Repost: Holliday Letters Between a Father and his Son

Holliday Letters Between a Father and His Only Son

Letter #1 From Son to Father:

"Hi Dad,

Merry ChanuKwanzMas and Happy New Year! Your Dentist keeps sending me these Dental Reminders. I've emailed back telling him that you make all my appointments with him and they should be emailing you, but he keeps emailing me, so I thought I'd just forward it along so you can either schedule one for me or remind him to stop emailing me. Wishing you all the very best!

Love,

John jr."

Letter #1 From Father to Son:

"Just remove yourself from the e mails. You would not like a father who beat you your whole life to pay for your dental work, because then you could not play your academy award winning role of 'THE VICTUM'.

John Q. Doe"

Letter #2 from Son to Father:

"I wasn't asking for a father (and even if I was, it's a little late now; I'm all grown up), I was asking for an email removal or action regarding a Dentist that you were recently sending me to and paying for; Nothing more, nothing less. I apologize if you misunderstood.

I'm 31 now, Dad. Technically you only beat me for about 1/4 of my life, but that's in the distant past for me. I'm truly sorry that it is still very present for you. I love you very much despite your sadly ongoing mental war with me, despite our past, I can't help it (though sometimes I wish I could), blood is thicker than water.

But anyways, this was just about a simple email request, not your resentment towards me or what I view as ancient history. I hope one day you can view it as the same. I have asked to be removed, but I'll try again. Thanks for responding so fast and again Have a happy New Year!

John jr

P.S. Did it ever occur to you that YOU may be acting out 'THE VICTIM' (misspelled by you)? You are acting out the role of the poor father who did everything he could for his messed up lying kid who says that the poor victim father abused him, when really the father was wonderful. Poor, poor, father, to be stuck with such a bad child. Bad from birth. Nothing the son did was the Father's fault! The Father did everything he could, but the Boy was just born bad and always was mean to the Father?

You have given me some good advice over the years (and some bad advice), maybe you should turn your eye towards yourself one day?

P.P.S. Whether you believe it or not I FORGIVE YOU for the way you treated me as a child. You did the best that you knew how to do at the time and you provided for the family very well financially. Even if you never forgive me for whatever it is that is still sticking in your craw about me; I STILL FORGIVE YOU.

Letter #3 from Father to Son

"YOU are as crazy as your mother, your both idiots.

John Q. Doe"

Letter #3 from Son to Father

"Again, your grammar is a bit mistaken Dad. Your letter should read 'You're both idiots,' as in the contraction 'You are,' rather than 'your' which refers to possession.

My mother is a teacher and a published author who has won awards for her work. She definitely has her mental faults and she is definitely a little crazy, but she is no idiot. I love her, I'm very proud of her, and the fact that you, my father, think it's appropriate to speak to me about my mother that way shows the truth of your character and ability as a father; Ugly.

As for me I've been scoring as a Genius on every Academic test I have ever taken and though I may be a bit crazy (everyone is), I'm certainly not an idiot. If you were able to understand my published works you would see that. My readers are some of the smartest people in the world and their compliments mean a lot more than the resentful insults of my senior citizen father. Your opinion of me ceased to matter a long time ago, you might as well keep it to yourself.

I feel sorry for you that you can only communicate by means of insults, but I guess that's one of the reason's we don't communicate much. Despite your venom, I'm also proud of you and the work that you've done; Building yourself up from nothing and the legacy of buildings you will leave on the earth and the pages of Architectural Digest after you go (Until they are inevitably torn down). Goodbye for now Dad. I hope next time I hear from you, you are a little nicer.

On a side note: It's a very odd and ironic feeling for me to suddenly find that our situation is now reversed; For once I am the adult and you are the angry child. You once told me that people age like wine and from what I read, you sound like Sour Grapes. That's too bad. You can say all the mean things you want, it only reflects on your character, not mine, and certainly not my mother's. Those words are wasted on me; I don't even hear them any more.

But before you die, in the distant future, (since I don't anticipate your attitude changing before then, though I pray) I just wanted to make sure I set the record straight. That I forgive you. That I love you.
Goodbye.

Letter #4 from Father to Son

"The fact that you would respond to me proves that you are an idiot.

John Q. Doe"

Letter #4 from Son to Father

"Touche! And the fact that you write me back proves...?"

