So I honestly think I lost count! LOL
Tonight when I check into my homeless shelter (UGM) I will figure out the count, since they keep miticulous track.
But, yeah, I am still homeless. Yesterday was a bit of a frustrating day. There is a lot to talk about. But, a lot I think I need to keep in.
So I will.
So yeah, yesterday was a very fruitful day. Usually, around this time music typically pops in my head and I psot a song of how I am feeling. But, today the only music I feel are the ones that the over teh counter cold medicine has not alleviated, and the ones of my feet.
Blisters, everywhere. I have never seen so many blisters on my feet! They are rubbed so raw that I swear it looks like a foot sufferring from leprorsy. Hm ...
I need to go sit some palce warm and fight this cold.
Peace.
Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
.. [ day twenty-four ] ..
I have to be honest. When I go to the Urban Rest Stop, I feel like I am in a Five Star Homeless Shelter.
Where is there justice, if I am not deprived of humanity?
Peace.
Where is there justice, if I am not deprived of humanity?
Peace.
Monday, August 27, 2007
.. [ day thirteen ] .. todays news makes me sick -if you develop some form of feel good legislation that does exactly the thing that creates the crime
Today's newspapers have on their front page huge spreads about two subject matters: "imprisoned, unprotected", deals with sexual abuse at the SeaTac prison; and "Teacher in sex case lost jobs before Tacoma, Lessons not learned".
Both, garnishing huge front page spreads sitting here in my morning writing station emotions pass by me that evoke tiredness to all the desensitization I am forming towards hearing about all these crazy sex cases. When I read the articles I became instantly upset with the information written about. Not the issues, but the fact that many of these articles are dehumanizing about what appears to be a real issue at hand, that rape, as a form of fortunately forbidden sex, sells news papers. With rape laws being so broadly brush stroked we are finding what was once based on circumstance is now based on prosecutorial discretion.
Lets review all the news in the last few days, news about some disturbing guy from Washington, who may be back on his way to Washington, who went to California preached about his not illegal views (not old news of course for even South Park has done a similar skit for a different group). But, this guy got run out of that state and is on his way somewhere and people on the net are trying to do a GPS internet style track of his migration. Then on Friday, I can not leave out the news about the guy who in Florida has been given the death sentence, his father was a catalyst in some of the changes in law as of late. But, a role model not, since amongst other things, his own past and his youngest sons present has proven that sex laws written to broadly can possibly make a mess out of what once was a prudent restrain from overzealousness.
I have to admit, for the first time in over a year, I dug into my pocket and paid the .85 cents to buy these papers. But, what does this all have to do with the plight of my homelessness?
Well, actually a lot, for one - and this may be politically incorrect to say - but in my limited and judgmental opinion I do not see a plight in homelessness. For in my case of homelessness, I am only inconvenienced by having to walk from one shelter to another in order to shower and being bombarded by Christian values. Besides the fact I find myself surrounded by so many people who appear to have mental health issues, and apparently no place to live, I see the rest as being no different than the regular customer who in my pasted visited my cafe for a cup of coffee, an hour or two of Internet, and a warm place to sit during a bad and long Portland rainy day. From the drug addict perspective, I find very few here and in fact saw far more coming down addicts in jail. There of course is a drug addict issue, especially some who are homless, but that issue to be is completly distinctive than the occassional drug addict or alcoholic who stays at a homless shelter.
What I see do see here, are people who have serious mental health intervention issues, who have may have always been homeless and ex-cons! This sounds like a mental health crises and a penological abuse issue wedded together and packaged as a form of governmental housing plight to me.
I am strong believer in organization's like ATSA who in a 2005 was advocated about and provided sourcing about the creditability and repercussions of Residency laws:
'The Association for the Treatment of Sexual Abusers, as their website says, "is an international organization focused specifically on the prevention of sexual abuse through effective management of sex offenders." It lists its goals as: "Elimination of sexual victimization. The protection of our communities through responsible and ethical treatment of sex offenders. The prevention of sexual assault through effective management of sex offenders. The maintenance of high standards of professionalism and integrity within its membership." Its website, which is choke full of interesting information, is here. Check it out.' Published an Amicus Brief on the issues surrounding homelessness and sex offender's which include, ""Sex offender residency statutes increase the risk of harm to children." The main reason is that residency restrictions increase isolation, unemployment, depression, homelessness, and instability, which are risk factors for sexual offenders to re-offend. It's worth pondering: if those who treat sexual offenders are opposed to residency restrictions--if they argue that such laws put potential victims at greater risk--why would states pass these laws?
You mean why would state or government agencies provide the very triggers that make people oppressed? Then say they are protecting there people? As one Senator in this state said, "it makes people feel better?" Well, with all due respects, if this state has created feel good legislation that not only persecutes but prosecutes people who are accused of sex crimes, and these "solutions" make people "feel good?" then aren't you in fact perpetuating the very same triggers that make people prone to commit the crimes?
Isn't this a form of the same same logic used when this state adopted the "constructive possession laws"? Which hold you accountable for everything and anything that could be in your possession without you knowing? Transferring the logic in this case to if you develop some form of feel good legislation that does exactly the thing that created crime, you should not as well be held accountable?
I have seen homelessness in Brazil, India, Shanghai, Korea, Thailand, Colombia, Mexico, and throughout Europe. Although, I did not go there as a tourist or as a humanitarian. I went there on business, lived in 5 star hotels and turned my usual blind eye to who lived in the squalors below my lavishly decorated and services windows.
But, what I did see was true homelessness. Homelessness not propagated by a governmental organizations attempting to gain power over its ward, or people who chose drugs over paying their landlord, or dealer, or people who distrusted their "payee" and went homeless in defiance. Or what I think more disturbing people who post Regan's dismantle of the social mental health system where lost or put into prisons, perhaps the people I am seeing here today are the fallout of these very same governmental programs? But in these many third world countries I am starting to visit the idea that quite possibly maybe I saw something in many ways more humanitarian?
What I saw was a way of life. A life that wasn't self perpetuating for it was a born right. A right in many countries inescapable. People have often asked me of all the countries I have been to which one was the most memorable? I immediately answer with the same Country; India. Then I immediately explain why: 'I think I admire the people the most, for I saw something I will never forget. I saw a true classless society built into a caste system.'
I know that may not make sense, but let me explain my point. In a classless society, Marxist theory, everyone is the same, and in India there was no question the poor knew their position in life, knowing very they could not move easily from it, I saw what I think was peace, A peace you never see in the average American. I not only saw this in many people living in cardboard boxes next to brand new American corporation buildings, which I often looked out from onto the people, but I saw this in the Corporate people who shuttled me around, who were of the other caste group. I saw their maids and house keepers happy with their ability to serve their employers. (Something I remembered dearly when my own grandmother used to come home from work wearing the maid uniform she wore working for a local doctor).
I was extremely saddened by the homeless kids running around pretending they didn't have tongues, trying to gain sympathy from me so that I would give them a dollar or two (this being 1999 I only had to pay chauffeur's $3 a day to drive me around all day). Although these young eyes always moved me to sympathy, I never gave them a cent, taking the advice of a fellow traveler in Brazil, that kids who beg like this often take money back to their boss's who protect them. Instead, I smiled at them spoke English to them, recognizing they most likely knew English, and got them to laugh by teasing them by making a joke about myself, "What you think I can't tell you don't have a tongue, and I am a stupid American?" Which of course would elicit a response, a response that they shouldn't have given me if they didn't know English. Then I'd tell them, "See your a smart guy/girl take that to your books, and you will not have to beg from a crazy American like me." With a smile, that let them know I knew their game, but wouldn't tell.
Even though, I knew Brazil was not India, I knew that if children where doing this then there had to be an adult encouraging the activity. In fact this was confirmed by the driver when I asked him why so many kids do this, his reply 'Because, most Americans give them a $2 to $3, that is the same amount as you pay me for a days work."
One of the reasons I love this cafe I am at is that often I can hear some of the music I love. For example, as I am writing this entry I have just been taken back 25 years to 1982, the first concert I have went to post Born Again Christian and my Coming-out! The song "London Calling" by the Clash. The song of my rebellious coming-out youth.
Peace.
