Homeless in Mayfield, Part Three

This one will probably make more sense if you read this one and this one beforehand. It’s the conclusion of a three-part series, consisting of stuff I posted on my Facebook timeline in 2014, during my attempt at homelessness in a small suburban upper-crust community.   After this one, I suppose I’ll have to “move on.”  ;)

You know, I just thought of something. Did that cop have a “right” to run my record? I wasn’t doing anything illegal – I was just sleeping. I wasn’t on private property – I saw no signs. He approached and said: “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sleeping,” I replied. “Is this not a good place to sleep?”

He said nothing to answer me, but asked instead: “How long have you been on the streets?”

Now, isn’t that a rhetorical question? Who said I was “on the streets?” What does is that supposed to suggest?   Here I’m noted for sleeping as far away from the streets as possible, and this guy’s assuming I’m some kind of street-huggin’ hustler, just because I live outdoors.  I could feel it already — the stigma, the judgment. 

So I acted a little indignant, I suppose, and I said: “I’m not a street person, sir! I’ll be ghomelessness%20clipartetting a room next month. I’m on a fixed income, and I can’t afford to stay in hotel rooms. I’m just here till my check comes.”

“Let me see your I.D.,” he growled.

As I reached down for my wallet and handed him my California State Senior Photo I.D., he seemed uncomfortable about something.  but I didn’t know what it was.  

“Tonight’s your last night,” he said, looking down at my picture.  “After that, move on.”

“OK,” I replied, a bit puzzled. It was ironic, too. I had finally found a clean quilt – at a church after a meeting. This was supposed to be my night to actually sleep for a change. I love the outdoors, but I somehow don’t sleep well without a blanket. It provides a sense of security – of protection, perhaps.  But this one was a bright white. That was a drawback. It may have drawn him in.

Well, I’m glad he ran my record, because apparently there’s a $600 warrant out for me. Astonished, I asked him: “What for?”

“Traffic violation, Redwood City.”

Damn! I had so hoped he would have taken me to jail.  I almost begged him over it.  It’s supposed to rain the next two days and two nights. I’d have paid off the fine, and gotten three squares a day, and a roof over my head to boot. But he just shouted: “Take care of it!”

Then he drove off.

Pardon my naivete, peeps, but — was there any particular law I was breaking by — sleeping? Was it vagrancy? Can’t have been. Vagrancy involves the intent to commit a crime, doesn’t it Sherp? I’m curious. I would like to know.

Moreover, a “traffic violation” doesn’t fit my M.O. I haven’t driven a car since March 19, 2004. I certainly haven’t driven one in Redwood City. So – I can get that cleared – but my question remains — did that cop have a right to run my record? Do you know, Bruce? Bif? Boxcar?  I’m asking you smart guys. You probably know.

Me? I’m just the local idiot savant, masochistic purveyor of laptops and Chromebooks to thugs, on pain of brutal blow to skull.

© 2014 A. Pope

Gratitude List 1035

1. Slept really well for over eight hours, between about 10:30 and about 6:45, with very vivid dreams that seemed meaningful. Thankful for REM sleep. I never used to get it when I was homeless, sleeping with one eye open out there, ready for anything.

2. Courtyard Cafe, just finished the $3 traditional breakfast, on my second cup of free Pikes Peak coffee with unlimited refills.

3. Though my thoughts were anxious and scattered on awakening, I noticed after setting foot outside that there was never a moment of inner rage like there often used to be. Even when the thoughts of the guys I’ve been mad at crossed my mind, there was no anger in the thoughts. That’s what we call progress.

4. 36 days now since I gave up a certain personal habit that turned out not to be a good thing for me. Others, I suppose, may enjoy it, as they will.

5. It felt good to show up ten minutes early for church yesterday morning, instead of ten minutes late.  There’s something about finding a seat in the pews that’s to my liking, and having people come up saying hello for a while, that’s much more peaceful than rushing in late and having to wonder if I stick out like a sore thumb.  

6. Though I couldn’t find my spikes this morning before setting out in 23F weather, I succeeded in getting the laces of my snow boots tied up, despite frazzled ends.