Poem: Property Manager

With flat eyes like a Reptile
It stands before me;
all my words deaf to it's ear sockets.
With snarls and spite
the creature foams in it's rage at me.
No communication here,
no compromise or debate.
My purpose is peace
and a home free of sickness.
It's purpose is stopping me
from any of my desires.
No thought in it's head.
No feelings in it's chest-cavity.
Even when our goals are the same,
It would wound it's own flesh,
just to spit in my eye.
Turn the other cheek
and
love thy neighbor
I believe.

But this Lousy Cunt
has it out for my Nuts.

List: 14 Reasons Why Noam Chomsky is a Member of the Illuminati

*Look, I love Noam Chomsky's writings, mind, speeches, and works. Never-the-less, the more I think about him (and the seemingly negligible effect he has had on world politics), the more his words and actions don't quite seem to match up. And so in honor of "Questioning Reality," I bring you*

14 Reasons Why Noam Chomsky is a Member of the Illuminati:

1. He holds a teaching position at a major American Academic Institution (and has for years); MIT, Linguistics Chair. They've got him by the balls!

2. He is the only major public figure who explains the dynamics of modern day World Politics as they really are, clearly and succinctly... Yet no other major public figures act on what he says, even though he is universally recognized as a brilliant academic.

3. Although Chomsky is brilliant at deconstructing and explaining the true motives of Nation-States, The Military, Global Corporate Powers, etc. He is content to write book after book and give explanations to small-audience Public Radio programs; He refuses to join any group who radically fights for change or tenaciously try to spread his message to the greater public (Of course not, it might threaten his position at MIT and invite reprisals from the Powerful Elites he is reporting on).

4. He conducted part of his doctoral research during four years at Harvard University as a Harvard Junior Fellow; A school well-known as a recruiting area for the CIA, Counsel of Foreign Relations, and other Illuminati fronts.

5. Chomsky is often called "The Father of Modern Day Linguistics," a science which has arguably been used more to oppress other nations/peoples than to free them.

6. He has children and relatives whom he loves; These are liabilities which the Illuminati can use to threaten/manipulate him.

7. He often receives undercover police protection, in particular while on the MIT campus, although he says he does not agree with the police protection (more evidence of his ability to do one thing while "agreeing" with another as well as a way for his Illuminati Masters to keep track of him and make sure he doesn't "step out of line").

8. He was on a list of planned targets created by Theodore Kaczynski, better known as the Unabomber; Kaczynski's connection to covert government mind-control programs has been well documented, though not widely reported. Chomsky's name on this list stand outs as Odd, when compared to the other names, and of course Chomsky never was actually attacked by Kaczynski.

9. As a Theoretical/Experimental Psychologist Chomsky's research has done more to enable Illuminati propagandists and brain-butchers to manipulate populations than he has to frustrate them. "Chomsky laid out an explanation of human language faculties that has become the model for investigation in some areas of psychology. Much of the present conception of how the mind works draws directly from ideas that found their first persuasive author of modern times in Chomsky." To whit, Chomsky sadly cares more about research than what the results of that research can be used for. Einstein had something to say about this after the Atom Bomb.

10. Chomsky declares himself widely and proudly as an "Anarchist" despite his life-long involvement, leadership, and participation in Repressive Institutions. This is an oxymoron and creates cognitive dissonance. He consistently and eloquently states the problems with the World Politics, then rarely-if-ever offers solutions. This only serves to further depress Anarchists everywhere. Can you think of a single other well-known, society-approved, Anarchist?

11. Chomsky has received many honorary degrees from universities around the world, including from the following (Many of which are well known Illuminati Grounds): University of London, University of Chicago, Loyola University of Chicago, Swarthmore College, University of Delhi, Bard College, University of Massachusetts, University of Pennsylvania, Georgetown University, Amherst College, University of Cambridge, University of Buenos Aires, McGill University, Universitat Rovira i Virgili, Columbia University, Villanova University, University of Connecticut, University of Maine, Scuola Normale Superiore, University of Western Ontario, University of Toronto, Harvard University, Universidad de Chile, University of Bologna, Universidad de la Frontera, University of Calcutta, Universidad Nacional de Colombia, Vrije Universiteit Brussel, Santo Domingo Institute of Technology, Uppsala University, University of Athens, University of Cyprus, Central Connecticut State University, National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM)

12. Chomsky spent time in 1953 living in HaZore'a, a kibbutz in Israel. Asked in an interview whether the stay was "a disappointment" Chomsky replied, "No, I loved it." Some Kibbutz's are fertile recruiting areas for young prospective Illuminati members.

