Celebrating Bad News Milestones

Sometimes, you just have to laugh at the bad news in your life.

Take today. Four companies who I applied for positions back in September to December just had a race to see who got to be Job Rejection #2000, emails flowing in over a 45 minute period.

And, that started me to howling in laughter. I'd left after that milestone, to pull out my January royalty money, all 4 bucks and some change, to buy an ounce of pipe tobacco to deal with reaching this dubious mark, and when I got back, lo and behold, the other three emails were there.

First, it was just a chuckle, then I lost it, and started howling with laughter, which jars many folks nerves, over this debacle.

Okay, not the sanest response. Or is it? Look, at least I'm not grabbing a hatchet and seeking fame as an ax murderer, no, I'm just trying to do my best Joker laugh, without the accompanying mayhem that villain wrecks upon society.

And, deep down, this is funny. You see, it means that jobs I was passed over on, I am still considered as the fall back guy if the ones chosen fail to prove out. This means, yes, that things are not as clear and dry as they seem on all these rejections. Yeah, I could still snap the losing streak, but does this mean things will improve? How the hell would I know? I'm just the punching bag for the economic downturn, or one of them, at least.

So, if you hear my horrid laugh, realize there is a reason. Let me alone as I smoke a pipe in the last few good hours of weather this week, and find my center again. Then, back off, and let me figure out what goal to set next. Should I offer a free ebook of my poetry to the HR flak who rejects me on time #2500? Write the next set of interview givers into a tale, complete with my equivilant of a red shirt on the original Star Trek Series? Maybe offer to never write the person who hires me into a tale or poem?

Yeah, I'm feeling quirky, after this milestone. If nothing else, at least I was considered for 2000 jobs seriously, by polite companies, as I lost track of the times I watched the resume find circular file 13 before I got out the door when dropping an application in person.

Wait, maybe the real need is to write some fool into a tale who causes job rejections. Is there a Job Rejection Fairy? Or did the Fey folk farm that out to their lesser pixie kin? Is it a goblin, or some recently evicted troll, pissed over his bridge crumbling to the point that the local code forced him out from under it?


Yep, Life gives you lemons, slice them up for mixed drink side pieces. If only I could afford some rum and coke to go with them.

Insert your own image of me sticking my tongue out while making a weird face. I'm too busy laughing to do it myself.

A summary of my failures and successes...

So, sitting here this morning (several before this appears here), coughing and snorting as my allergy hell cranked up last night, I'm reflecting on my successes and failures at writing.

The success column adds up fairly fast, just a few things...
1. A short story in an anthology that is available in print and eBook form.
2. A drabble (100 word story) in an anthology eBook.
3. A short op/ed piece in an eMagazine.
4. Two poems printed in an obscure local paper hawked only by the homeless... but at least they saw ink and paper.
5. A blog that has been lighting up the last year, finally, as my perseverance paid off. Thanks to those visiting, bigger thanks to those who return or steer others to here to read poems, stories, or even my other writings.
6. did it mostly on my own, no real editors or beta-readers. Save the op/ed and the short... which still did not get much in the way of edit applied.
7. had a month where what I earned by pen kept me from flying a sign to survive. Not much, but I had my tobacco and coffee money, even enough for a couple of burgers between food bank visits.

Failures? Yeah, there are many... most were just personal goals...
1. Never got to finish the poetry collection. Still might make one last effort, but fear without a pro touching it for formatting, poems will still be very choppy in appearance.
2. My favorite poem still languishes with few hits... those reading this can use the favorites side bar to the right to choose to read "Deerboy on a Bicycle" and turn that around.
3. Never finished the edits on the stories I tossed up on the blog here, and over on Billenius and Scorpio blogs. My anger got the better of me, when my ears started burning, and the words doing it got back to me. Should have kept my temper, probably, but hell, I can start over on new projects to rebuild, if I get a chance.
4. Exile's Road really should have seen ink and paper... again, my impatience was at fault there... not so much impatience to see it out there, but the impatience over "fix the knife fight". Dude, most knife fights I've seen were over before I noticed someone on the ground. One to six stab/slash moves, all done high speed, by one side only, usually. (few folks have the guts to face another person who is also armed, and ready to dance.)
5. Never getting those Steam-punk stories fixed... they were good. And I think with some loving attention, I could have fixed them to at least the level Billenius's tales have.
6. Never moving on to "Words from the Curbs and Under the Bridges" a collection of poems and writings I planned to set out some of the issues and problems I saw during my time homeless.
7. Too many tales I had small starts or ideas on that got nowhere... or languished in hidden spots on my hard drive... found now only as I start a clean and back up move to clear this dying laptop for storage with friends. Sorry to those characters, for failing them.
8. Wish I'd finished the tales that you got only the starts of on the blogs... Blade of the Eagle Clansman, Predator's Ground's re-write, Payback War, Black Banner Red Banner, and some others. Wish I'd done that edit all the way through on Journey to Freedom, smoothing that tale out more, and moved on into Seas of Treachery and Waking the Stone Gods, been able to fix The Knife Has No Forgiveness, finish up the elemental demon saga for Scorpio... done more edits to Paths of Damnation, Chain of Sorrows (you'll see the parts I felt okay sharing come December, just to show I had something up my sleeve...). Lots of things started and never finished, partly from frustration at the job search failing (you need money to live on while starting a writing career) and partly from just being me...

