The Carbon Copy Life...

~ The Carbon Copy Life ~

A Life on the Streets...

Life on the streets becomes more of a Carbon Copy of a life, 

Xeroxing copy after copy, day after day, night after night, week after 

week, month after month..... and year after endless year, that 

diminishes a little more after the next copy made, rather 

than a true life of any substance.

The colors, that were once vibrant and alive, now faded like a photo

or article of clothing being left out too long in the sun.

Once you are caught in the Vortex of Street life...

the light at the end of the tunnel has disappeared entirely and 

covered over by the debris of life, where living becomes your next 

breath, next step, next morsel of food, next place of rest....

Living in a dreamland of nightmares that you can never wake from.

I have found that life is not about getting what you want, or what you need, 

it's about destroying who you are and continually taking away from you.

Leaving you depleted and raw, while at the same time, hardened

around the edges and cutting you to the core.

You wonder, time again, why am I here??? To serve what purpose?

What is the point of “life” when you are denied every aspect of life?

Going around in circles, getting nowhere. Each path brings you back 

to where you were, like being stuck perpetually on the hamster wheel, and

no matter how hard you train, run and condition..... you find it matters not

because it is all a moot point, that is taking you nowhere.

Is there a point to it all??? When life was being dished out, I must have not 

been paying attention to the line I got in. Right from the start, I missed 

the line I was supposed to be in. So each and every turn I have taken in 

life has been all wrong. No matter which direction or path I have gone down, 

nothing about it has ever been right, has ever worked out like it should have.

Nothing good has ever really come from taking this path, or that direction.

I have heard rumors that life was supposed to be fun and joyous.... where is this?

Not in any place I have ever been, not in any experience I have lived through.

I have seen good, from a distance.... I have witnessed the rawness of life in 

every regard. I have seen the bad, experienced the worst life has to offer,

and yet I continue to push forward and take another breath, and step in

more directions. The rhythm of life is always present, whether you are

experiencing the good, the bad, or something in between....

life cycles through. I have just never liked being part of that cycle,

not in terms of life that I have been here to live, if one could really call living and 

merely existing along the seams and edges of society truly a “life”. Living on the

streets, you are not part of the whole, even though we are all “connected”, 

there is little to no connection in the truest sense. For example, if and when

anything happens; which it has and does on a regular basis, I have no one to call, 

no one to be there, no one to listen. Just to have someone there to check

in on you, see how you are.... but the only ones who “check” on me,

are always the cops, usually after someone has

called in on me for just being present.

The only one I have ever truly had to talk to is my notebook... it is always

there for me, and I unleash it all to it. Once I have released all the build up,

it opens me to more of life, in whatever capacity that life may be. Writing has

always been and continues to be my outlet for LIFE.... and all that happens in it.

Everything I experience, everything I go through, is penned or keyed until it is

no longer pressing so hard to be released, in some form or another.

Also, reading is another drug of choice that allows and affords me to release,

but in a different way. I cannot read without always learning something

along the way, through the measure of words. So reading is not a mindless

activity for me, as some read to do. It brings ideas and thoughts

more to life, and add to my own.

But both, reading and writing, give me the ability to process this thing

called life my way... and in the end, that is really all it is about.

Process life in a way that you can bring substance to.

Ceasing to Exist

~ Ceasing to Exist ~

Becoming more and more a fixture with nature, than with the human counterparts. 

Falling by the wayside... The very moment I was forced out on the brutal streets by 

and through the illegal actions of a despicable landlord in the City of Alameda, 

because I refused to “service him”. Not only was my life halted, but in a very real 

sense, I ceased to exist-- to society, to being a resident of everywhere, a 

citizen of nowhere.. and in a very real way, died a thousands deaths from that 

moment. And the endless lifetimes since then. I truly ceased to exist. People readily 

discarded my friendship, turn away from me-- and made it crystal clear my presence is

 nothing but a harsh nuisance in their lives, something they barely tolerate, if 

even that. You are shown the most inhospitable forms of people's true nature, what 

they are truly capable of, in their lowest form. I hate being present anymore. 

The deliberate cruelty, the ugly words, behaviors your subject to day and night, 

regardless of where you are. Nothing but complete silence from those who professed 

to care. Yet, their silence speaks volumes beyond that. Telling me no 

one gives a damn. Never really has.

I haven't stopped living, just let go... resigning myself to the facts of life. And feeling 

the reality, more and more. It has settled deep into my bones, through ever fiber from 

my being. My life came to a stop the moment I was forced out here, filling my time 

as best I could by volunteering for years on end.. only to have some bus driver 

accusing me of “stalking her”, because she would see me on various lines. She literally 

took different lines/runs just to get away from me, then gets outraged when she sees 

me along her 'new' run, where I was waiting for a different bus, not hers, and she 

pulls right in front of me, where I am waiting for my bus, demanding to know 

“why are you here, why are you here, do you have an appointment?, 

Why are you here, dammit”, then closing her doors and 

pulling further up to where her stop was.