13. Chomsky's language and concepts are often so advanced or couched in terminology so complicated that they are completely inaccessible to the poor, uneducated, and immigrant communities. The exact communities who would pose the greatest threat to the Illuminati, if they could understand what Chomsky was saying.

14. Remember the Illuminati's primary motto and means is: "Divide and Conquer!" That is, have control of the leaders (both Political leaders and Opinion Leaders) of ALL sides; Thus with the ability to play all sides of the ideological spectrum off the others at will, no matter who wins, The Illuminati wins. Can you think of a better, more ineffectual leader of "The Anarchists" than Noam Chomsky?

Think about it...

Poem: I Hope You Don't Worry

I sit alone in my four walls: Writing as the last resort.
Ear too bloody; accidents happen while sober too.
Imagining years of loneliness,
getting dirtier and filthier, more soiled and putrid.
Feeling the noose of Self-Pity
closing around my brain and heart.
Some part of me saying that
"I've been here before,
that tomorrow will be better",
then I will be here, again.

But my hand hurts, as I hold this pen,
which hasn't happened before.
I'm getting older,
my body is falling apart too soon.
If I want to stay a writer,
I'll have to start typing,
or getting bigger paper
and pen.

"It's not fair," I think again.
Just as I used to say to my Father,
as he was beating me.
"Life isn't fair," he'd yell,
and hit me again harder.
I disagreed with him, then,
but the older I get,
the more I agree.
I think I see his point.
As my body begins to fall apart.
As the whole World seems to shit it's pants with
Wars, Riots, Oil-Spills, and Etc.
My Father was right,
and maybe if I'd understood him then,
I could have been more selfish growing up;
more heartless and greedy.
Taken more for myself,
hurting others in the process;
The Law of the World.
"Fuck 'em all, as long as I get My Cut."

Even as I write it now I know,
my sensitive heart could never have gone that way.
For all the riches in the World I could not Rape an Innocent.
Does this mean I'm meant for the Lonely Poverty I endure?
Soul Disposition points towards "Yes."
The sooner I accept it the better.

In Jails I heard the never-ending banter
of Gangsters and Thieves, the Takers of Advantage.
Listening with curiosity, I always knew,
I could never have been one.
A silent Killer, perhaps, a Hit-Man, maybe.
But there are far less of those jobs
than the movies would have us believe.
I tried selling drugs, but I was too fair to the Addicts,
more compassion, than Lust for Money.
I tried working for a Mega-Corporation, or two,
but I had no Will to pass on blame,
point the finger, cover my ass.
Just wanted to do my job.
Never back-biting, nor butt-kissing;
Promotion was not my Destiny, there.
Just a permanent Corporate Cubicle,
at best,
being shit on by an endless procession
of ladder-climbing Management,
who do nothing but climb.
I even tried Academia,
my dreams of the Ivory Tower.
But I had not the Will to back-stab fellow Scientists,
grubbing and scrounging, rumor-mongering and
Character Assassination; These Traits I would not learn.
All to sweep up the ever fewer Grants
that all Serious Academics need to survive...

*Sigh*

Besides "homelessness" I could not find a
non-competitive field,
though sometimes the homeless compete more than any.
Dreams of being
a Poet, a Writer, an Artist...
Do you know what it takes to get Recognized today?
With the World of Five Billion
and The Internet for Us all?
Everyone clambering for their Art
to be Famous?

Forget it.
Now, and in the End:
I write for myself.
To purge, to vomit, to excrete
my Pain out.
And maybe entertain
a few others who happen by.
Good Luck,
whoever you are.
I hope you don't worry,
as much as I do.