Gray areas? Yeah, there are some... but that fog those things lie in leaves me hoping them move to the green column on my spreadsheet, or at least get me past skunk corner on God's Cribbage Board.

Does that spreadsheet of mine balance? How should I know, the jury is still out... and I may never know, unless things turn around in these final days amid a failed and broken society. never mind, that is something I need to save for my few rants against the way we are as a nation and world.

Well, Not sure what else I can say, other than hope you still read during this winter hiatus.. enjoy the stuff I have canned and queued up to fall on the blogs during it, Hope I come back with a better attitude towards myself, and the world, willing to pick up my "pen" and write once again.

Sitting here, just waiting,
the thoughts come again.
Am I so wrong?
Too demanding of speed
from a logjammed society?
The answer is probably
a firm, shouted yes.
Look through my eyes,
and that answer changes.

Four long, damned years
tint my strong views
on Society, Life, Fate
and many other things.
Eight Thousand plus applications
for jobs never gained,
roadblocks tossed before me
on alternate monetary paths.
Judge me not harshly.

I've taken my licks,
been kicked aside often,
and yet I rose,
dusted myself off brazenly
or tentatively, few times,
and dove back in,
to get my punches
tossed into the fray
my life has become.

Now, tossing in towel,
not just threatening it,
everyone seems so disgusted
but fails to see
my spirit is spent.
I've tried it all,
lied in those interviews
saying I would change
or told honest truths.

Few see my soul,
a barren desert landscape,
parched for some reward,
financial, spiritual, or other.
Instead they see "Quitter",
where really, there lies
a fighter who just
needs time to rest.
Free of any burdens.

So, enjoy the tales,
share poems you like
even after I'm gone.
Support those I followed,
offer a hand gently
to those still panhandling
and realize the truth.
There are two sides
to everyone's life story.

Now, I've got a tomato to eat,
so leave me in peace, smoking my pipe...
as I regroup and regenerate.

17September2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Notice to those thinking I was just being a lazy bum the last few years.

The next two weeks, you get both barrels, nearly every project, as far as they got, though truncated in two cases, and some of the gems I was sitting on.

You don't write this much, to sell, waiting to build name recognition before tossing them out, or cut-off at the knees by a lack of support in the back up plan for surviving, without some serious, hard work. Research and effort both went into each work, so bite me.

But, at the same time, a Tip of the Hat to the few friends, on-line and real world, and one family member who stood beside me in the writings.

Call me late-for-dinner, but never call me lazy. My only laziness is in refusing to drive on, after all, it is hard to write over the pains starvation cause you to suffer. Let alone, the worries about the computer being stolen while you sleep, be it in the shelter or on the streets. Damned thing is too fragile now to suffer over another winter out in the cold, or I'd have held out on these, finished them and sent them off.

Commentary I wanted attached to "The Shelter Kid's Walk"

Hi. I'm Dave, and I'm homeless, jobless, and not seeing an end to it soon. But this is not about me.
This is about the things being this way have opened my eyes to, issues we as a Society need to unite to fix. Left and Right, Democrat or Republican, set those labels aside, folks. This is about being good people, honest stewards seeking prosperity for our posterity. Not just the ones we created, but the kids of those around us.

The worst part of being homeless is not lacking shelter, the ever present threat of death, the fear of being robbed, or any other. At least not among the ones I know best.

We look at a certain street here in Salt Lake City, Utah, and say this: "Who concocted up this damned fool idea". But, as the homeless are only represented by proxies, often self-appointed folks who either knew homeless people or suffered a stint themselves, or just well-meaning do-gooders who only see actions they take, not the results, this never seems to percolate out to the rest of you.

Those who have visited or know Salt Lake probably have heard the tales and warnings about the place I have come to call "Hell's Block", the area where much of the homeless services are concentrated, around the Road Home Shelter, the Bishop Weigand Center. and the St. Vincent's chow hall. South Rio Grande Street, the 200 block. Also known as "Crack Alley", even though now the use of this new "synthetic marijuana" called on the streets "Spice" or "Spizzle", has taken over that area's addiction issues.

The problem? Simple. That concentration of troubles on that street draws the worst there as well to offer the dark side of homelessness. Addicts, dealers, and all the other issues like street prostitution, theft, and violence, right at the door to the shelter used by, yes, families with kids.

And to make matters worse, during the winter months, that chow hall doubles at night as the "Drunk Tank", to give some shelter to those of the homeless who get too intoxicated for admission into the shelter itself. So early evenings and first thing in the morning, all the problems of addiction and crime seem to be right there, for those families and kids to weave through as they seek aid, try to get to school, or just come in or out that door after a day away from "Hell's Block".