So I have stopped volunteering, at least for the time being, and been keeping 

more and more to myself. Keeping my closest friends with me 24/7, my pen and 

notebook, then invite my other friends into my days, books of every genre, allowing 

me to travel all over the world, experience new cultures and a nice reprieve from 

this oppressive thing called life and the reality that follows. Something I no longer 

wish to be part of. When people say right next to you how they can't stand you and 

want nothing to do with you. Spreading rumors about you based on their opinions and 

not on fact, all their friends treat you the same, without ever finding out if what 

they are hearing is true, in any form. They don't care. They don't even know you, 

have never spoken to you, but perceive you as this type of person because their 

friend doesn't like you, for whatever reason. Disheartening, in the truest sense.

And the thing that really bites, this is one of the individuals claiming to “care” about me, 

and that “we were friends”. Really? This is how she treats a friend? Certainly not the 

definition that came to my mind. She would always have a look of such disgust on her 

face whenever she saw me. I once asked her about it, her response was to tell me to 

never contact her again, to get the hell out of her life, to just disappear 

indefinitely. Yeah, a true friend there.

So I know my death would be as unacknowledged as my life has been. My life-- my 

entire life has been more of an unwelcome intrusion than anything remotely 

close to being accepted or even celebrated, in any regard.

Died many times over since being forced out here, the essence of your life 

draining further and further away with each passing tick of the clock.

Other drivers following her lead, treating me like a leper instead of a human being, 

so I no longer take the bus like I had been, stopped relying on it to do what I need to. 

If I am not able to walk where I need to, or where I need to go, then I usually do not go.

I haven't given up, but merely existing, or rather subsistence, isn't life, isn't a life... 

when you have nowhere, no where to go, but not allowed where you are-- what do 

you do??? Life takes on a whole new meaning when you are forced to live 

it on the streets-- existence, survival, hunger-- in the truest, deepest sense, that 

goes much deeper and far beyond that of mere sustenance from food, 

you hunger for life, for love, for meaning-- wondering if any of it really exists, 

or if that is just another illusion life presents to you.

Never knowing if, or when or even what you'll be eating. Life takes you on such a 

harsh new reality and a completely different meaning... having to live your life 

for so long on the streets. All the textures, meaning, context-- it is all different. 

Having to live your life under the shadows of society, living on the underside 

of humanity-- How do you keep hope alive? Faith and so much more? Where does 

it come from, time and again.... where do you go, where do you look. How do you 

keep something that fades further and further into the distance, becoming more a 

part of the landscape, than anything else, disappearing 

more with each passing moment.

How is a meaningful life determined? I've never found true meaning or purpose in mine-- 

it's always felt more of a severe punishment, than anything remotely held of 

meaning and purpose. Echoes of what a meaningful life truly means, not something 

I have felt personally, in any regard. I've immersed myself in various avenues of 

meaning, for me, but not fulfilling. Writing holds meaning-- But is it merely a means 

to an end? And if so, then to what end? How do I bring full meaning to my life? 

Feel complete, whole and healed. Where do you begin, when there is really no 

where to go? And life keeps dumping more and more crap on you to deal with... 

where do you find meaning? And how? And what is the meaning of having to 

live your life on the streets? What is the purpose? And how can my being out 

here help others? Because I do believe everyone should experience what it is like-- 

even for a few days, which will immediately give them a much better understanding 

of the brutal reality that we have to endure, year after endless year.... and all the 

government and state employees should be on the receiving end of their ugly 

service when applying for any kind of service. We would be treated so much 

better if they did. We would actually be seen and treated as people-- just like them. 

That would really revamp the entire structure and finally implement services 

that are for the people, instead of more against us, than anything. And not 

placed in those confining narrow minded categories-- slapping labels on us 

that have never fit. Insisting you have to be a junkie, an alcoholic, crazy as hell, or 

just plain stupid the very moment you are put out here, regardless of how you were 

put out-- legal or not. We would finally be treated with care. Instead of the 

nightmarish hell they currently drag us through for applying for even the 

most dismal of assistance, which is nothing more than a cruel joke.

And something you do your best to avoid. Rarely do you actually get the 

service you need, even less so when you're single, have no dependents and 

have no addictions, and don't do any of that junk, 

or chemically dependent in any way..

just going through the brutality of the system will make you crazy-- just not 

their “preferred” type. And if you tell them you don't appreciate being treated 

so rudely and so horribly, that brings even more ugliness out from them. Much 

longer waits, even more attitude. Things you have been waiting to receive, 

notifications/mail-- mysteriously disappear, then magically 're-appear' after 

the due date for responding has already passed. Just to name a few.