Summer musings.

There comes a time when I have to look at my priorities. This is one.

For the last two years, I have resisted monetizing this place with ads. That was not what my poetry deserved, I felt, to only be here to make money. But, those two years have been spent on the streets, in the shelter and foothills, homeless. No job in the offing, I'm finding it tougher to hold out against even the tiny revenue stream, hopefully enough for a cup or coffee a month, that doing so might bring in.

I am also tired of nothing moving in the job front. People acting like a homeless-jobless guy needs a reason beyond needing a job to work some place, or even deserve a fair shot at work. Yeah, its depressing, but I fight it off, day in, day out. Writing, even in spurts, helps.

Right now, I wonder if society even wants me around, having been insulted by some college kid who got in a fight with another homeless guy earlier today in the library.

Look, if I really was a scum bum, wouldn't I be doing drugs or drinking my days away, instead of writing?

Hell with it. Society has its issues with me, I have issues with it. That ain't gonna change anytime soon.

I'm headed out to have a pipe of tobacco, sip my coca-cola, and dream of hot coffee in my cup tomorrow morn, if I live through the night. After all, I have to sleep around those stoners and drunks, all seeking fights, or worse abusing substances that fire off my allergies horrendously. Eventually, the day I have to use the Epi-pen I carry will come. The question is, will it work in time?

Who knows, save God, and he ain't tipping his hand lately. Not that we've played a game of crib in a while either. Maybe that is the answer, set up the board, deal out the hand and see if he comes down to shoot the breeze and fight a peg war or six.

Just one last thing. Pass me on the street, remember it could be you... here but for the grace of God you could walk, hold that cardboard sign, or pass out on the sidewalk.