7. As I walked toward the Courtyard Cafe, I contemplated how much I am invigorated by the marvelous cold weather of these here Northern regions. I sure don’t miss my past in California, where it was hot, hot, hot — in more ways than one. ;)

8. I was blessed by this blog post that Khaliela, who heads up our local Writers Guild, wrote for GoDaddy.

9. Dreamed all night about this guy whom I might be working with. I was working not only with him but with all the people he works with. They kept giving me practical advice on getting along well with others in the workplace. They kept saying: “Play by the rules. Don’t just show interest in yourself, show interest in Michael and the others. You’re only human. Go by Romans 3.”

When I woke up, a large figure I often see to the left of my front door loomed into the kitchen. I sometimes take this man to be an Angel — I all him the Angel of Dreams. He always shows up after a particularly meaningful dream. When my eyes open, I see him, and he slips stealthily into the kitchen, after which I see him no more.

I opened up the Bible and read these words:

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.”

10. I’m on my 3rd cup of free coffee.  A friend just texted and said she’ll be on her way over.  It’s good to have friends.  It’s good to have a home.

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Homeless in Mayfield: Part Two

This is more-or-less a sequel to the first post in this series, as our hero begins to discover that Mayfield isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Again, please bear in mind that this writing was penned some years ago, when I was still in the frustrating throes of abject homelessness.  As such, it does not reflect my current head-space, so please take my ascerbic tone with a large grain of salt.

Just got swept off my Spot by yet another local city officer, this time a grisly old K-9 cop.  Ironically, this was the first night I had found a decent covering, a thick white quilt. It was at a church where clothing was also deposited. So I got a clean change of clothes, too.

(Of course, curled up in white during the black of night wasn’t the brightest thing a boy could do.  But a cover’s a cover.  Too bad I blew my own.)

Cop seemed uncomfortable. I think he was hoping for a dirt bag. I came across like a decent guy who was down on his luck. Still — he said I had one more night, and then:

Image result for bum control clipart“Move on!”

(Always gets to me when they say that.  As if anywhere else I move to, the same damn thing’s not going to happen again.  And as if it solves anybody’s problem just to keep us sleep-deprived and on our toes all the time.   Oh well — the Leave it to Beaver Fantasy was fun while it lasted.   Guess it’s just yer basic Bum Control here, as everywhere.)

So, any of you 378 so-called “friends” of mine on this here Facebook wanna have me over and argue politics on the real?  I mean — can you bask in the presence of a tortured Artist? Money isn’t coming till the 26th, but until then I’ll freely donate my wit, charm, good looks, talent, charisma, and vision for the hope of humanity in a future age of widespread human liberation.  How ’bout it, peeps?   Anybody down for a crash course in Homeless Enlightenment?

Down to brass tacks: on the 28th I get my SS of $960/mo. and if you want to do this on a trial basis, I’ll pay you $460/month. 1-3 months okay – I want to get my bearings anyway. I don’t smoke,. drink, or use drugs. (Done my fair share.) No pets. Tend to  be absent-minded, but I like my space. Composer. No deadlines to meet. I use software and headphones. No loud music.  I’ll be quiet as a mouse.   Anything else you need to know, just ask.  My only critical requirement is that I will not live in the City of Berkeley.   I repeat: NOT!!

(BTW I will not live in Berkeley because my music is too important for it to be targeted by thugs needing devices to barter for crack cocaine. Four were stolen in a year’s span, two violently, not to mention the punk who poured lighter fluid all over my backpack, an burned down all my possessions before my eyes.  No resentments toward anyone, and I love all of the Kids, but I won’t live forever, and my music notation software is my key to success.)

So let me know. I’m serious. I’ll be spamming my own timeline with every piece I’ve ever written, just waiting for the bowels of somebody’s compassion to come bursting open.  Oh, and by the way, I clean bathrooms too.  The moment your guilt makes you erupt like a volcano, you can count on Andy to sweep the shit off your floor.  

© 2014 by Andy Pope

Also, I’ve so far kept my New Year’s Resolution to post specific things according to a specific theme at specific times on specific days.  In keeping with that concept, I’ll do my best to have a piano piece posted tomorrow.  Don’t expect me to sing, however, as I’m still a bit under the weather.   See ya soon.   

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Gratitude List 1023

I’ve been doubling up on my gratitude lists lately, usually doing two a day instead of one.  I tend to do that when times are hard, because they really do help me keep my spirits up.  And then, ironically, I sometimes realize that times are not so hard after all.