Both, garnishing huge front page spreads sitting here in my morning writing station emotions pass by me that evoke tiredness to all the desensitization I am forming towards hearing about all these crazy sex cases. When I read the articles I became instantly upset with the information written about. Not the issues, but the fact that many of these articles are dehumanizing about what appears to be a real issue at hand, that rape, as a form of fortunately forbidden sex, sells news papers. With rape laws being so broadly brush stroked we are finding what was once based on circumstance is now based on prosecutorial discretion.
Lets review all the news in the last few days, news about some disturbing guy from Washington, who may be back on his way to Washington, who went to California preached about his not illegal views (not old news of course for even South Park has done a similar skit for a different group). But, this guy got run out of that state and is on his way somewhere and people on the net are trying to do a GPS internet style track of his migration. Then on Friday, I can not leave out the news about the guy who in Florida has been given the death sentence, his father was a catalyst in some of the changes in law as of late. But, a role model not, since amongst other things, his own past and his youngest sons present has proven that sex laws written to broadly can possibly make a mess out of what once was a prudent restrain from overzealousness.
I have to admit, for the first time in over a year, I dug into my pocket and paid the .85 cents to buy these papers. But, what does this all have to do with the plight of my homelessness?
Well, actually a lot, for one - and this may be politically incorrect to say - but in my limited and judgmental opinion I do not see a plight in homelessness. For in my case of homelessness, I am only inconvenienced by having to walk from one shelter to another in order to shower and being bombarded by Christian values. Besides the fact I find myself surrounded by so many people who appear to have mental health issues, and apparently no place to live, I see the rest as being no different than the regular customer who in my pasted visited my cafe for a cup of coffee, an hour or two of Internet, and a warm place to sit during a bad and long Portland rainy day. From the drug addict perspective, I find very few here and in fact saw far more coming down addicts in jail. There of course is a drug addict issue, especially some who are homless, but that issue to be is completly distinctive than the occassional drug addict or alcoholic who stays at a homless shelter.
What I see do see here, are people who have serious mental health intervention issues, who have may have always been homeless and ex-cons! This sounds like a mental health crises and a penological abuse issue wedded together and packaged as a form of governmental housing plight to me.
I am strong believer in organization's like ATSA who in a 2005 was advocated about and provided sourcing about the creditability and repercussions of Residency laws:
'The Association for the Treatment of Sexual Abusers, as their website says, "is an international organization focused specifically on the prevention of sexual abuse through effective management of sex offenders." It lists its goals as: "Elimination of sexual victimization. The protection of our communities through responsible and ethical treatment of sex offenders. The prevention of sexual assault through effective management of sex offenders. The maintenance of high standards of professionalism and integrity within its membership." Its website, which is choke full of interesting information, is here. Check it out.' Published an Amicus Brief on the issues surrounding homelessness and sex offender's which include, ""Sex offender residency statutes increase the risk of harm to children." The main reason is that residency restrictions increase isolation, unemployment, depression, homelessness, and instability, which are risk factors for sexual offenders to re-offend. It's worth pondering: if those who treat sexual offenders are opposed to residency restrictions--if they argue that such laws put potential victims at greater risk--why would states pass these laws?
You mean why would state or government agencies provide the very triggers that make people oppressed? Then say they are protecting there people? As one Senator in this state said, "it makes people feel better?" Well, with all due respects, if this state has created feel good legislation that not only persecutes but prosecutes people who are accused of sex crimes, and these "solutions" make people "feel good?" then aren't you in fact perpetuating the very same triggers that make people prone to commit the crimes?
Isn't this a form of the same same logic used when this state adopted the "constructive possession laws"? Which hold you accountable for everything and anything that could be in your possession without you knowing? Transferring the logic in this case to if you develop some form of feel good legislation that does exactly the thing that created crime, you should not as well be held accountable?
I have seen homelessness in Brazil, India, Shanghai, Korea, Thailand, Colombia, Mexico, and throughout Europe. Although, I did not go there as a tourist or as a humanitarian. I went there on business, lived in 5 star hotels and turned my usual blind eye to who lived in the squalors below my lavishly decorated and services windows.
But, what I did see was true homelessness. Homelessness not propagated by a governmental organizations attempting to gain power over its ward, or people who chose drugs over paying their landlord, or dealer, or people who distrusted their "payee" and went homeless in defiance. Or what I think more disturbing people who post Regan's dismantle of the social mental health system where lost or put into prisons, perhaps the people I am seeing here today are the fallout of these very same governmental programs? But in these many third world countries I am starting to visit the idea that quite possibly maybe I saw something in many ways more humanitarian?
What I saw was a way of life. A life that wasn't self perpetuating for it was a born right. A right in many countries inescapable. People have often asked me of all the countries I have been to which one was the most memorable? I immediately answer with the same Country; India. Then I immediately explain why: 'I think I admire the people the most, for I saw something I will never forget. I saw a true classless society built into a caste system.'
I know that may not make sense, but let me explain my point. In a classless society, Marxist theory, everyone is the same, and in India there was no question the poor knew their position in life, knowing very they could not move easily from it, I saw what I think was peace, A peace you never see in the average American. I not only saw this in many people living in cardboard boxes next to brand new American corporation buildings, which I often looked out from onto the people, but I saw this in the Corporate people who shuttled me around, who were of the other caste group. I saw their maids and house keepers happy with their ability to serve their employers. (Something I remembered dearly when my own grandmother used to come home from work wearing the maid uniform she wore working for a local doctor).
I was extremely saddened by the homeless kids running around pretending they didn't have tongues, trying to gain sympathy from me so that I would give them a dollar or two (this being 1999 I only had to pay chauffeur's $3 a day to drive me around all day). Although these young eyes always moved me to sympathy, I never gave them a cent, taking the advice of a fellow traveler in Brazil, that kids who beg like this often take money back to their boss's who protect them. Instead, I smiled at them spoke English to them, recognizing they most likely knew English, and got them to laugh by teasing them by making a joke about myself, "What you think I can't tell you don't have a tongue, and I am a stupid American?" Which of course would elicit a response, a response that they shouldn't have given me if they didn't know English. Then I'd tell them, "See your a smart guy/girl take that to your books, and you will not have to beg from a crazy American like me." With a smile, that let them know I knew their game, but wouldn't tell.
Even though, I knew Brazil was not India, I knew that if children where doing this then there had to be an adult encouraging the activity. In fact this was confirmed by the driver when I asked him why so many kids do this, his reply 'Because, most Americans give them a $2 to $3, that is the same amount as you pay me for a days work."
One of the reasons I love this cafe I am at is that often I can hear some of the music I love. For example, as I am writing this entry I have just been taken back 25 years to 1982, the first concert I have went to post Born Again Christian and my Coming-out! The song "London Calling" by the Clash. The song of my rebellious coming-out youth.
Peace.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
.. [ day ten ] .. is there really this much to say?
Walking to my after 4:45AM wake up call cafe, where I create my mornings day BLOG, I had to poke at the people who are now my neighbors.
Fellow street/homeless people.
Many still bundled next to store windows, or next to their grocery cart, I can not but help wonder what their lives where before we became neighbors? Many give me the appearance that they are either drunk or coming down from high.
But, not all.
Some appear to be homeless. I couldn't help but notice two events.
1: Walking near my destination I noticed a person walking their older Labrador retriever? When I looked, and made eye contact with the dog, smiling as I always do, I couldn't help but notice his sad eyes. My smile quickly faded to sadness, and questions of why is this dog so sad? Sometimes looking at dogs I feel they can tell me a story. I have a dog who lives at my mothers in Arizona, away from the crazy life in and out of jail fighting DOC I have here, and often I would look at him and feel he could tell me through facial expressions, something. Sometimes I expected him to talk back, but was always self assured I was still sane, when he did not!
2: I have gained a small belly! This is horrifying! I have traveled the world, literally, and in none of the third world countries I have visited have any of the homeless had bellies!!!!!! Give me the skinny - stop feeding me! No wonder they only want money!
Peace.
Fellow street/homeless people.
Many still bundled next to store windows, or next to their grocery cart, I can not but help wonder what their lives where before we became neighbors? Many give me the appearance that they are either drunk or coming down from high.
But, not all.
Some appear to be homeless. I couldn't help but notice two events.