Poem: I Did and I Didn't, A Biography of My Life

I never played the X-Box.
Or the Playstation 2.
Never gone skiing, snowboarding,
or swimming at the Lake with Friends.
Never even had many Friends.
No trips out of the Country.
No one takes care of me when I'm Sick.
All my visits to the Emergency Room
were Alone.
All of my Vacations were in my head.
If I died today,
there wouldn't be a Funeral.
I'd be burned, or tossed, with the other
Unmourned, Anonymous, Losers.
I went to a few Schools.
I published a few Articles;
nothing Big, nothing Important.
But maybe it Educated someone.
I made Love to more than a few people.
I consumed a lot of Drugs.
I Wrote a lot
and Read a lot.
Walked more than most.
Spilled a lot of Tears.
Meditated more
than the Average American.
But never attained Nirvana,
or Dhyana for that matter.
Or any kind of Peace,
which lasted for more
than forty-five minutes.
I studied a lot of Occultism
and other Weird crap
which never did anyone any good.
But it passed the Time
and vanished with my decomposing brain.
I made more than a few Bums,
Rejects, and Homeless People smile;
made them feel like
they weren't such pieces of shit
after all.
I never reproduced; I'm grateful for that.
I never flew First Class,
or drove an Expensive Car.
Never had a Masseuse.
Never worked at the same job
for longer than a year.
I was never able to keep a Savings Account,
always running out of money.
Never spent an entire week
eating out at Restaurants.
And though I mostly cooked my own food,
I never really learned how to cook
more than two or three things very well.
I never owned an Expensive Suit,
or a really nice pair of shoes.
I never Cheated on a Lover,
though a few Cheated on me.
Also never cheated in School,
though a few Schools cheated me.
I owed a lot of Debts I didn't pay,
but never to a friend.
I never slept with a friend's ex-Lover,
though I had a few offers.
I got Tattoo's,
but not all the one's I wanted.
And No, I never regretted getting them.
Never stabbed a friend in the back,
but like I already said,
I never really had that many.
Not for long, at least.
I sold my Body for Sex a few times,
and only regret it mildly.
But I wouldn't do it again.
I lived on Welfare and Disability.
I never Surfed, Scuba-Dived, or Snorkeled.
I went to a lot of AA meetings
and graduated from eight Rehabs
before I was Thirty.
I lived in Homeless Shelters,
under bridges, in abandoned buildings,
on people's couches, in Cheap Hotels,
but I grew up in Mansions.
I was on T.V. as a child;
my face and voice transmitted across the World.
My Father hit me a lot.
And a more than a few times left bruises.
My Mother lied for him
and taught me to lie for him also.
Terrorized as a Child.

I never did a lot of things,
that people do for fun.
I experienced a lot of pains,
anxieties, depressions, repressions,
cages, tortures, silent agonies,
heartbreaking cruelties;
I could just keep writing words,
but they'd never really get there.
I hope the Next Life is Better.
And that, in the End,
I spread more Love,
than the Pain
I received.

Poem: Mother's Surgery

My Mother's in the Hospital;
Surgery for a broken hip.
I can't even afford to visit her.
What kind of Son am I?

The day will come
when She will die.
No longer will I be able to rely
on her sporadic
giftcards and money
in the mail.

Pathetic, poor, and weak,
I am.
Everything
my Father predicted.

I'm terrified
to be alone.
Though it feels like
I always have been.

My Mother's in the Hospital;
Surgery for a broken hip.
At least,
that's what
they tell me.

Poem: Self-Pity Opera

A Master of Heart-Ache;
It's me, that I dub so.
Sadness, depression,
the depths of despair.
These have I known
and invoked
in my years.
The opposite too,
the warmth of sweet Love...
But only too briefly,
compared to above.

The last love I had,
who I'm now in despair for.
Christian,
her name,
in this life.
I loved her so much,
that I offered her marriage.
Not joking,
I offered,
my life.
She thought I was kidding,
(or maybe she wished so)
for she loved her Ex
more than me.
And needing to leave her,
I just couldn't stand it,
her sleeping with him,
not with me.

My current depression,
the heart-ache, the lonely.
I know it
from feelings
before.
Before there was Christian,
was six years of Sadness.
From Ruby,
my lover,
before.

And during that Darkness
were many
fine people.
Who offered
their love
up to me.
But all I could see
was my own dark Depression,
it was,
the one way,
I could be.

Before there was Ruby,
was Natalie,
too,
and the Sadness,
which came,
with her flight.
Drinking
and crying
and writing her letters;
Night after night,
after night.

Yet still before that,
was the loss of my Mother,
my House, my Inheritance,
my All.
She gave up my Future,
to some new Abuser,
who cared about me,
not at all.

Even before that,
I cried from confusion,
from the pain,
that was crippling,
my spine.
Anger supreme
at my filthy rich Father,
who refused
to help
make it fine.

But before my back,
came a series
of Lovers:
Older, and sexy,
refined.
All of those beauties
with one thing
in common;
they used me,
but just,
for one time.

When too young to date,
I suffered in silence,
Abused by my father,
and Ma.
I always imagined,
the day I'd be grown up,
and not have to deal
with it all.

And now that I'm grown up,
those dreams are unrealized;
At thirty
I feel
like a child.
And all of those joys,
that I knew in my life;
Compared to the pain,
are quite mild.