How bad is it for these families in the "Emergency Overflow" and "Intake" process that are housed there? Let me give you a sample, from my very own eyes, and guided in noting everything by one of the drunks, a guy who I call a friend, who is just as outraged at it. Yes, some of the drunks hate having the kids exposed to it, and think this is an abomination before God.

New Year's morning, we headed down there, to catch a ride to one of the churches that provides a day long meal gathering to aid the homeless, as most of the services there, including the chow hall, don't function on some holidays. That bus picked folks going there up in the worst place of all to wait. On the spit covered sidewalks of the east side of Rio Grande, across that lane, and it really is that when you consider the amount of jaywalking foot traffic, street using pedestrians trying to avoid the clusters around those selling and using drugs, and the fights that boil off the sidewalks onto the arena floor of that paved way.

Right at their door, to either side, lay those either too stoned to stand or unconscious from their usage. flopped out on the sidewalk, which, though wide, gets very narrow due to the press of folks there all day, seeking free hand-outs or just waiting to get back into the shelter or tank. In the quarter of a block (and blocks, for those not familiar with Salt Lake, are a bit longer than normal cities here) they must weave through five more clusters of the upright and prone users and dealers, all while avoiding one of the female homeless who is doing a near stripper walk (sans disrobing, but she busted all the pole dancer moves) seeking to sell her body for a share of a high, or one of her own, I could not determine which. Then there was the small turf war over who got to sell on that side of the street, and the fights evoked from those who had yet to pay for some high or another. Again, was that a dealer, or fellow user he argued with, as they drifted into the street posturing for a fight?

That was just to get to the cross walk, often ignored by those who turn onto Rio Grande headed south, where accidents are fairly common. Once across, you have two mobile addicts doing various searches for "snipes", butts of cigarettes and joints tossed aside once used, for that little bit of a free high or smoke those provide, one guy doing the "tweaker", or meth-head, "Spin-cycle" gyrations, and another bent over as if touching his toes, but unable to decide if what he sees is real, wrapped deep in the hallucinations and mini-seizure twitches that mark users of spice. All this while walking through what I have termed "The Drog" a narcotic smog, that permeates that air there nearly all hours of the day, save the most bitter or stormiest. Just to get on a bus to a free feed.

They have to deal with this every damned day. Even to get the kids on the school buses, to head the three long blocks to the free clinic for help, cross the street and back from the Weigand Center for other aids provided there, such as vouchers for clothes, transit passes and the like, or just get them out to some where else to play. An atmosphere so foul, in language, aromas of filthy people who have not washed clothes or selves in weeks, vomit, the smokes of all sort, the normal inversion smog most of the valley floor deals

Deadlines and Dropdead dates - A commentary on my Life.

It sucks, but I have to set these again.

yeah, things are not holding up. A job offered fell through on their end, I cannot gain any traction in writing, as folks keep discouraging me from doing the eBook, if it means spending money on it to get it formatted, and then, I keep finding the guy in the mirror looking away, disgusted at how I sell my soul for some things in life, lacking the spine to say: "Take me or leave me, just do it fast."
Stop blocking my one path left for showing I have desire to make money, folks, let me move on, prepared for bad times, so they avoid me instead of lingering over my days like some conjured up thunderstorm of doom.

So, here are the deadlines.
To survive, I need a job, soon. Like, starting before September 29th.

October 1st, I'm back out on the streets, actually, into the wilderness this time, and the hell with ever coming back for another try at joining a broken society that bitches about the homeless and jobless not being productive, even as they snub them on the jobs they put in for.

On that date, if no money is coming from any source, I walk away. Period.

Ya'll wanted a five year plan? Screw that, here's a much shorter one. Give me a rope to pull myself up with, or hang by, either way, do something world. You can't, then don't bitch when you stumble across my planned hermit hole, and leave me alone, like you did when I asked for your help in being one of you, which cost me a lot, in the way of sacrificed beliefs.

14 September2014 - Dyfedd Rex of the Frayed Faith and Patience.

Another plan unravels

Yet again
the Fates reach out,
scissors shredding my plans viciously,
before the weaver snarls the tapestry
my life has become lately,
into a matted thing
of ruin.

Driving on
as I always do,
I push my limits harder
trying to find a way safely
to appear as a conformist
yet keep my soul
from rebelling.

Five years.
That is the issue
I have to dance around,
as I have no meaningful goals
that others would respect now,
after the last years
of troubles.

Some how
I have to balance
the things others dearly cherish
in making everything be charted before
you set out down roads
less traveled, Frost said,
with beliefs.

It's tough.
Damned near impossible, really,
when you remember I'm not
some schmuck with not skills left,
but a guy who wants
just a simple job
these days.

Never planned
my life in minutia
the way so many others
do in plans, goals, or riches.
No, I prefer the respect
of the reflection looking
out mirrors.

Surrendering finally,
I make one out
over on my rant blog
to see how it flies now,
and if folks will salute
to such a path,
or sneer.

Nor sure
I want to possess
such a damning measuring stick
for my life to be evaluated with
but folks feel I need
such a bloody thing
and soon.