1: Walking near my destination I noticed a person walking their older Labrador retriever? When I looked, and made eye contact with the dog, smiling as I always do, I couldn't help but notice his sad eyes. My smile quickly faded to sadness, and questions of why is this dog so sad? Sometimes looking at dogs I feel they can tell me a story. I have a dog who lives at my mothers in Arizona, away from the crazy life in and out of jail fighting DOC I have here, and often I would look at him and feel he could tell me through facial expressions, something. Sometimes I expected him to talk back, but was always self assured I was still sane, when he did not!
2: I have gained a small belly! This is horrifying! I have traveled the world, literally, and in none of the third world countries I have visited have any of the homeless had bellies!!!!!! Give me the skinny - stop feeding me! No wonder they only want money!
Peace.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
..[ night nine ].. Armani anyone?
Sitting here outside St. James Cathedral, I just happen to see a man that reminded me of a customer of Heaven. K named him "Armani", and his name fit his choice of clothes.
He was always sharply dressed with Armani suits, cowboy hat and boots. After coming to the store for several months, almost everyday, he approached me and asked if I wanted to buy a $1000 Armani jacket for $200.
Looking at the label , it in fact was an Armani jacket. I was like dude, why are you selling me that so cheap? Are you tired of wearing it or something?
"No I am homeless and I wanted to get something to eat." Shocked, I didn't pry anymore. "Well I tell him," seeing that the jacket was obviously brand new since it still had the labels attached to it I told him, "I am sorry but you l can give you a coffee and a sandwich, but I am not into labels, OK?"
He was a steady customer and when he came to buy a sandwich and a coffee he was always very entertaining to talk to, one day he even brought a series of girls to do a photo shoot. (Now that was a story in itself!)
Always smartly dressed, very tall and handsome, I admired his willingness to stay looking clean and respectful, never guessing him to be homeless.
Speaking of suit jackets. I should probably take mine to the cleaners.
Peace.
He was always sharply dressed with Armani suits, cowboy hat and boots. After coming to the store for several months, almost everyday, he approached me and asked if I wanted to buy a $1000 Armani jacket for $200.
Looking at the label , it in fact was an Armani jacket. I was like dude, why are you selling me that so cheap? Are you tired of wearing it or something?
"No I am homeless and I wanted to get something to eat." Shocked, I didn't pry anymore. "Well I tell him," seeing that the jacket was obviously brand new since it still had the labels attached to it I told him, "I am sorry but you l can give you a coffee and a sandwich, but I am not into labels, OK?"
He was a steady customer and when he came to buy a sandwich and a coffee he was always very entertaining to talk to, one day he even brought a series of girls to do a photo shoot. (Now that was a story in itself!)
Always smartly dressed, very tall and handsome, I admired his willingness to stay looking clean and respectful, never guessing him to be homeless.
Speaking of suit jackets. I should probably take mine to the cleaners.
Peace.
Friday, August 17, 2007
..[ night two ]..Ofelia getting banned from Heaven
Tonight was a fascinating night of testimonies from at the DOC UGM revival, a group of what appears to be Mennonites, or more appropriately Amish, sung songs and spoke about the word of God. Goggling the term, I wiki learned that my use of the word Mennonites is pre-Amish, and being that I would be more considered a heathen than a religious historian, I will stop the reciting of 15 seconds of Wiki research.
During the songs I sat and closed my eyes and meditated. In my trance I kept migrating to my cafe in Portland, and for some strange reason beyond me, I started thinking about all the colorful people who came into the cafe. Like a hooker named “Ofelia”[1].
Kevin who was one of my first employees and at 19 possessed the unique ability of being able to size-up all of our customers, naming many with names that matched characters of books. Ofelia being one of these characters I never understood the appropriateness of the name until doing a yahoo search well after the name became common place. (This of course being before the ability to google or Wiki).
Ofelia was a hooker-crack head, who somehow developed a cli·en·tele amongst the predominately gay neighborhood to support her habit. She was in her mid-twenty's and wore sometimes scanty and usually wildly colored outfits. Her overall demeanor gave us the impression that she came from a wealthy family, but in my embarrassment to ask in fear of opening Pandora's box, we never learned where she lived, slept, her background or her real name. As it turned out, since we didn't have a black-list, other employees had banned her repeatedly from the cafe before I did, and apparently she knew that she could always just return on Kevin's shift.
I guess with a cafe named “Heaven” you should be hard pressed to mess with the cheat-codes of karma.
Ofelia was always well dressed and colorful. One of my favorite past times used to be looking at Mannequins in display windows. I often thought she would have been a great window dresser, you would surely never forget her windows. Besides being a hooker, she did manage to maintain the unfortunate, quickly degenerating look she had. The Mary Poppins quality about her, she had an effectual smile and had a demeanor about her when she was sober. Which up to this day was all I saw. Now recognizing why Kevin named her, "under the influence" she displayed a different behavior. One day while chatting with Kevin about her past, keeping in mind of course that "men don't gossip they chat", Kevin informed me, “Your joking right? You didn't see it, she is not only a hooker, but she was a 'crack-head', God Mike, sometimes your an idiot.”
Arriving early one weekend, from Seattle, for my weekend shift I began preparing some of the food menu we were beginning to develop. Blending a batch of our favorite Mexican Hummus, named after the wetback that was making it, Kevin in his usual manner whenever I arrived, was sitting outside the cafe taking his every hourly 15 minute cigarette break. The common small trail of customers during his shift began to accumulate. I noticed after a few minutes after my attempting to ignore the group, he cigarette- martini-break, appeared to have no influence over him. The customers, instead of appearing to be aggravated, began to filter into the cafe and starting setting up there laptops and begin working. I was impressed, it appears Kevin had trained them as well. He being a "rock-star" with the best trained ear of up-and-coming music, he was loved by most all our customers and it was impressive to see his regulars respond.
I being irritated, by this apparent aloofness, put on the black apron that signified a barista was in the house and began helping his customers. Beside, I knew it drove him crazy. In looking over his tip jar which he one day provided, a Bemis Sharps Containers, it appeared it had been busy for it was stuffed. Damn – him.
In my rush to help his customers, I could see that he was preoccupied with Ofelia outside, and his occasional glances inside appeared we was not satisfied with my impatience. “Remember customer service is always first in the service industry” mimicking the slogan ingrained into me as a teenage bagger at the local grocery in Phoenix where we were as well forbidden from taking tips.
Kevin, apparently now done with his cigarette, glided back behind the counter with his usual smile and what are you doing look.
"Kevin!”, I say looking at him when he finally gets behind the counter. “Oh you know you love it ... this song sucks, didn't you hear it skipping?" pushes me to the side to get at the Fischerspooner CD which was playing a skipping version of *#@¥¿. I guess in the end maybe he was right, I really didn't mind his laziness he was funny and as far as I could tell at least partially honest.
Our cafe was around 900 square feet on the ground floor, and 200 square feet of computer kiosks upstairs. I had a designer from Germany, K (Rocketworks Design Studio) who is an exceptional Urban designer who was commissioned to make one of most unique space age flying saucer chandeliers, a sleek concrete and scaled metal counters and mechanical lights that gave the Cafe a one of a kind high-end designer feel. His design gave Heaven and the two-single paneled bayed windows, which where twenty five feet tall, and the lower profiled but similarly windowed entrance, a unique Urban feel. Concrete, mixed with steel and natural wood, was European in origin and stark contrast to the typical Starbucks organic feel. The mauve and early 1900's architecture of the building, added to the charm of the cafe's, now stark but dynamic art gallery feel. With the Portland Street Car passing directly in front of it every 10 minutes, the up and urban town of Portland and its surrounding high-scaled hotels, gladly sent all their travelers to the only Internet cafe of its type in town. With a latte, customers where able to listen to some electronica, coffee and surf the Internet and every once in a while watch the entertainment of the area. Due to its art shows, it quickly became a highly controversial Graffiti Art gallery with often risky art shows, of only local artists.
Like Ofelia, Heaven was no exception.
Ofelia, during the slow hours, was often the discussion amongst fellow employees, with constant debate of whether she was homeless, whether she was raised from a wealthy family found drugs, instead of God ,and now was hitting rock bottom. As it turned out in the Summer of 2003, two years after opening, we at least got some of our questions answered.