Poem: Ungrateful

I like the peace of Berkeley.
The trees, sunset, air, and people.
I hate my room in San Francisco.
Loathe it.
But it's all I have, for now.
I need to start planning,
how the hell to get free...
no way soon...
I don't want to go there!
But that's my home.
My place,
that I pay for
and fought for,
for years.
Trapped.

Poem: Old Friend Mike

A friend that I had
he turned out quite bad,
though I've known him
since his very start.

Once brothers in faith,
he smiles to my face,
in private he tears me apart.

While spreading sick rumors,
I don't understand,
his cowardly gossip,
that slanders this man.

It must be because
I never began,
to fuck him,
or view him,
with awe.

The lies that he spread
awoke pain in my head,
confusion,
at malice so cruel.

Small network of friends,
I thought true to the end,
kicked me
in the gut
like a mule.

So now here I stand,
just like I began,
alone,
with my Angel
and God.

I know all those who lie,
will sure one day die,
and answer for sins,
one and all.

Poem: The Heroes of Justice

The Heroes of Justice,
chuckling, drinking coffee.
The masses of Animals,
Human-Animals,
locked up
only ten feet away
behind a wall
no one can see.

The Heroes of Justice
no longer believe,
only "doing their best"
and sometimes
not that.

The Animals who used to feel
Human.
The Heroes who once wanted
to feel Heroic.
Neither like their position.

Between them;
The Parasites.
Bail Bondsmen, Courts,
Lawyers, and worse.
Fake lawyers
who pretend
to be
on your side
and you never
suspect
they are not
until it's over.
And you lost.

Justice the Blind Woman,
with a sword and a scale,
She rules here no more.
Dead, raped, and defiled,
cold corpse on the floor.

The Heroes of Justice
eat lunch.
While the Animal-Humans
starve.

Man's cruelty knows no end,
often hides itself,
from itself.

Thus The Poison attains
a strangle hold
on Life.

Poem: Monied (Again)

Money is the Opiate of the Masses, now.

Four walls and a sink, to call my own.
I own my room for 7 days, for $300.
The price of dinner for my dad.

A Real Person again.
High from Privacy,
exhilarated by my money in the bank.
All the world exists for me.
Want to eat: I can.
Want to sleep: I can.
All it took was money, after all that.

Half my Neuroses melt away instantly
-Simply because I now have choices.
Choices the broke person lacks,
simple privacy the homeless don't have,
Respect, which money does buy.

How can I explain the impotence,
the insecurity, the hunger, the jealousy,
the fears, the shame, the filth,
that comes,
from simply being without?

I can't.

No one can understand
unless they have been there.
Ask an old drunk, dying alone in a gutter.
Ask a full-fledged junkie, screaming himself silent
in a jail cell, for lack of medicine.
Ask a new mother, who has just given birth.

You'll never understand any of them.
Until you are one.

My "friends" come back around,
happy to see I have money again.
Now they can see me
without guilt or shame.

I use my room's sink ten times a day,
to wash my face,
because I can; I paid for it.
How wealthy America truly is,
where for $300 a week
I get my own room with a sink
for 7 days.
No more washing at Safeway
under the dubious eyes
of Security Guards.
I check on my room several times a day;
Expecting it to disappear like a mirage.
But every time I turn the lock,
everything is just as I left it.
Lights still on, window still open,
bed unmade, smelling of my brand of cigarettes.

Home at last.
Home at last.
Home at last,
for now.

Poem: Cell Phone Gods

I'm scared to get a phone;
The time is coming soon again.

To blame the tracking by CIA,
bill collectors, or my family.
To blame my fear of being contactable,
accountable, responsible.
Possibly.
A phone is a commitment,
these days,
a relationship unto itself.
By having one I volunteer my participation
in the electronic voice network.
I can spray paint it
or change the ring-tones
to a song I like,
but that wont change the fact,
the Truth,
the very small way,
the phone enslaves me.

It always starts small,
then the slavery gets bigger.
Today it's a cell phone,
tomorrow it's a laptop,
the next day it's an implant.
Yes, Dad, "They" can listen to your conversations
through your cell phone;
Even when it's turned off.
Take the battery out, at least.

My last memories of my last cell,
two years ago,
are of my Mother yelling at me through it,
giving me a nervous breakdown with each call.
Of endless bill collectors,
of an angry girlfriend poisoning my pocket device
relentlessly with texts and voice mails.
Of calling my contacts to complain about my life,
only complaining just made it worse.
Of days on end afraid to check my voicemail,
the number of voice mails piling up,
getting larger and larger
- competing with my fear -
until I finally can't stand the tension
and I check my voicemail
to find nothing important at all.
Of three hundred calls for a person named "Hymie"
and three hundred explanations that
this is no longer "Hymie's" phone number.
Of hours spent waiting,
holding the radiation-emitting device
next to my brain
while pressing numbers in a corporate phone-tree-trap.