Read it.
Tell me it works,
or where it bloody well
breaks your mind about my potential.
Just realize, I'm already compromising
by holding back replies
used before.
12September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, who feels he's selling his soul in doing this. Read it over on the Private Island Kingdom blog, Click on "My Other Blogs" tab at the top of the page, then read down to find "Five year plans".

Why I write - A commentary on Life, Myself, and Society

This blog, the tales and poems on it, and the few times I rant and rave about things, all have purpose.

They get me through the travails Life tossed my way, the hurdles the Fates, evil wenches they are (sorry, ladies, but those three gals, no matter which Incarnations you chose, are wenches, serving up dishes oft better left untasted), lay on my path, and the many frustrations stemming from the seemingly (to me, and others in similar situations) excessive application of Murphy's Law to events affecting me.

I write to keep my sanity, to vent frustrations and hopes both. I write to show I won't give up, that I will find some way out, no matter how much rubble, trash, and other offal get thrown into this pit I'm in, cause I'm just too ornery to totally quit. Step back to regroup, maybe. Stand aside while assessing a situation, definitely time to write, just to see if what rolls out has an answer or that analysis gives you a better understanding of the wasteland I stand in.

And this is a wasteland. A place where Society has tossed aside members to, ignoring their concerns and the reasons they fell from grace. I see the dirty underbelly of our Nation, and it ain't pretty. In fact, the sight is mighty revolting. Not just the rampant crimes, garbed in clothes with blue and white collars both, but the foolish ideas, blind ambitions that drive us into bad situations, and worst, the pure, uncaring hearts of stone that so many have, while spouting words of Faiths that condemn that very attitude.

We can be better. All of us. You, me, our kith and kin, our neighbors, even our enemies and allies. But we fail to see where we can improve.

For me, it's all about the attitude. After over 8000 (yeah, let me emphasize that a bit, that is EIGHT THOUSAND, not a typo) job applications over the last four years, more than required to obtain the benefits many survive such a stretch for a period via Unemployment checks, I'm still trying. Yes, I often tell folks now I have a bet with myself that writing will start giving me money to live on before a job materializes, but that is just my pessimism talking, not optimism. That part of my attitude makes me keep tossing resumes to the winds, trying to find a steady job to live off of, instead of wandering away as I often threaten.

How does writing lift that optimism. Simple. Each view of this blog, and my others, tells me folks do care, might cut me enough slack to get a shot at rising back up, and best of all, it lets me take out frustrations, instead of on real folks, upon characters and words, to relieve the tensions between my ears and shoulders, that ache for some release. It also reminds me, each time I get a sale, a hit, or even just a comment, that I have skills never tried, ones just getting their first real shots as these fingers do their dance across the keys. A slim opportunity to use those skills to haul myself out.

So, don't laugh at the writers. At least they keep trying, plodding forward with determination and grit so many lack, who start something, or only talk up an idea, then let others do the work for them.

I'm here, I'm still trying, and will keep on writing, until the cold fingers of some destiny I have no clue about close on my throat, fingers, eyes, and mind, to rip me down as worm fodder.

So, lead, follow, or preferably, get out of my bloody way. If you don't, well, we writers have another form of revenge. Writing you into a tale, then claiming the resemblance is purely coincidental (that coincidence being you irked me just as I needed a character or event in a tale, and thus got immortalized in verse or prose). Or, better yet, to poke fun at you, and remind you that Satire is protected speech, and has a long, great history of being an agent of change.

So, tonight, when I write, don't laugh. After all, it might be something you'd enjoy, either reading yourself or watching others read, just for their reactions. And remember. I write to show I am not dead, not broken, just frazzled, but still slogging onward, to some goal I myself have no clue about, but it's out there. That, and to shut up the characters that my dreams and daydreams seem to keep spawning, having a fairly fertile imagination.

28August2014 - Dyfedd Rex

Keep That Pack On, Son. - A poem of the Streets.

Part of being on the streets,
is accepting the darkness of souls.
Not just of others, but yourself too.
Such is not easy, nor truly safe.
A person who gazes upon darkness
without the safety of distance
too oft finds themselves embracing such.

This is true of all, even me.
Here on the streets, my prejudices rise.
Allergies explain just a bit of it,
leading to my disdain for drug addicts,
even as I feed my own dependence
on coffee, colas, and nicotine.
Things I view as far safer.

That gloom that lies on the Homeless,
much of it is fed from without,
but nearly as much rises inside you
as you begin to doubt yourself,
your skills, your beliefs, and lose the way
that you have walked for so long.
The demons of the street are many.

Have I been tempted to crime?
Yes.
But I steer clear of most of it,
save the occasional early morning jaywalk,
to reach a restroom before suffering
the indignity of a public relief.
And other things call too.

Here is a thought, though, for fools
who mock those who walk the streets.
You are but one mistake from joining us.
And we, each of us, but one right decision
from being heroes to someone.
Like that kid this morning I passed,
under my full load of packs.

He took back his own from his dad,
and said rather proudly and loudly...
"he's got more, and still goes on, Dad.
So I should carry mine too."
Left a smile on my face.
Put a pep in my stride, beyond pride.
I had to hold up my end.

Which is what Life is really about.
9 June 2014 - A humbled Dyfedd Rex.