During the rush of customers that I had helped, I didn't realize that the cafe had become full, Heaven had a huge WiFi customers base that began as soon as we opened the cafe in 2001. Being a computer nerd we adopted 802.3 networking as a novel approach of getting cheap bandwidth from the telecom hotel, across the street. It was a novel idea that gave us up to 11mB of bandwidth on the fly! As is it turned this very crowded day would get some human bandwidth to hoot!
“By the way,” Kevin tells me as we puts in a Peaches CD, “Man, Ofelia is 'spun-out' and I was trying to keep her outside, but she was telling me and reciting passages from the 'Pan's Labyrinth,' - she's amazing!” Instinctively, peering out the huge class panes, I can see she is still smoking and 'snap' like a photograph my mind, I know I am going to remember this day.
Finishing her cigarette I watch her begin to walk into the store and as she stands in the middle of the sea of open laptops nerds, hipsters and hotel types she stands as if she is waiting for her audience to recognize she is on the stage. Shakespearean like, in her short summer dress, her blond long hair pulled up into a seductive hair bonnet, she begins a rant of yelling by semi-squatting in a grand plie and begins, “look-looook” pointing under her dress, “look – look!” as I run from behind the counter, noticing through my peripheral vision, that she indeed has captured her audience, she continues before I can arrive, “in my p#$#, look in my p#$#, from there came my babies, came my babies in my p#$#” continuing to point and squat, looking at everyone, who are now all starring at her in mild horror, some with shock, others with sorrowful but refrained facial expressions, “look- look!!” as she tries to hold everyone's attention.
“Ofilia – Ofelia,” I command, “That's enough, no more, time to go home, stand up Ofelia, are you Ok. Ofelia?” In my voice I used to use when a child has been acting bad and for the hundredth and final-time-voice, I grab her arm trying to straighten her from the squat, hoping i will stop the now parakeeting words. “It's time for you to go home Ofelia, no-more.”
“Ofelia, do you have babies? Ofelia, are you Ok? Do you want to talk to someone?”
“Babies, from my p#$#”, don't touch me, leave me alone!” pulling her arm away from my loose grasp.
“Ofelia, it is time to go!” As glares and all eyes are posted on the spectacle, I see that the needs resolving fast. “Ofelia, it is time for you to go, I am sorry, but it is time.”
“No!, my babies!” as she begins here demonstration again.
'My god I can' believe this - am I in a movie?'
“Ofelia, No – it's time for you to go, or I am going to call the cops!”
“No I am not going – No you can't make me – No!”
“I am calling the cops.” As I reach to grab my cell phone and begin to dial 911, she rushes out of the cafe yelling, “I hate you- I hate you – my babies!”
Damn this is messed up!
Looking around and I can see most of the customers are back in their laptops. A few glance at me, making quick eye contact and then as if unaffected, return to their conversations. As I walk back to the counter, I make eye contact with a few, smile like a politician at a few others and then one appears he wants to talk to me.
Damn, where is that Bashas' play book? Searching through my memory database I remember nothing compared to what just happened. Except for maybe the one time I received a request from a male customer one Sunday morning who whispered into my ear, “hey you know where the condoms are?” At the time a 'born-again', and just turning 16, I had no clue what this guy what the guy was asking for. Turning to the female cashier, who I always enjoyed joking with, I asked, 'Hey, where are the condoms?', after the squirm and the funny looking faces from the both of them did I realize, 'condoms' are in fact 'CONDOMS'. Nope I analyze, that wasn't so embarrassing.
“Crazy experiences happen in 'Heaven' wouldn't you say?” Maybe Bashas' did prepare me!
“Well, I want to complement you, actually.” He continues, “Every time I come in here I see you interact with various customers, and I am always impressed with how you handle them all, you talk to them as if your like their fathers or their clearly not problems where other restaurants would automatically throw theme our, your stern but not, I could never do it, how do you have so much patience?”
Looking at the guy, I can not place him.
“Well, you know this is Heaven!” I quip! 'Humor – yeah – humor can get you through anything.' I say walking away, satisfied that I answered the only way I knew how.
“That's it Kevin, no more – she is banned!”
“Whatever!” he retorts, “You let all the crazy street people in here all the time, why not Ofelia, this isn't Starbucks! I left you a dollar in the tip jar. It's past 7.” Smiling as he walks out the door.
'Damn that Kevin!'
“Sir, do you want to eat diner, or are you here for 'sleep only'?”
Waking back up from my trance, and the end of Ofelia's demise, that didn't end that night but only after several months later, when she was found having stolen a valuable painting of 'Denice the Menace' I had commissioned and an employee of the Barnes & Nobles Coffee shop took it away from her bringing it back safely home the next day.
He told me that he could be a witness if I wanted to press charges? "Nah, I told him, it takes a village to help someone, even someone like Ofelia.
Peace.
[1] In "Pan's Labyrinth" the young girl, Ofelia, must race to against the time of an hourglass to retrieve a dagger from a child-eating monster.
During the songs I sat and closed my eyes and meditated. In my trance I kept migrating to my cafe in Portland, and for some strange reason beyond me, I started thinking about all the colorful people who came into the cafe. Like a hooker named “Ofelia”[1].
Kevin who was one of my first employees and at 19 possessed the unique ability of being able to size-up all of our customers, naming many with names that matched characters of books. Ofelia being one of these characters I never understood the appropriateness of the name until doing a yahoo search well after the name became common place. (This of course being before the ability to google or Wiki).
Ofelia was a hooker-crack head, who somehow developed a cli·en·tele amongst the predominately gay neighborhood to support her habit. She was in her mid-twenty's and wore sometimes scanty and usually wildly colored outfits. Her overall demeanor gave us the impression that she came from a wealthy family, but in my embarrassment to ask in fear of opening Pandora's box, we never learned where she lived, slept, her background or her real name. As it turned out, since we didn't have a black-list, other employees had banned her repeatedly from the cafe before I did, and apparently she knew that she could always just return on Kevin's shift.
I guess with a cafe named “Heaven” you should be hard pressed to mess with the cheat-codes of karma.
Ofelia was always well dressed and colorful. One of my favorite past times used to be looking at Mannequins in display windows. I often thought she would have been a great window dresser, you would surely never forget her windows. Besides being a hooker, she did manage to maintain the unfortunate, quickly degenerating look she had. The Mary Poppins quality about her, she had an effectual smile and had a demeanor about her when she was sober. Which up to this day was all I saw. Now recognizing why Kevin named her, "under the influence" she displayed a different behavior. One day while chatting with Kevin about her past, keeping in mind of course that "men don't gossip they chat", Kevin informed me, “Your joking right? You didn't see it, she is not only a hooker, but she was a 'crack-head', God Mike, sometimes your an idiot.”
Arriving early one weekend, from Seattle, for my weekend shift I began preparing some of the food menu we were beginning to develop. Blending a batch of our favorite Mexican Hummus, named after the wetback that was making it, Kevin in his usual manner whenever I arrived, was sitting outside the cafe taking his every hourly 15 minute cigarette break. The common small trail of customers during his shift began to accumulate. I noticed after a few minutes after my attempting to ignore the group, he cigarette- martini-break, appeared to have no influence over him. The customers, instead of appearing to be aggravated, began to filter into the cafe and starting setting up there laptops and begin working. I was impressed, it appears Kevin had trained them as well. He being a "rock-star" with the best trained ear of up-and-coming music, he was loved by most all our customers and it was impressive to see his regulars respond.
I being irritated, by this apparent aloofness, put on the black apron that signified a barista was in the house and began helping his customers. Beside, I knew it drove him crazy. In looking over his tip jar which he one day provided, a Bemis Sharps Containers, it appeared it had been busy for it was stuffed. Damn – him.
In my rush to help his customers, I could see that he was preoccupied with Ofelia outside, and his occasional glances inside appeared we was not satisfied with my impatience. “Remember customer service is always first in the service industry” mimicking the slogan ingrained into me as a teenage bagger at the local grocery in Phoenix where we were as well forbidden from taking tips.
Kevin, apparently now done with his cigarette, glided back behind the counter with his usual smile and what are you doing look.