1. Though I only slept 3 1/2 hours from about 10pm till 1:30am, it’s really okay.   There’s nowhere that I have to be today, and I can make my own schedule.  I’ve paid all my bills, and I’ve got food in the kitchen.  Thankful that I have a place where I can sleep, and that I’m not outside in the 32 degrees of cold.

2. I just remembered feeling a real sense of peace when I was walking home from the café in the drizzle last night.  When I was at peace, I saw a vision of someone whom I love, that she’s totally depressed right now, and I was able to pray for her with compassion.

3. When I was in the space of #2 above, I no longer felt threatened by this person whom I love.

4. Reading Proverbs 7 is reminding me it’s probably not a good idea to go out with any particularly flirtatious married women.   ;)

5. Really glad I decided to go to church yesterday after all.  Everything about it was nice, including the fellowship afterwards.  I didn’t know Tom R. could play the 12-string like that, and it was also the best I’d ever heard Mary R. play the flute.  Also, Amy P. got up and read very nicely.  I remember thinking her mother Kathy must be proud of her.

6. Finished the polished draft of #2A The Age of Nevermore”  in my vocal score. Really got into it, how all the extended notes acting like drones against the melody lines in the quintet are like the “sirens of the damned” that the lyrics reference.  Can’t wait to score the instrumental ending with all that cacaphony and synth-brass counterpoint over wailing guitar solos while my protagonist is in torture on a gurney at the psych ward.

7. I love that cute café, the way they just sit there and let me work, and they don’t kick me out or anything like they would have when I was homeless down in California.

8. Grateful for that Friday night meeting at the Recovery Center, and for Cindy being the secretary.   I think I’ll try to go every Friday now, and just go once a week between now and April.

9. Just saw a notification of a new email reply from Lynne Fisher.  This will give me something to do before I go back to bed.

10. I’m in a good mood now.  God is Good.

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Homeless in Mayfield: Part One

One of the great buried treasures I’ve been able to dig up since having lived indoors these past two and a half years is a folder full of pasted timeline posts preserved from a long-deleted Facebook.  All of them display the cavalier attitude of a homeless Artist given to brutal sarcasm as a coping mechanism.  

I just finished reading three consecutive entries about harsh treatment by the local officers of the peace, shortly after I had vacated the Berkeley homeless scene in favor of a low crime district in an all White, sheltered upper-crust community.  The name of the city is not actually Mayfield — but if you ever watched “Leave it to Beaver,” you’ll get my drift.

Well — I’ve humbled my head full of hubris just enough to figure out where the food is on Friday. As a result, I’ll be attending my first feed since having found myself home-free in this fine town of wealth and promise (whose name is being with-held until further notice.) It will be taking place at 6:30, and I’m looking forward to what fashion of food will be fed at the commons to the commoners.

Moreover, in the passage of time, I’ve realized that the tone of desperation in my universal Facebook appeal for “shelter with dignity” could conceivably have been off-putting. It’s well-known that I am not permitted into friends’ and family’s homes during the holiday season because I have a reputation of being “manic.” No one wants their walls bounced off by a belligerent birdbrain of such ill repute. And of course, the penalty for such a hyper-active mind is — you guessed it: homelessness.

AFree Homelessness Cliparts, Download Free Clip Art, Free Clip Art on Clipart Libraryll sarcasm aside, I recognize that in the absence of mariijuana, my overall energy level is off the charts. Therefore I amend my earlier proposal. Just kick down the good weed, guys. Who cares about “vibrancy?” It only got me to complete a rough draft of a long-desired libretto to a musical that, unlike the last two I wrote (and promptly shelved), I actually believe in for once. No doubt I should have stopped smoking pot — among other things — much earlier in life. My apologies for such reprobate tardiness.

Now – to figure out where and how to sleep tonight, being as a certain red-hot hot-shot hog of a cop saw fit to do a sweep of my only Spot thus far evoked, as he poked his blaring brights my way, thus scaring the daylights out of the would-be dirt-bag he had wished would have been me. 

So bright was that light at its closest, grossest height – that long into night I could still scarcely see. There but for God’s grace goes Me.

© A. Pope 2014

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