My personal politics prove problematic.

Too many feel I must toe

the lines of the Two Parties

or be just another apathetic voter.

This leaves me convinced others are

but fools who dance to drums

beat by demonic beasts who control

the world through their strange rhythms.

I rarely speak of them, lately.

Tired of ridicule over walking paths

others cannot see as valid beliefs.

But, they are my firm convictions,

not those of shadowy kettle masters,

who seek unison of oar strokes

to drive forward their own agendas,

making others feel they are theirs.

I hold that we have failed

the promise of the American Dream.

We lack the spine to choose

true servants to the Civil Order,

setting over ourselves a foul over-class,

Masters who speak with forked tongues. 

Mine is the way of Conservation,

of faith, not just petty wealth.

I am a social libertarian, and yet

I feel the need for accountability.

Mine is the view of few,

none out there hold many beliefs

that call me to a poll

to cast a vote for them.

Instead, being homeless, jobless, and surviving,

the path I walk is... detachment. 

Until one rises up as champion

for those things I have spoken,

none deserve my support, money, anything. 

I shall not defend this stance.

I see no need to, now.

Society kicked me one last time,

so I get the message carried

in that boot tip so wickedly.

You, America, are a failure, now.

And I should have stood up

long before now to say such. 

Now, I weigh my options, carefully.

Do I write off all people?

Walk off into the beckoning mountains,

never to walk amid such fools?

Or do I make a stand?

Pondering on this will take time. 

9June2014 - Dyfedd Rex, who is not dead, just been thinking. 

The Ultimate Terrorist - A bit of Fried Food Day Satire

You might think that as a member of the Homeless Community, I fear the gangs and addicts hanging around us, slinging drugs, stealing stuff, and the like. But it ain't so.

I still fear the one branch of criminal activity we will never control. The mafia so determined to win, even Al Qaeda and the Sicilians sit in awe over their perseverance. Terrorists to us all, capable of far more dollar damage at the individual level than anything short of a natural disaster.

And this morning, I detoured around the long way to check on the local branches of this foul organization, wondering what dark thing they plan next. What I saw sent shivers of horror down my spine.

The Wild Ones are nearing that time of year, when they wreak havoc on us all.

They're up there, watching for their moments. All the branches and chapters.

The most aggressive stand just inside the cemeteries, ears twitching as they choose targets. Occasionally one lowers his or her head, tossing it about while pawing the grass, before calming down, head still low, eyes narrowed, ears tilted back. The others look at them, trembling as they know what was said.

"Dibs".

And thus the fate of yet another poor motorist is sealed, as some buck, doe, or foolish fawn claims the right to ruin our day, choosing our car to take with them to the "other side".


Saw it this morning. That old buck with the graying muzzle, looking around at the young rivals and deciding he was done, then glancing through the fence towards the road. He's looking for his target now, the car to claim as his headstone or monument of destructive suicide. Might take a while, he seems picky about who to inflict the insurance claim upon. Might even wait for better weather, and a chance for a convertible.

Yes, Deer. And you know they are pissed off when they reach out to their allies and cousins to make matters worse.

It's organized, believe me... and when they feel you are beneath worth, they'll taunt some foolish pronghorn or armadillo out onto the pavement to collect their rightful due for them. Sometimes a fat raccoon or other beast gets conned into taking the fall for the events. They love to watch your shocked expressions, frantic braking or swerving, and revel at the satisfying "Bang-Crunch" noises that follow, especially if they can survive unscathed, and rack up a tally before heading to the Happy Grazing Grounds.

Worst is when they call upon the ultimate enforcers, seeking vengeance on even the largest vehicles. Ol' Uncle Bullwinkle and Cousin Wapiti smirk at the mass, lean in a shoulder and take on even semi's, just to keep us all on our toes.

All this, just for racing through their turf, those neighborhoods called "Rural", "Urban-(blank) Interface" or "Open Space".

And you have to watch out for their own Black-And-Whites:, the most feared of all. The little demons that issue tickets even without stopping you, or any contact. God help the poor driver following that minivan with the health-conscious mom that tosses out the half finished pack of donettes... the buggers smell that rich, chocolate caked pastry from miles away, diving in like TV cops on a box of full-sized donuts, tail raised to let all know, you interfere with our investigation of this littering, we will tag your vehicle beyond redemption of several power-washes. And no make or model is safe from their vigilance, even the light rail trains carry the citations they issue, as any nose can tell.

Yes, beware the Wild Ones.... the ultimate terrorists, who can dive through windshields, serve their own home search warrants and against whom there is no legal recourse!
Take heed, folks, those critters are up to something, their "Chatter" is up....

Inversion's Hallmark - A Poem of Weather and Environmental Concerns.

Came down the hill this morn,
looking towards the full moon oft,
and saw that evil calling card
telling me the Inversion's digging in.

Above the Coffee Roaster shop's roof
the smoke rose only twenty feet
then flattened out across the skyline
marking the boundary between air masses.

This is Winter's worst bit here,
that cold pooling in the valleys,
trapping in exhaust with the fogs
to make the foul smog shroud.