"Kevin!”, I say looking at him when he finally gets behind the counter. “Oh you know you love it ... this song sucks, didn't you hear it skipping?" pushes me to the side to get at the Fischerspooner CD which was playing a skipping version of *#@¥¿. I guess in the end maybe he was right, I really didn't mind his laziness he was funny and as far as I could tell at least partially honest.
Our cafe was around 900 square feet on the ground floor, and 200 square feet of computer kiosks upstairs. I had a designer from Germany, K (Rocketworks Design Studio) who is an exceptional Urban designer who was commissioned to make one of most unique space age flying saucer chandeliers, a sleek concrete and scaled metal counters and mechanical lights that gave the Cafe a one of a kind high-end designer feel. His design gave Heaven and the two-single paneled bayed windows, which where twenty five feet tall, and the lower profiled but similarly windowed entrance, a unique Urban feel. Concrete, mixed with steel and natural wood, was European in origin and stark contrast to the typical Starbucks organic feel. The mauve and early 1900's architecture of the building, added to the charm of the cafe's, now stark but dynamic art gallery feel. With the Portland Street Car passing directly in front of it every 10 minutes, the up and urban town of Portland and its surrounding high-scaled hotels, gladly sent all their travelers to the only Internet cafe of its type in town. With a latte, customers where able to listen to some electronica, coffee and surf the Internet and every once in a while watch the entertainment of the area. Due to its art shows, it quickly became a highly controversial Graffiti Art gallery with often risky art shows, of only local artists.
Like Ofelia, Heaven was no exception.
Ofelia, during the slow hours, was often the discussion amongst fellow employees, with constant debate of whether she was homeless, whether she was raised from a wealthy family found drugs, instead of God ,and now was hitting rock bottom. As it turned out in the Summer of 2003, two years after opening, we at least got some of our questions answered.
During the rush of customers that I had helped, I didn't realize that the cafe had become full, Heaven had a huge WiFi customers base that began as soon as we opened the cafe in 2001. Being a computer nerd we adopted 802.3 networking as a novel approach of getting cheap bandwidth from the telecom hotel, across the street. It was a novel idea that gave us up to 11mB of bandwidth on the fly! As is it turned this very crowded day would get some human bandwidth to hoot!
“By the way,” Kevin tells me as we puts in a Peaches CD, “Man, Ofelia is 'spun-out' and I was trying to keep her outside, but she was telling me and reciting passages from the 'Pan's Labyrinth,' - she's amazing!” Instinctively, peering out the huge class panes, I can see she is still smoking and 'snap' like a photograph my mind, I know I am going to remember this day.
Finishing her cigarette I watch her begin to walk into the store and as she stands in the middle of the sea of open laptops nerds, hipsters and hotel types she stands as if she is waiting for her audience to recognize she is on the stage. Shakespearean like, in her short summer dress, her blond long hair pulled up into a seductive hair bonnet, she begins a rant of yelling by semi-squatting in a grand plie and begins, “look-looook” pointing under her dress, “look – look!” as I run from behind the counter, noticing through my peripheral vision, that she indeed has captured her audience, she continues before I can arrive, “in my p#$#, look in my p#$#, from there came my babies, came my babies in my p#$#” continuing to point and squat, looking at everyone, who are now all starring at her in mild horror, some with shock, others with sorrowful but refrained facial expressions, “look- look!!” as she tries to hold everyone's attention.
“Ofilia – Ofelia,” I command, “That's enough, no more, time to go home, stand up Ofelia, are you Ok. Ofelia?” In my voice I used to use when a child has been acting bad and for the hundredth and final-time-voice, I grab her arm trying to straighten her from the squat, hoping i will stop the now parakeeting words. “It's time for you to go home Ofelia, no-more.”
“Ofelia, do you have babies? Ofelia, are you Ok? Do you want to talk to someone?”
“Babies, from my p#$#”, don't touch me, leave me alone!” pulling her arm away from my loose grasp.
“Ofelia, it is time to go!” As glares and all eyes are posted on the spectacle, I see that the needs resolving fast. “Ofelia, it is time for you to go, I am sorry, but it is time.”
“No!, my babies!” as she begins here demonstration again.
'My god I can' believe this - am I in a movie?'
“Ofelia, No – it's time for you to go, or I am going to call the cops!”
“No I am not going – No you can't make me – No!”
“I am calling the cops.” As I reach to grab my cell phone and begin to dial 911, she rushes out of the cafe yelling, “I hate you- I hate you – my babies!”
Damn this is messed up!
Looking around and I can see most of the customers are back in their laptops. A few glance at me, making quick eye contact and then as if unaffected, return to their conversations. As I walk back to the counter, I make eye contact with a few, smile like a politician at a few others and then one appears he wants to talk to me.
Damn, where is that Bashas' play book? Searching through my memory database I remember nothing compared to what just happened. Except for maybe the one time I received a request from a male customer one Sunday morning who whispered into my ear, “hey you know where the condoms are?” At the time a 'born-again', and just turning 16, I had no clue what this guy what the guy was asking for. Turning to the female cashier, who I always enjoyed joking with, I asked, 'Hey, where are the condoms?', after the squirm and the funny looking faces from the both of them did I realize, 'condoms' are in fact 'CONDOMS'. Nope I analyze, that wasn't so embarrassing.
“Crazy experiences happen in 'Heaven' wouldn't you say?” Maybe Bashas' did prepare me!
“Well, I want to complement you, actually.” He continues, “Every time I come in here I see you interact with various customers, and I am always impressed with how you handle them all, you talk to them as if your like their fathers or their clearly not problems where other restaurants would automatically throw theme our, your stern but not, I could never do it, how do you have so much patience?”
Looking at the guy, I can not place him.
“Well, you know this is Heaven!” I quip! 'Humor – yeah – humor can get you through anything.' I say walking away, satisfied that I answered the only way I knew how.
“That's it Kevin, no more – she is banned!”
“Whatever!” he retorts, “You let all the crazy street people in here all the time, why not Ofelia, this isn't Starbucks! I left you a dollar in the tip jar. It's past 7.” Smiling as he walks out the door.
'Damn that Kevin!'
“Sir, do you want to eat diner, or are you here for 'sleep only'?”
Waking back up from my trance, and the end of Ofelia's demise, that didn't end that night but only after several months later, when she was found having stolen a valuable painting of 'Denice the Menace' I had commissioned and an employee of the Barnes & Nobles Coffee shop took it away from her bringing it back safely home the next day.
He told me that he could be a witness if I wanted to press charges? "Nah, I told him, it takes a village to help someone, even someone like Ofelia.
Peace.
[1] In "Pan's Labyrinth" the young girl, Ofelia, must race to against the time of an hourglass to retrieve a dagger from a child-eating monster.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
..[ day one ].. letter is to direct you to not e-mail any DOC personnel
"So your a quasi-whistle blower type?", a preacher type told me last night at my new UGM home. "Yeah, it sounds like they are punishing you."
Technically speaking, this is the beginning of day 2, since it is past noon, but it feels like day one. Maybe that is how it feels when you are homeless, everyday turns into one long nightmare.
Today, I received my final email from my CCO. I had to report to the DOC office at 8:30 am downtown. I guess I have to sign another new DOC imposed "directive." I can not imagine that anyone has more of these than I do!!!
This one states:
"Michael, This letter is to direct you to not e-mail any DOC personnel. We do not accept service of paperwork via e-mail. If you have any concerns or issues to discuss, please do so with me in person or over the phone. As you are aware, you are free to use the grievance procedures at any time to contact my supervisor via a letter or the phone to discuss issues you feel you can not resolve with me. Sincerely, ..."
So when I went to sign the letter with my usual M signature, which I use for these types of DOC documents, along with me usual tailored objection statement, the CCO took the document and told someone to come over and witness that I was refusing to sign the document. Wait – wait – I really want to sign it.
Once again I am glad to be assured that the DOC no longer has to comply with the CR (court rules) when being delivered legal documents via email as per CR 5 (b) (7) Service by other means: [ELECTRONIC MAIL]. I guess I didn't get that memo (email):
“(7) Service by Other Means. Service under this rule may be made by delivering a copy by any other means, including facsimile or electronic means, consented to in writing by the person served. Service by facsimile or electronic means is complete on transmission when made prior to 5:00 p.m. on a judicial day. Service made on a Saturday, Sunday, holiday or after 5:00 p.m. on any other day shall be deemed complete at 9:00 a.m. On the first judicial day thereafter; Service by other consented means is complete when the person making service delivers the copy to the agency designated to make delivery. Service under this subsection is not effective if the party making service learns that the attempted service did not reach the person to be served.”