Yes, cell phone, I fear you.
Yes, call phone, I respect you.
Like I respect The Devil.
Like I respect Alcohol.
Like I respect Heroin.
I know how insidious you can be.

When you can reach anyone with a whim and a button-push:
How can you tell those Action-Takers
from the limitless number of Bullshitting-Talkers?
True friends from False?
Pay attention.
You pay attention.

I honor you, New God of Our Age.
Hail to Thee Cell Phone,
may I wield Thee like a Samurai,
like a double-sided dagger
you can both create division
and destroy division,
creating Unity.

Yea, creating Unity.

Theory: Class Differences, Homostasis, & Isolation

I've described in these pages before how real "class" is as well as how comforting routines can make even the most terrible and deprived of lives bearable and even pleasant. In addition I've shown repeatedly how the breaking of my established routines by: visitors, visiting others, traveling, interlopers, talking to others on the phone, writing to others, etc... Can break the comfort of my routine, especially when the intruder or place of visit is of a different class than myself (i.e. higher classed). Since I am homeless I represent the lowest class and thus even middle-class people, to me, are very different and privileged.

A simple example of this is sleeping over at someones house once in a while. Because the class comforts of people with a home (refrigerator, TV, laundry, shower, etc..) are so largely disproportionate to my own, I slowly become acclimated to my visits and I begin to crave and even depend on my sleep-overs. Thus the more I visit the higher class, the more miserable my lower class status becomes. This effect has been well documented by Psychiatrists and Psychologists, most notably in the book about gestalt therapy "Ego, Hunger, and Aggression."

Because of this fact, greatly, I choose not to spend my time surrounded by class-comforts which aren't really mine or readily accessible to me. To do so would be masochistic or sociopathic. Some may call me an isolationist and I could not argue with them, though i get along well with the poor, the downtrodden, the different, and other member of my lower class. I would plead that I am simply in an early stage of psychological healing and as such need to be left alone.

It is my sincerest hope and prayer that one day I will have developed enough materially, emotionally, and spiritually, so that I can accept all beings as equals regardless of class. But I'm not quite there yet!

List: The 12 Steps of Egotists Anonymous (EA)

1. We admitted we were powerless over the Laws of Nature - that we could not control everything in the Universe.

2. We came to believe that Powers greater than ourselves could control everything we could not.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of those Greater Powers.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to the Greater Powers, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have the Greater Powers remove all our defects of character.

7. Humbly asked the Greater Powers to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons, animals, plants, ghosts, and corporations we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such entities wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer, meditation, magick, divination, and service to others, to improve our conscious contact with the Greater Powers as we understood them, praying only for increased knowledge of their will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

List: Things I've Learned as a Bum

1) You can get all of your basic needs met if you are patient and humble.
2) People judge you soley by the way you look (e.g. "You don't _look_ like a bum")
3) The Police don't like homeless people.
4) The most agressive, rude, selfish, pushy, panhandler makes the most money.
5) Things own you, more than you own things.
6) The buddy system is priceless, if you choose a good buddy.
7) People who are not and never have been homeless cannot understand what it is like.
8) Some people prey on the poor/homeless.
9) The world is largely safer than the media makes it out to be.
10) Bums care more about each other and share more with each other than members of the middle and upper classes.
11) Most of the things I knew about Bums previously to being a bum was wrong.
12) It get's easier to be homeless every time you do it. Practice makes perfect.
13) Most people are so busy all the time they never actually get to see or think about their life.
14) All authorities, cops, Doctors, Priests, Actors, Cool Writers, Comedians, Teachers, etc. are just as full of shit as you. Authority is a consensual hallucination.
15) People throw away a lot of food and other perfectly usefull items, rather than take the time to give them to those who need them.
16) The court system is for people with money. Jails, Prison, and Mental Wards are for those without money.
17) Anything edible tastes great if you are hungry enough.
18) Social workers, for the large part, are completely useless.
19) People do not trust the poor.
20) Homeless shelters are degrading, humiliating, dirty, overcrowded, and do not have the capacity to help individuals. After your time is up you are back where you started: On the street.