No longer do the mountains appear
in the distance for your enjoyment,
as that blanket of filth thickens
with the sun's move to West.

Even just blocks away veils form
along Salt Lakes broad main drags,
leaving one to wonder if snow
seeks to erase the world here.

At least, so far, the fog
has not spread into town much.
But that will come pretty soon,
as the pattern looks to hold.

Thin haze towards the foothill's slopes,
and that murky, brown gunk blocking
the middle distances speak a ton
about the air's bear trap hold.

Wonder if it's time again, friends,
to wander towards the bench tomorrow
and walk down slow with dawn
amid the veils of this city.

It will get worse later on,
and layers of air will form
like a smog triple deck sandwich
within the valley's wide, urban bowl.

Some hate it, even while enjoying
the slopes at the resorts above
being warmer than way down here,
when they sneak out for recreation.

Others complain about the air quality,
seek to limit the pollution sources.
Me, I just deal with it,
as another bad thing to survive...
...happy to wake up still alive.
17January2014 - A rather irked Dyfedd Rex, who almost thought his glasses were dirty, until others confirmed the Urban Haze is building.

An Update I Never Thought I'd Post

So, this is just an update on life for this guy, and the strange ways and twists Life likes laying out for me. Nothing earth-shaking, no real changes to my status as an "unproductive" member of your foolish Society out there, just a step taken that gives me hope to end this Homeless crap on my terms, not the terms of those fools who think they know the ways to do everything.

What step was it? A strange one to have taken, quite honestly. I collected on a bet. A bet made with myself and society about my writings and job search. One I am not really happy to have lost, but that makes me proud. You see, it proved that I knew what I was saying last year in interviews. I kept telling folks, over and over in them that "Personally, as my writing is at last taking off, I'm betting I see money from it before I get a paycheck from any jobs I'm interviewing for. Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if you prove me wrong."

And, in the end, I was right.

Saturday, I collected the bet from myself, in the form of a milk shake, as where I was at did not offer root beer floats.

Yes, something sold. Nice, cashy money is headed my way.  I will make a formal announcement later this month, directing folks where to look for it. Once all the details are locked in.

But, I won. I was right, everyone else once more was wrong. Not taking pride in that. Just saying that you all might want to listen more to me, hear me out. I am not insane, folks. I just have a brain that runs about twice as fast as most folks, and can see things many ignore. I see the obstacles, prejudices, and red-tape issues that hold down the homeless and unemployed far better than you can, in your cars and job sites. My eyes note things you overlook, or dismiss as trivial, until they break your nose slamming into your own faces.

I'm finding it sad, really, winning this bet. It means you out there actually don't give the south end of a north-bound rat about actually ending these issues. So, I'll keep writing, and still toss out job apps. My voice will be raised even more over the next few weeks and months about the ways you use to keep those on the bottom of your Society held down. Words will be written now more carefully, not from fear of reprisals, as before, but to maximize their impact on your over-inflated egos as you sneer at me, eyes firing dirty looks along the slopes of your noses. And I will keep trying to get more stories out there for cash, assemble that collection of poetry and try selling it as an e-book, and carry my packs with pride, not shame. For that load I bear, much like those metal links born by the dwarves in mys stories, are my Chain of Sorrows. Ones I will lift to back knowing this. They mark the price YOU make others pay in part.

Yes, YOU make me, and the other homeless, bear this kind of burden. Too stuck up to hire a homeless person? Then accept the fact that to survive, we will be there, on those corners holding cardboard signs, rummaging through ash trays and gutters for "snipes", as we call those cigarette butts you toss aside with only  a puff or two left, and lingering about waiting for that opportunity to rise up once more.

Sure, not all of us want out. But why hold down those who do? Scared that one with hunger and cold nights so close to their present moment will make you look bad? Fear that we will do as some who you lift up act, and rob and assault those holding out the hand? Yeah, there are bad apples. Even in the barrel you live in now. Folks who preach the "Rule of Law" but fight at following it with lead feet when behind a steering wheel, lazy buttocks that refuse to leave their couches to shovel the snow off their sidewalks as required by those Laws, and those who walk the blurry regions between Legal and Criminal in their business practices and personal ethics. I think you have more to fear from the person in the next cubicle than the homeless person that might need a job mopping your floors.

 And the next bet I'm making is forming even now. I dare you to make me forfeit on it. Double-dog-dare-ya even.

This fellow is now wondering and considering laying a steak dinner on whether writing is his way out, as he has mentioned in the past, over seeking normal employment. A fancy one, say at a real steak house, not some Village Inn or Denny's. The kind that comes with a cocktail to enhance the pleasure, not a milk shake.

So, Society, you willing to take me up on this one? Or, are you all still freaking out that I was right, and you were wrong before?

Be nicer if the bet was not with myself, but some one else.

New Year on Hell's Block - A poem of the streets, maybe a declaration of war.

Yesterday, I gambled,
today I pay for it,
but hold forth news many should heed.
For before noon yesterday morn
I walked there....
Hell's Block.