And the part that I can use the grievance program. Yep guess what – you can not use the grievance program to grieve conditions set by you CCO.
So the real issue here is not that I have grieved them, or have complained too much, the real problem is that I have been elevating issues, that no one wants to address. "So your a quasi-whistle blower type?, a preacher type told me last night at my new UGM home. Yeah, it sounds like they are punishing you."
"Everyone agrees SO are maggots, right? And isn't it confirmed that what whatever we do to the most despised, has no moral, or ethical value? Society is on our side - who cares about these scum."
"Besides, isn't it just a matter of time that that Island will be built and we can forget they exist!"
"So shut this SO up ... now!"
But, you know I respect the fact I have conditions to follow - but "Helllooooo" (in Jerry Lewis fashion) ... [ a childhood hero ].
I also got a brand new DOC certified Homeless Offender Verification Form, I particularly like the stuff that says:
"A condition of this individuals judgment and sentence is that he reside at a DOC approved place of residence. Since this individual lacks financial or community resources he/she has been required to reside at a shelter or place of residence supplied on a per night basis; this requirement has been imposed for community safety reasons. Please, provide contact information for safety verification,..”
But wait .. if you never verify an address, of the many I have submitted, if I have money, if I have community resources but you will not allow me go there, even temporarily so I wont be homeless ... wait isn't this what this BLOG is about anyways .. why repeat myself?
STAR CHAMBER anyone? Or should I just accept I am frustrated that this kind of stuff goes undetected so widely.
Peace.
Technically speaking, this is the beginning of day 2, since it is past noon, but it feels like day one. Maybe that is how it feels when you are homeless, everyday turns into one long nightmare.
Today, I received my final email from my CCO. I had to report to the DOC office at 8:30 am downtown. I guess I have to sign another new DOC imposed "directive." I can not imagine that anyone has more of these than I do!!!
This one states:
"Michael, This letter is to direct you to not e-mail any DOC personnel. We do not accept service of paperwork via e-mail. If you have any concerns or issues to discuss, please do so with me in person or over the phone. As you are aware, you are free to use the grievance procedures at any time to contact my supervisor via a letter or the phone to discuss issues you feel you can not resolve with me. Sincerely, ..."
So when I went to sign the letter with my usual M signature, which I use for these types of DOC documents, along with me usual tailored objection statement, the CCO took the document and told someone to come over and witness that I was refusing to sign the document. Wait – wait – I really want to sign it.
Once again I am glad to be assured that the DOC no longer has to comply with the CR (court rules) when being delivered legal documents via email as per CR 5 (b) (7) Service by other means: [ELECTRONIC MAIL]. I guess I didn't get that memo (email):
“(7) Service by Other Means. Service under this rule may be made by delivering a copy by any other means, including facsimile or electronic means, consented to in writing by the person served. Service by facsimile or electronic means is complete on transmission when made prior to 5:00 p.m. on a judicial day. Service made on a Saturday, Sunday, holiday or after 5:00 p.m. on any other day shall be deemed complete at 9:00 a.m. On the first judicial day thereafter; Service by other consented means is complete when the person making service delivers the copy to the agency designated to make delivery. Service under this subsection is not effective if the party making service learns that the attempted service did not reach the person to be served.”
And the part that I can use the grievance program. Yep guess what – you can not use the grievance program to grieve conditions set by you CCO.
So the real issue here is not that I have grieved them, or have complained too much, the real problem is that I have been elevating issues, that no one wants to address. "So your a quasi-whistle blower type?, a preacher type told me last night at my new UGM home. Yeah, it sounds like they are punishing you."
"Everyone agrees SO are maggots, right? And isn't it confirmed that what whatever we do to the most despised, has no moral, or ethical value? Society is on our side - who cares about these scum."
"Besides, isn't it just a matter of time that that Island will be built and we can forget they exist!"
"So shut this SO up ... now!"
But, you know I respect the fact I have conditions to follow - but "Helllooooo" (in Jerry Lewis fashion) ... [ a childhood hero ].
I also got a brand new DOC certified Homeless Offender Verification Form, I particularly like the stuff that says:
"A condition of this individuals judgment and sentence is that he reside at a DOC approved place of residence. Since this individual lacks financial or community resources he/she has been required to reside at a shelter or place of residence supplied on a per night basis; this requirement has been imposed for community safety reasons. Please, provide contact information for safety verification,..”
But wait .. if you never verify an address, of the many I have submitted, if I have money, if I have community resources but you will not allow me go there, even temporarily so I wont be homeless ... wait isn't this what this BLOG is about anyways .. why repeat myself?
STAR CHAMBER anyone? Or should I just accept I am frustrated that this kind of stuff goes undetected so widely.
Peace.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
sweat anticipation of my first night of homelessness
"It is like I have to micromanage the DOC so that they do not act capriciously against my best interest. In all my years of working with people in the private and public sector, I have never seen a situation where the courts have given authority to a group of people who are accountable only to themselves. It is a self-policing, self-regulating organization, that has a very lose set of rules governed by a few, apparently meaning well administrative types."
Today is August 14, 2007, and it is early morning of the last night of being a non-homeless American. Although, I have been capriciously elevated to a level III sex offender, for over a year now, I have had a very difficult time in stabilizing a career or a home. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up by 8am from the bed my 72 year mother has provided for me in the only Motel in all of down town Seattle, Washington that would accept me. My mother and I walked and talked to well over 50 hotels and motels in down town Seattle and the Aurora district, failing to find a place that would take me as a level III sex offender. We submitted well over 200 postings on Craigslist, only to receive maybe 5 responses, all "sorry we already rented the room.”
We used a kind of not-telling-the-whole-truth at first tactic when talking to the motels, and it was fascinating to see the OK migrate to a "UHM no". The transparency of the business owners was quite alarming. First, my mother who is small in stature, a 5'2 Hispanic Grey haired women who was beautiful in her day, nut since my brothers murder in 2002, has deteriorated fast. During certain glimpses of sunlight I can see the smile that gave her beauty during her youth. Now the once vibrant smile has turned to disappointing wrinkles.
When talking to these hoteliers I usually started off with that I needed an address, since I had a probation officer who would have to confirm the address. Then I would proceed to telling them about my conviction. Typically, if not always, the reply is always met with "its OK". But, when I finally tell them that I am a level III sex offender and then give them a brief overview of the challenges I have been faced with they always change their minds.
Exhaustively approaching over 50 hotel and motels; places, in the past I would never allow my mother to hang her hat, places I would never leave my suit cases alone in, places where murder convicts are never given a second nod when asked to "sign here", places where I find signs posted that open prostitution is not allowed, places where live-in managers claim how safe their motels are and where they allow their 11 and 12 year sons and daughters to live with them, and places where I found open wrappers of condoms hidden in corners of the dark stair case we walked to check-a-room-out. They even denied us.
I live the humility of what my life has become. And now I have to make the distinction that I am not homeless, but I have been made to be homeless.
This homeless journey began in January of 2004, when I was wrongfully accused of having a sexual relationship with a young man named B. He at the time was 14, and when I met him just after my 42nd birthday, he had just come-out, 4 months previously.
When dealing with the issue of being gay, and coming out, the whole experience takes around 2 years to over come all the social, familial, and personal struggles surrounding the crises. I have often talked to people just coming out emphasizing that being gay shouldn't be a crises, but if they accepted it is, they can understand how to adjust better. They can put into perspective the hugely magnified as unacceptable emotions that are typically found in heterosexuality and its coming-out to sexuality period.
Irregardless of the age someone decides to come-out. The indifference between the two, suffers no ageism, and is hugely cultural. With the onset of youth organizations such as the Gay-Straight-Alliance (GSA), which was founded in part by KP a great friend of mine in Salt lake City, Utah and her high school lover Mikel, the inroads to the coming-out experience have only changed slightly since I was a young man in my late teens. Seattle, in my opinion, although at first appearance appears to be a very progressive city, issues such as gay marriage have meet a strong resistance and city acceptance ordinances for same-sex health benefits only recently narrowly passed into law. Issues that where addressed light years ahead from more conservative cities where I grew up, and came out myself.