Poem: Yet Another Anti-Depressant

Trying another anti-depressant; Paxil.
Warned that I may be sleepy the first four days
I thought, "yeah, right."
But I've felt like shit on a stick all day...
I think it is day 2.
Like a sleepy Zombie again.
It is so fucking hot,
these anti-deps never work good.
They just make me incredibly dopey.
Also my stomach hurts a little dully.
My hands are cut up
and my writing looks funny.
Can't write anything good.
Me think Paxil for stupid heads.
Poo-poo brains pee-pee pee-pee's.
Can I make it four days?
We'll see...
(I doubt it)

Poem: My Poor Mother's Pain

"I thought I was doing what I was supposed to do, as a woman, as a wife."
My Mother says,
as the guilt in my stomach clenches,
making me the worst person on earth.
"My Father died when I was so young," she goes on,
"I never learned how a woman was supposed to act towards a man. I was doing the best I could. I'm so sorry."
I accept her apology and feel like slime for ever blaming her,
for ever hating her.
But I was just a child,
how could I have possibly known
she was innocent?
All I knew was
I didn't want my Father to hurt me anymore
and she was supposed to have
that power.

Thoughts: Lessons I Learned as a Child

1) Whenever possible avoid telling the truth. Truth leads to beatings at worst and shrugs at best.

2) My opinions and feelings do not matter to anyone.

3) Never tell anyone what goes on at home. It's the worst thing you can do.

4) If I endure terrible treatment silently I wil be rewarded with toys and money.

5) Promises to me do not matter, they can be fullfilled or changed at any time, for any reason. Promises that I make, however, have to be fulfilled or I will be hurt.

6) I don't deserve to know the "truth."

7) Loking good to your neighbors and the outside world is more important than how you feel or how you are really doing.

8) Whenever possible to get away with, it's O.K. to cheat with money a little. Like buying a discount movie ticket you don't deserve or cheating on taxes.

9) No one would save me from my family and abuse. There is no escape ever.

10) Adults are most often petty, stupid, mean, selfish, greedy, and terrible at dealing with each other and the world at large. I can't wait to be one so I can slap the fuck out of my father and tell everyone else to "Fuck Off!"

11) My parent's divorce was my fault (They both confirm this to this day, although Mom sometimes changes her mind momentarily).

12) Even as far as adults go: Mine are exceptionaly vicious and stupid.

13) Teachers care more about disciplined behavior and repitition than actual learning.

14) I was often blamed successfully for acts I did not commit and nobody ever stood up for me. This taught me that I would always be in trouble no matter what I did.

15) Doctors and Psychiatrists do not care about helping you, they care about money and their "theories."

16) Money is easy to get.

17) Friends can help, but only momentarily, you always have to go back to your family alone.

18) Something called "genes" and my "family tree" said I was almost guarented to become an alchoholic or drug addict (whatever the heck those are!) when I grew up, unless I never touched the stuff.

19) My Mom liked my Dad more than she like the idea of neither Her nor I being beaten and yelled at by Him. Or she was just a big coward. I couldn't decide.

20) My Father didn't love or even like me. I was the worst part of his life and avoided him as much as possible (He confirms this to this day).

21) My Father was the best Lier in the world and no matter how much truth I told, people would always believe his lies instead of me.

22) Sometimes you just get punished for no reason at all, even if you are doing really good.

23) By controlling all information released about me to my parents, I could lesson the number of beating I got. Information is power.

24) Entertaining guests is very important. More important than me or my feelings.

25) The outside is everything, no one cares what goes on inside a person.

26) Buying T.V.'s, Roses, Stereo's, and a car, makes up for breaking dishes, slashing car tires, and other abuse.

27) I could depend on my family for pain and misery only. For everything else I was on my own.

28) Drinking alchohol was more important to my father than my mother and I.

29) Hide anything of value and write diaries in code. Your room will be searched constantly and your diary read. I have no right to privacy.

30) Dad counts every cent in his change jar (I should have remembered this oone ten years later).

31) No matter how old I got, I was never too old for a beating from my father or emotional torture from my mother.

32) Adults act stupid at parties.

33) Everything dies. Mostly pets killed accidentally by my mother.

34) My parents would rather have my school Priest tell me at Mass in front of the entire school that my dog had died, than have a heartfelt conversation with me.

35) If I'm going to get beaten to matter what I do... well, then, "Fuck it," right?

36) I can manipulate my mother into buying me things because oh her guilt. She knows that she is wrong for letting Dad act like he does. I might as well milk it. Toys are all I have.