It lacks boundaries,
ebbing and flowing with seasons,
and the counter currents forced on it
by the locals and cops
as they fight...
Hell's Block.

A war lost
each day though few see
how the battle raged before their eyes
and which were victims or
the perps on...
Hell's Block.

My definition lays it out
as a broader zone than most
for I now say it takes in
every lot under that narcotic fog
I've come to call "Drog".

Watched twenty minutes
maybe a tad bit more
how dealers operated brazenly along Rio Grande
Cash flashing, calls to passer-by's
of drugs on...
Hell's Block

Watched the denizens
who get the free pass
lie against the walls stoned beyond action
or do the various dances
oft performed on...
Hell's Block.

Antics that revolt
not just the one observing
but the ones impacted more personally there
along that lane between services
for saving in...
Hell's Block.

You cannot decry losing parks
when you never made serious efforts
at the root causes of the troubles
in your war on narcotic substances
that this place proves lost.

Worst thing seen
during both passes through there
was not the derelicts laying amid filth,
the "new hooker" doing her strut
seeking clients amid...
Hell's Block

No, brace yourself.
For the only innocents there
are the children forced into these dangers
cause none want homeless families
anywhere but on...
Hell's Block.

And of those,
some are already lost forever.ta
Scarred by what goes on around them
that even kids are champions
at cussing on...
Hell's Block.

And I hold some blame
for not standing up before now
about the things seen before I left
angered at the failures of Justice
when it came to me.

Ask yourselves, honestly.
Should those kids be there?
Amid the drunks, drug dealers and users
who you all shoved there
seeking to contain...
Hell's Block.

Why hold out
so many helping hands now
during the season of holidays running together
and yet disappear from sight
when violence rocks...
Hell's Block.

And why force
those who probably were not
part of those making that filthy mess observed
yesterday along South Rio Grande
clean up on...
Hell's Block

Yes, the drunks were forced
to sweep up the stoners messes
and women and men handed shovels, brooms
to clear off that disaster left
from the revelries of others.

And already rumbles
reach my ears beyond bounds
of the place most mark as problematic
as the angers boil over
reaching out beyond...
Hell's Block

Congratulations to those
who thought of this idea,
you managed to fan the war's flames
amid the violence already there
along sidewalks of....
Hell's Block

I'm not saying
that the effort is wasted
but there you failed to see clearly
those dividing lines between camps
down there on....
Hell's Block.

But in the long run
will any actions taken be enough?
For there are still victims mentioned here
who ain't being lifted away safely
before their own corruption comes.

And none see the problems
as well as the homeless themselves
who never get a seat at discussions
of the problems they all face
save by proxy from providers...
with their own little agendas
for that place...
Hell's Block.
2January2014 - Dyfedd Rex, ashamed there is a kid knee-high to a grasshopper down there with a fouler mouth than his when irritated, wishing he had more than words to offer to get that young one out of it.

And yes, I am seriously thinking of going before the local councils and reading them this, and some other parts of the "Riot Act" type stuff.

update from the cold streets

I hear the complaints, not just about the weather, but conditions down on Hell's Block, as I call the area, just north of the old Rio Grande Station, and south of the Gateway Shopping Mall.
Sandwiched in there, lies the Road Home Shelter, St. Vincent dePaul's and the Weigan Center. Where all the homeless get herded, by cops so burnt out from dealing with the druggies they don't care that concentrating the population that way worsens the situation.

Today, many told me to stay the hell out, find some hole up in the foothills or somewhere else, to hide from it all. They talked about the roaming of the 'shoppers', those tweaked out on drugs so tightly, they cannot sleep at night, just roam about the insides of those places, seeking something to steal to fund that next high. Or of the ones that still kept seeking that high, smoking away inside the building, even in the dorms, not just the halls and bathrooms.

This is why I hide away. With my allergies, I'd be committing suicide going in that place. Even the worst of the regular crowd walk in fear of which of these drug-addicts will snap first, or next as some say some have, and which innocent by-stander or guy in the next bunk will be the victim of their violence.

Hell's Block, made with good intentions, the same as pave the road to the Infernal Gates, is not a good place, so stop trying to force me there, folks. I'd rather not be forced into filing charges of attempted murder against those agitating for such a move. Given the massive number of nights I had to walk out of there last winter, covered in hives, itching with troubles breathing, I'd say one night would send me to hell this time around.

If only those trying to do good with that place would look at the effect it has on the victims it racks up each year, day by day, and seek another way, maybe it might work. The ones I feel the worst for are the kids forced in there the first few nights their families are homeless, until they get a place in the family shelter or emergency housing. Why expose children to that? What the dickens were you all thinking about, given the number of pedophiles, rapists, criminals, mentally disturbed, and addicts circling like vultures, seeking new prey. Let alone the dealers, street fences and thieves.

The words of the victims down there, those seeking to get out, but held up by some portion of the Rule of Law so many here tout, tell a grim story. Open your  ears, folks. It ain't all roses and teddybears down there.

Walking Into the Fray Once More - A poem of job searching while homeless

Blanketed in white snow,
veiled in white to brown smog
the valley hides today
from my wandering eyes, torn away
from the job search
just starting back up once more
over my better judgement.