I remember, my first gay right rally in front of City Counsel in Arizona. The issue: adopting a city ordinance for same-sex health benefits. The year 1991. Me and 10,000 other faggots and supporters. I was afraid the world would come down on me. It did not.
12 years later I met B, he told me that he thought it would probably not be a very good idea to befriend him, "You probably don't want to be my friend, because, like two weeks ago, my parents checked me into a hospital ... because I had a really bad cutting episode, after they would not let me see Scott any more, and they said I was trying to kill myself."
Hearing this over a cup of coffee, at a popular side walk cafe on Broadway, not 90 minutes after sitting over a cup of coffee, I was stunned with the ease this young mans' willingness to voice a clear understanding of some of the prejudices people would have on his self-mutilation. Along with his candidness about how he felt hurt by the fact his parents would forbid him from seeing his first crush, Scott. Listening to this young man, I saw a person who was typical of many young coming-out men his age, but different. It took several months for me to see the things, that gave him life experiences beyond his years. His abuse as a young child, the emotions he portrayed in relating the public showing of acceptance surrounding him being gay and the private show of anger that I witnessed involving CPS.
Initially I assured him, that his personal life in regards to his cutting, was something I had no knowledge, but it clearly was not anything that would cause me to create any judgment against him as an adult. I proceeded to encourage him to investigate the ideas his therapist old him about the subject matter, I went online and gave him articles about other cutters to read, and I told him that its ok, I do not judge. Within time he confessed to me his early years of abuse, from aged 6-10, and I assured him that telling his parents and his therapist where important. And over the very short period of time, I worked at giving him the understanding how to talk about to them, more than me would be good, and that the life-experiences he now possessed could be beneficial to talk about. He said, "in time" I knew he needed time, and that it was important for me to not betray his ability to act when he was ready.
So initially, I asked the obvious questions: How does it feel to cut? Does it take away a feeling? Does it create new feelings? Does it numb your mind? Are you upset about something? His answers where candidly straight forward and honest: “I like how it feels!” My responses where always quite theatrical and as we laughed through the "ouch's", "oh's-oh's-oh's", "damn I could never do that” and “Shit – I am a wimp!" I could see that B needed someone, an adult, to talk to – who like him was gay – and not afraid to hear his side.
That first day, we laughed, until I got the call from my employee who I was waiting for so I could take him to his birthday dinner. I told B that he should meet him, as he was turning 19, was going to start working at Abercrombie & Fitch, was gay and a great guy, who just recently came-out himself was looking to meet gay people for friendships only and that he was welcome to come to dinner with us if he wanted.
He joined us, and we all went to a dinner to celebrate my employees birthday, which was a long standing tradition, with me and my employees.
None of this of course answers directly how I became a sex offender or for that matter homeless, and how they relate, and of course they surely do.
I first want to answer the latter question as it is the catalyst that made me start this blog: The Department of Corrections has not been willing to approve an address for me to live. My community custody officer (CCO) has not been completely honest about what she has done in regards to my transfer to Arizona, and has been using a "the check is in the mail" technique, where it is apparent one thing is being said and communicated within the DOC and then another to myself.
For example, she said I will submit an emergency transfer, since we will not let you live in the University District or the Capital Hill area anymore then she allegedly "faxed the paper work". I do believe that something was faxed, quit possibly the paperwork but to where it went no one really knows. But, I can tell you we do know that for 10 days no paper work arrived in Arizona, where we had someone waiting to receive it. And what we as well know is that my mom paid $120 a night for a hotel anticipating the two day approval time given to us once the DOC received the documents. I believed in good faith, that the paperwork was submitted as promised. And I do know once Arizona received the paper work they responded within one day, well under the two days as required.
I find it fascinating that this CCO, stated to me she faxed it to the ICAOS folks in Arizona, then later states she faxed it to Olympia, all the while her stories are never straight, but semantically correct. But, it has always been my believe that if in fact the check was in the mail, if it hasn't been received 14 days after it was said to be sent, that in fact possibly it was never sent. It is clear that I received an email form AZ ICAOS that supports the theory it was never sent, until a day before they responded to the initial request..
I am homeless now, and the recipient of the effects of this CCO's actions. To compound it she has added a one mile radius from a school or park requirement, and has refused addresses I have given to them, all of which already have SO living in the area. $4000 of hotel rooms have been accumulated. Something, obviously that could have been prevented, if this CCO would have been forthright. 10 days into the in action, I approached the CCS (supervisor)and she said that I "should prepare for an alternative housing situation, and what have I been doing with my time?". This abrupt behavior gave me the indication that they were in fact stalling the whole transfer.
I quickly confronted her with the concept that it was obviously they where attempting to block my transfer, and that I wanted to understand why the transfer had not been initiated. She claimed it was and that she would email Interstate compact of Washington's to see where it was? The fact remains, that it was not until that phone call did I get a confirmation from Arizona, whom I was calling daily, telling me finally that they had received the necessary paper work.
It is like I have to micromanage the DOC so that they do not act capriciously against my best interest. In all my years of working with people in the private and public sector, I have never seen a situation where the courts have given authority to a group of people who are accountable only to themselves. It is a self-policing, self-regulating organization, that has a very lose set of rules governed by a few, apparently meaning well administrative types.
Unfortunately, what you really have is a set of people who are abusing their power given to them by the courts, who have compounded their behavior by a self serving policy of seeking a solution "at the lowest level."
In Corporate America, this type of philosophy would be classified in the waste paper basket as being nothing more that "circular logic" that contributed to the problem, rather than resolving it. At its very core the principle of seem a solution at the lowest level, is reliant on a principle of complete honesty. But, what if you have a system where semantic interpretations are problematic? Can that system support the necessary ingredient of honesty, needed for it to be successful? I propose, from what i have seen in practice by the special sex offender unit in Washington State, the answer is NO.
It is unfortunate, that in a very few cases, will the complaining supervisee ever see relief from the courts. For the courts have a system amongst itself where a gate-keeper (acting judge, or and administrative type given some quasi judicial power) always takes the side that on appellant bears the burden of proof is on the complaining part to prove a constitutional right has occurred. At first glance this though would be intuitively correct, but in practice there exists a real problem where a petitioner must first understand the legal wrangling necessary to show such a violation, then the next must have the where with all of documenting the abuses. The courts perhaps already know this, and perhaps so does the DOC, hence yet another example of abuse.
Wrapping it up in a nut shell - this is why I am homeless. I am not willing to sit here and play dead, and it appears DOC and the CCO's (6 so far) have all have had enough of my legal shenanigans, so much so that they are willing to push the legal envelope and make an effort to make me suffer. The real issue, is that it is obvious, that with suffrage comes a price.
Today is August 14, 2007, and it is early morning of the last night of being a non-homeless American. Although, I have been capriciously elevated to a level III sex offender, for over a year now, I have had a very difficult time in stabilizing a career or a home. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up by 8am from the bed my 72 year mother has provided for me in the only Motel in all of down town Seattle, Washington that would accept me. My mother and I walked and talked to well over 50 hotels and motels in down town Seattle and the Aurora district, failing to find a place that would take me as a level III sex offender. We submitted well over 200 postings on Craigslist, only to receive maybe 5 responses, all "sorry we already rented the room.”
We used a kind of not-telling-the-whole-truth at first tactic when talking to the motels, and it was fascinating to see the OK migrate to a "UHM no". The transparency of the business owners was quite alarming. First, my mother who is small in stature, a 5'2 Hispanic Grey haired women who was beautiful in her day, nut since my brothers murder in 2002, has deteriorated fast. During certain glimpses of sunlight I can see the smile that gave her beauty during her youth. Now the once vibrant smile has turned to disappointing wrinkles.
When talking to these hoteliers I usually started off with that I needed an address, since I had a probation officer who would have to confirm the address. Then I would proceed to telling them about my conviction. Typically, if not always, the reply is always met with "its OK". But, when I finally tell them that I am a level III sex offender and then give them a brief overview of the challenges I have been faced with they always change their minds.