37) If someone has to be beaten, I would rather it be Mom than me. It's her fault for staying with him (Ouch, I know, but it's what I felt at the time).

38) Girls like me... and I like girls!

39) I can meditate all by myself and get away from all the crap.

Thoughts: My Oldest Friend Goes Bust (Part 3 and Finale)

... So in all truth I had hand written 23 more pages of this drivel analysing every minute aspect of my friend and my relationship over the years since the very begining.

Although I like to document all my feeling and writing... for this I said, "it's not worth it." I threw the pages on my dinner fire and watched them burn. For whatever his reasons he has chosen to go his own way and I will go mine. My only wish is that he had been man enough to say it to my face, rather than cowardly and hiding behind a lie.

Good bye old friend and good luck.

Thoughts: My Oldest Friend Goes Bust (Part 2)

He says to me mean things, designed to hurt, shame, embarrass, and mostly to secure his superiority. In fifteen years I cannot remember him being truly humble. On the contrary, his ego has grown. Is this Why he attacks me? I, the lone witness to his transformation from scared boy forced to find his way in the world alone... to scared adult, surrounded by expensive toys and tools. By "friends" who go out with h im, never truly caring about him at all. To them he is a tool. Literally, to be used for his skills, but that is all he is to them.
There are at least one or maybe two friends of his who would actually piss on him if he was on fire and he knows this. He's admitted it to me flatly and wondered where to find true friends and lovers in this world. Except for me, of course, good old Jane Doe. When did it start to change? When he worked in the Presidio and got me that room there, might have been near the point. Dad was giving me hell and certainly My Friend was no help there. He rarely did try to help when things went wrong. He was often just like, "your loss dude, want to play my new video game?"
So though he has no real friends, he destroys the best he has. Because no matter what he thinks, I was his best friend. I would have done time for him, I loved him that much.
One say he invited me to make cookies with him or jam or something at this kitchen he rented. I got excited and walked most of the way from the hospital. When I got there he didn't even let me inm the kitchen, told me he had plenty of help. Seemed like an oversight, but I got a very real feeling that he didn't trust me in the kitchen. I don't know why.
Then again he mentions that he will be gone for a week and he would let me hang out at his place during the day if I fed his rats. Because I was homeless this was very exciting to me, it wouuld have been a very cool blessing... but, at the last moment a change of plans and it wouldn't be me, it would be another friend of his who I'd never heard of. Why him instead of me? I didn't get it at the time, but I was hurt.
The fact that I was now some lowley creature to him, whom he didn't trust, or even like, just tolerated. The showers he let me take made him smirk with pleasure, like he sadistically enjoyed my lowly societal standing. Or was it simply the owners of the rats who didn't trust me? I don't know because noone respected me enough to tell me.
He's been building up to this for some time, for a reason beyond me, but I speculate it's bald greed and insecurity about his self image. I threaten the lies he wants to create about himself because I know the truth. Maybe he was only keeping me around in hopes that I would get back with my rich Father and he could use that relationjship to his advantage. Now that he realizes that wont happen I'm useless to him.
He probably thinks of me as an anchor on him, holding him back, pulling him down and he needs to free himself from me for success, Ha! And maybe he's right. I have always grounded him in reality, perhaps he needs to fly off into Ego space, surrounding himself with Yes Men, throwing his money and work into some stupid money making scheme. Let him marry a manipulative shrew who will make him miserable for all of his days, because I wont be there to tell him the truth to his face.
He even referred to my years as a Junkie, blatantly implying that I was using it now. How very sad that he would be so evil. Where is all this venom coming from and why am I the focus of it?
One day he will catch the real theif, I hope. Then he will feel like the real jack-ass that he is. But he will probabl;y be too pompous to admit it to anyone (if he didn't make up the theft entirely).
This is what I get for... oh yeah, that's right, nothing. I didn't do anything and out of six people who were present my oldest friend fingered me as the thief. It's like God shat on me. And every time I write to him he replies like I'm guilty and he is my abusive girlfriend. I couldn't control any of these things, so all I can do is let it go and write it out for history to decide. I'd gladly tell my friend to "fuck off," but suddenly he's apparently offended by bad language and names, he told me. Ha ha ha. When did we turn into a pair of gay lovers? Or worse, when did I become his Employee? "How dare you use such language with me!" He says, like he is some big shit.
To be honest, I may even be able to forgive him, because this is all so stupid. A handfull of change? Jesus, I might forgive him if he apologizes for thinking I could do that and for not just asking me if I did it.