Wrapped in dark shadows
made of fear and some sadness
I try once more
to find a way back in
to a cold society
that only seems to value money,
over heart and pride.

This is how today
plays out in my strange life
as the cold pools
in the deep inter-mountain valleys nightly
leaving the place chilled
until the sun rises above sawtooths
of central Wasatch Front.

Yeah, I said it.
I'm trying once more to find
a job to lift
this tired old body of mine
off these cold streets
and back into someplace to call
a home for myself.

Not thrilled about it.
This will take tons of time
wasted efforts will abound
as some just don't understand ever
that only True Way
to end the Homeless Problem is
to give them jobs.

But, try I will,
until the will at last fades,
sapped by colder hearts
that refuse to see their idiocy
at turning their backs
on those in such dire need
of a way out.

Sad, really, I say.
That you don't look in mirrors
and see your souls,
eaten by the worms crawling within,
that destroy by hatred
the one thing so many preach,
that thing called... Forgiveness.
Not to mention, Mercy.

16December2013 - A pensive and productive Dyfedd Rex.

The Addicts - A Poem of the Streets

Mistaking their DT's
for chilly morning shivers,
you'll see them bundled up,
even those rare warm Autumn days
when the mercury rests higher
than their coats indicate
as they wander.

You know them
by their dirty blankets,
folded around them like skirts,
or turned into full body sheaths,
looking like grey mummy wrappings,
or a zombie's tatters,
our drugged undead.

These are the ruined souls,
spoilers for the we few
who avoided Addiction's siren song.

They wander about
twitching for many reasons;
some still riding their highs,
others crashing into detoxification's danse macabre
as their night of using
catches up to them
with a vengeance.

Mistaking their intentions,
you'll cross the street
or shift off onto grass
avoiding their haunted gazes while passing
their antics and angry displays
trying to avoid them
but still failing.

These are those cast aside
by even the most pious
for heeding Narcotics' damning call.

Some wander steady,
others stagger about slowly,
never given a moment's notice
until they collapse from severe reaction
to their dark, personal demons
in some public place
during daylight hours.

A rare few
manage with stuttering steps
to move about the park
despite levels of intoxication rarely seen
outside their own little cliques
surviving it, means unknown,
despite tempting Death.

They are just lost souls,
seeking some dark, strange release
from the pains of Life.

Many younger ones
live only short lives,
seeing this lonely, homeless life
as their long, fun, final party.
Which leaves me to ask:
Why is this so,
who crushed hope?

Even older ones
see naught but fun
in this dark ballet performed
upon the cold, bleak cement ways.
It's just a long celebration
as they slowly descend
into another Hell.

They are fogged in wanderers
drifting about amid Drugs' murk
No purpose, besides scoring highs.

There's no answer
to ending this shit.
Forgive that word, but realize,
it's the only one that fits.
For what else says it
about lives torn apart
by various Narcotics?

They are lost,
perhaps still with chances
to break their dark cycles
of abusing various substances each day,
but lacking a reason to,
or failing to see
their approaching deaths.

These are your lost children,
siblings, friends, maybe even parents.
Lost by lack of care...
...from a callous broken Society.

30September2013 - Dyfedd Rex

Work for that Money, Congress! - A poem of protest about Congress's lack of will to actually do their job!

Once more they fail us,
having no fear of punishments
for their misdeeds and follies.
This is the government we deserve,
for our apathy and own stupid acts.

Once more they leave us
hanging around to see if they can
at least find common ground
on one small thing: a budget.
But only their own raises matter.

Congress is a filthy word
a place of fools and thieves
setting out to bilk us all
of our own hard earned cash
to feather their beds a bit more.

One last time I speak out,
and tell you how to fix this!
Amend the Constitution, Folks!
Make it so they don't work
then they don't get paid...
.. just like most of us!

25September2013 - a Thoroughly Disgusted Dyfedd Rex.

Misuse of Impressive -

"Your skills are certainly Impressive.."
just don't pay the piper,
as the job search continues
for permanent place in society
and a return to stability.

Impressive is not the word
you really should use there.
Stop stroking my broken ego,
and build it up instead
by laying out job offers.

If I really made impressions
besides in the psychic ground
they would not be shaped
like that famed Coyote's form,
despite my affinity to him.

At least the stray cats
loan me a few lives,
or a bit of agility
to land on my feet
despite the spills I take.

This is the daily pain
as the homeless guy tries
to get back on track.
You fight through the depression
to stay positive about Life.

So I write my stories
to channel the pain away
into a safe emotional dump.
But still I keep trying,
with those immortal military words....
   ... "Eff it, drive on."

15May2013 - Dyfedd Rex (Still trying)

Bad Limericks about fools in Congress...

I may be homeless
I may be jobless
but I will win the pool
about whose the lesser fool
against any member of Congress....


Take away Congress' pay
and when they holler hey!
Remind who really works
that most folk don't have "perks"
Then evict, cause they can't stay!


I still say, take away their paychecks folks.... If I was this irresponsible, I'd get sued by the company as well as fired.