Exhaustively approaching over 50 hotel and motels; places, in the past I would never allow my mother to hang her hat, places I would never leave my suit cases alone in, places where murder convicts are never given a second nod when asked to "sign here", places where I find signs posted that open prostitution is not allowed, places where live-in managers claim how safe their motels are and where they allow their 11 and 12 year sons and daughters to live with them, and places where I found open wrappers of condoms hidden in corners of the dark stair case we walked to check-a-room-out. They even denied us.
I live the humility of what my life has become. And now I have to make the distinction that I am not homeless, but I have been made to be homeless.
This homeless journey began in January of 2004, when I was wrongfully accused of having a sexual relationship with a young man named B. He at the time was 14, and when I met him just after my 42nd birthday, he had just come-out, 4 months previously.
When dealing with the issue of being gay, and coming out, the whole experience takes around 2 years to over come all the social, familial, and personal struggles surrounding the crises. I have often talked to people just coming out emphasizing that being gay shouldn't be a crises, but if they accepted it is, they can understand how to adjust better. They can put into perspective the hugely magnified as unacceptable emotions that are typically found in heterosexuality and its coming-out to sexuality period.
Irregardless of the age someone decides to come-out. The indifference between the two, suffers no ageism, and is hugely cultural. With the onset of youth organizations such as the Gay-Straight-Alliance (GSA), which was founded in part by KP a great friend of mine in Salt lake City, Utah and her high school lover Mikel, the inroads to the coming-out experience have only changed slightly since I was a young man in my late teens. Seattle, in my opinion, although at first appearance appears to be a very progressive city, issues such as gay marriage have meet a strong resistance and city acceptance ordinances for same-sex health benefits only recently narrowly passed into law. Issues that where addressed light years ahead from more conservative cities where I grew up, and came out myself.
I remember, my first gay right rally in front of City Counsel in Arizona. The issue: adopting a city ordinance for same-sex health benefits. The year 1991. Me and 10,000 other faggots and supporters. I was afraid the world would come down on me. It did not.
12 years later I met B, he told me that he thought it would probably not be a very good idea to befriend him, "You probably don't want to be my friend, because, like two weeks ago, my parents checked me into a hospital ... because I had a really bad cutting episode, after they would not let me see Scott any more, and they said I was trying to kill myself."
Hearing this over a cup of coffee, at a popular side walk cafe on Broadway, not 90 minutes after sitting over a cup of coffee, I was stunned with the ease this young mans' willingness to voice a clear understanding of some of the prejudices people would have on his self-mutilation. Along with his candidness about how he felt hurt by the fact his parents would forbid him from seeing his first crush, Scott. Listening to this young man, I saw a person who was typical of many young coming-out men his age, but different. It took several months for me to see the things, that gave him life experiences beyond his years. His abuse as a young child, the emotions he portrayed in relating the public showing of acceptance surrounding him being gay and the private show of anger that I witnessed involving CPS.
Initially I assured him, that his personal life in regards to his cutting, was something I had no knowledge, but it clearly was not anything that would cause me to create any judgment against him as an adult. I proceeded to encourage him to investigate the ideas his therapist old him about the subject matter, I went online and gave him articles about other cutters to read, and I told him that its ok, I do not judge. Within time he confessed to me his early years of abuse, from aged 6-10, and I assured him that telling his parents and his therapist where important. And over the very short period of time, I worked at giving him the understanding how to talk about to them, more than me would be good, and that the life-experiences he now possessed could be beneficial to talk about. He said, "in time" I knew he needed time, and that it was important for me to not betray his ability to act when he was ready.
So initially, I asked the obvious questions: How does it feel to cut? Does it take away a feeling? Does it create new feelings? Does it numb your mind? Are you upset about something? His answers where candidly straight forward and honest: “I like how it feels!” My responses where always quite theatrical and as we laughed through the "ouch's", "oh's-oh's-oh's", "damn I could never do that” and “Shit – I am a wimp!" I could see that B needed someone, an adult, to talk to – who like him was gay – and not afraid to hear his side.
That first day, we laughed, until I got the call from my employee who I was waiting for so I could take him to his birthday dinner. I told B that he should meet him, as he was turning 19, was going to start working at Abercrombie & Fitch, was gay and a great guy, who just recently came-out himself was looking to meet gay people for friendships only and that he was welcome to come to dinner with us if he wanted.
He joined us, and we all went to a dinner to celebrate my employees birthday, which was a long standing tradition, with me and my employees.
None of this of course answers directly how I became a sex offender or for that matter homeless, and how they relate, and of course they surely do.
I first want to answer the latter question as it is the catalyst that made me start this blog: The Department of Corrections has not been willing to approve an address for me to live. My community custody officer (CCO) has not been completely honest about what she has done in regards to my transfer to Arizona, and has been using a "the check is in the mail" technique, where it is apparent one thing is being said and communicated within the DOC and then another to myself.
For example, she said I will submit an emergency transfer, since we will not let you live in the University District or the Capital Hill area anymore then she allegedly "faxed the paper work". I do believe that something was faxed, quit possibly the paperwork but to where it went no one really knows. But, I can tell you we do know that for 10 days no paper work arrived in Arizona, where we had someone waiting to receive it. And what we as well know is that my mom paid $120 a night for a hotel anticipating the two day approval time given to us once the DOC received the documents. I believed in good faith, that the paperwork was submitted as promised. And I do know once Arizona received the paper work they responded within one day, well under the two days as required.
I find it fascinating that this CCO, stated to me she faxed it to the ICAOS folks in Arizona, then later states she faxed it to Olympia, all the while her stories are never straight, but semantically correct. But, it has always been my believe that if in fact the check was in the mail, if it hasn't been received 14 days after it was said to be sent, that in fact possibly it was never sent. It is clear that I received an email form AZ ICAOS that supports the theory it was never sent, until a day before they responded to the initial request..
I am homeless now, and the recipient of the effects of this CCO's actions. To compound it she has added a one mile radius from a school or park requirement, and has refused addresses I have given to them, all of which already have SO living in the area. $4000 of hotel rooms have been accumulated. Something, obviously that could have been prevented, if this CCO would have been forthright. 10 days into the in action, I approached the CCS (supervisor)and she said that I "should prepare for an alternative housing situation, and what have I been doing with my time?". This abrupt behavior gave me the indication that they were in fact stalling the whole transfer.
I quickly confronted her with the concept that it was obviously they where attempting to block my transfer, and that I wanted to understand why the transfer had not been initiated. She claimed it was and that she would email Interstate compact of Washington's to see where it was? The fact remains, that it was not until that phone call did I get a confirmation from Arizona, whom I was calling daily, telling me finally that they had received the necessary paper work.
It is like I have to micromanage the DOC so that they do not act capriciously against my best interest. In all my years of working with people in the private and public sector, I have never seen a situation where the courts have given authority to a group of people who are accountable only to themselves. It is a self-policing, self-regulating organization, that has a very lose set of rules governed by a few, apparently meaning well administrative types.
Unfortunately, what you really have is a set of people who are abusing their power given to them by the courts, who have compounded their behavior by a self serving policy of seeking a solution "at the lowest level."
In Corporate America, this type of philosophy would be classified in the waste paper basket as being nothing more that "circular logic" that contributed to the problem, rather than resolving it. At its very core the principle of seem a solution at the lowest level, is reliant on a principle of complete honesty. But, what if you have a system where semantic interpretations are problematic? Can that system support the necessary ingredient of honesty, needed for it to be successful? I propose, from what i have seen in practice by the special sex offender unit in Washington State, the answer is NO.
It is unfortunate, that in a very few cases, will the complaining supervisee ever see relief from the courts. For the courts have a system amongst itself where a gate-keeper (acting judge, or and administrative type given some quasi judicial power) always takes the side that on appellant bears the burden of proof is on the complaining part to prove a constitutional right has occurred. At first glance this though would be intuitively correct, but in practice there exists a real problem where a petitioner must first understand the legal wrangling necessary to show such a violation, then the next must have the where with all of documenting the abuses. The courts perhaps already know this, and perhaps so does the DOC, hence yet another example of abuse.
Wrapping it up in a nut shell - this is why I am homeless. I am not willing to sit here and play dead, and it appears DOC and the CCO's (6 so far) have all have had enough of my legal shenanigans, so much so that they are willing to push the legal envelope and make an effort to make me suffer. The real issue, is that it is obvious, that with suffrage comes a price.
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