Reading zen's journal

Dec 30, 2012 16:34 # 47387

zen *** posts about...

Impending chaostrophy

NAO post 24 –26 Dec 2012
(Part one)

11August2011 Ginsterbusch email and asked "is Zen alive?"
The short answer is yes.
The long answer is that electronically I was dead, a few times over. This aging Gateway 400sd4 is my latest life.
The last 3 or 4 units I had have been stolen, broken, or otherwise disabled. The story really should move back over a year ago, to Sept. 2011. I was evicted, and became homeless. Not fully homeless at that point. I hadn't hit bottom just then. That would come eventually. For about month I skimmed the bottom, by being able to couch surf at a friend's place, in South Providence.
Things went, literally South. Chaos prevailed. I was now truly homeless. I slept in Burnside Park with the burgeoning Occupy Providence Movement. I spent about two weeks in the park in a tent. This was a prety wild, heady time. There was this odd synonymity between the actual homeless, myself, and those who were trying to help support "the movement", who would drive up in car, or truck, and drop off a bunch of stuff which your, and my, neighbors had in excesss; from food to tents, to a huge number of things that people bought, it seemed, for us. I helped people with a large number of things,but the biggest help I ever was was in helping folks secure their tents so they don't blow away,and stay up.
After that I was living in the shelter system of this great state. In November close to Thanksgiving I tried to commit suicide. I took a bunch of sleeping pills wita large quantity of alcohol. I somehow knew at the time that it wasn't going to work, and sure enough I wound-up i the hospital emergency room after having been found on the side walk of i don't know where, but with no shoes. Some sad fucker stole my shoes, cabotoes while i was passed out. Ugh! That sucks, and not in the good way. So the emergency room staff of this major hospital thinks that i just drank too much. I didn't volunteer the other part, that at this point what amounts to a cry for help.
I gave them the gladhanded, "ok," response, but had no plans to quit drinking, at that point. Considering where my life had sunk, alcohol was a considerably viable option.
I need to move back in my narrative to October. The fifth officially is the start date for Occupy in Burnside. My Birthday is on the first. Last year, 27th September my long time companion and true and faithful friend Mr. Scrappy Doo the Basett passed away, and became spirit form. He now is with me all the time, but at first it was hard to accept that he was gone. Especially considering that I was in the state at the time, and even in the same neighborhood. Fortunately, I was able to spend time with him in the very end. We had a fairly enjoyable time togeter that last night, which I'm grateful for. It was the next night where he just collapsed. The vet was unable to do anything for Mr. Doo.
So I'm in a tent, mourning for my mister, and i have nothing.
I have a bunch of stuff in storage, still do; remnants of my former life; my former self.
I'm rudder less at this point in my miserable life.
Work situation looks bleak, as does housing.
My best friend, who also happens to have been the closest thing to a lady friend broke up with me. She got tired of me not having my own place, and left all pissed-off and said "I didn't sign up for this." We had other problems, like that her family didn't like me due to criminal things i've done in the past. Can't blame them for that--but i was still feeling shitty all the same
So I got involved in Occupy, and stayed homelessly in the park with a bunch of my fellow protestors. I helped in the kitchen area. I made friends I still, to this day see about town. Sidereal movements were orchestrated as a result of this epoch.
Then came the legal troubles--for me. I was, at the time, on probation, and failed to inform my offficer that I'd not only changed my address, but that it was, in fact, in a park. So, when they found out, I had to go back to court over the issue of notification.
So in November I started in the shelter system. How much of that time do I want to relive? Well, here's something I was thinking about not too long ago, about Christmas last year. At this time last year, I was celebrating Christmas at the Emmanuel House. Seemed oddly fitting that it should be there. I had hung up in the common area a stocking with a basett, who looked a whole lot like my Mister, to keep me, us all, under his watch and care. I hung him up over the television, because I'd rather watch Him, than it.
I will say this for the state of RI, that it does have a good support system for people living in the shelters, or otherwise homeless, or poor. Because there are a large number of unemployed, there is an interesting economic experiment happening in this state. That is one of its greatest charms, that alternate currencies can shine forth. Prisons will have alternate currencies, depending on the resources at hand. Providence Plantations always struck me as a bit prison-ish. Supposedly, we have it, that it is a land of religious freedoms, hence the prevalence of so many church buildings here. (Uh, Marvelous Cathedrals They May Be, Peace Be Unto Them.)
Somewhere in December, I seem to recall, I picked-up a new addiction. I’d been smoking it for a few months previously, even before going “homeless,” but after that point, it picked-up noticably. My friend Ekadasi, the man I refer to as My Technician had introduced me to The Monkey; more commonly known as “K-2.” One of the counselors at the shelter refers to it as the “K-whack.” For tose no familiar with this latest malady, it is sold a potpourri, and according to te label it is not intended for human consumption, rather to be used as incense--for “room freshening.” Somewhere in Feb./March mayhaps, I started doing the crap on a regular basis, and not merely for “recreation.”
Along with this new-found addiction, it must be mentioned the job at a local worker-owned cooperative. This is the grocery store which was started by the very same communal garden group that I was, still am, a part of. After some discusion, I was allowed provisional membership, to get paid money, rather than just store credit. Apparntly this was a big deal for them, and for me too, as I wasn’t working. The one caveat to this whole thing is that I had to remain clean and sober during work hours. The irony to this part was that at one point or another, I’d gotten high, and or drunk, with everyone working there at that point. I gave Dauna a glad-handed ,”Ok;” although it must be said that I planned to stay clean and sober during work hours, as I’d promised. It didn’t take much time before my “true colours” shown, and I was getting high during the days, sometimes in the middle of my 4-hour shift. When one is smoking that kind of stuff, or just anything really that gets one in a state of euphoria, or whereever I was taken on that stuff. I thought I was hiding it, but everyone noticed.
The final straw came when, on that fateful day, when I decided to smoke inside the bathroom. There’s no smoking inside, at least according to State Law. Needless to say, this didn’t go over well. I was already on thin ice at that point, and that represented the final blow. A few days after that it became official, once I received Mike’s text: “We won’t be needing your help today, or any other day. You’re all set.”
So then we move along to late August, the outdoor schoolroom/bench project. This was a project that is a post of itself.

Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag

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