her name and address are tattooed to his chest," and I look back to see no footprints in the snow.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Deevolution
Why do men jam their hands down their pants and drink beer while watching college players dribble these?
<======= Granted I would never trade my man in for another, but come on, you are 39 years old and for the last month (as every year) you relive the four years you spent in an ACC school. Get a grip already, take off the t-shirt and come to bed when I request your presence.
-The Holiest
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