Monday, July 4, 2016

If You Ever Thought Your Vote Counted, Try Homelessness

A whole lot of armchair politico-ing going on, but it’s still a million miles from justice
Daily, the job of a social worker is to inspire, to show the way, pave some sort of less bumpy path, enlighten, mentor, listen to, value, drive, serve, formulate, plan for, seek money with, engender kinship, provide case managing, and reflect upon the lives of some amazingly resilient survivors.
This is not for the faint of heart or weak in the head sort of person who believes in some magical Disney World of One-Day-I-Too-Will-Find-My-Fairy-Godmother story.
I have been working hard on all fronts, including writing my biography, or in my case, sort of a strange anti-memoir/multiple form story about what it is to be me, with me, around me, and inside me, through the looking glass of the dynamic people I have lived to learn from and places I have visited to dream about.
Terminal Velocity — Man Lost of Tribe. It’s a weekly attempt at 30 parts, 30 weeks, of some vision or fugue of some part of my life, or my anti-life.
Here, the Preface over at LA Progressive: Terminal Velocity.
It’s surreal though to be doing something creative like that, working on other writing projects, and even contemplating a book release, while still on the streets, talking to ex-heroin addicts who have no veins left in arms and legs, who did their last series of mainlining in veins in the forehead before coming clean, who have a hobbled walk because all nerves are damaged in feet and whose gaits are…
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