COUNTDOWN TO EXTINCTION, News & Events From Your Pure Pain Dealer
From The Piss Pool Office Of With Love & Hate For The Week Of November 3-16
There is not one thing that landed me in your graces (besides blood, spit and an Irish-Catholic disposition to champion lost causes) other than writing. The written word. And books. Country simple, if we don’t have any poets at Esperanza then Plato was right and my Father, too so I guess I’ll go back to school?
—Query To Chris Baker
Executive Director, The Other Ones Foundation
FREEDOM ISN’T FREE, “We out here…” 30 Years After Homeless Bill Of Rights…
END OF EMPIRE, The Veritable Voting Bloc of Super PACs 15 Years After Citizens United Decision …
GOOGLE IS STREET AND THE ANDROID IS KING, Apple Inc. Unfit & Unable Workingman’s Provider…
JAMES HANSEN’S BLUES, CO2 emissions, Ahistorical Temperatures & Inhospitable Pavilions Are A Death Sentence For Unhoused In The American City…
WINTER IN AMERICA, Subsidies To Heat Your Home In Texas…
AIN’T NOTHING WRONG WITH DOWN HOME, Davila’s BBQ Is Living The New American Dream…
NOTHING IS FREE, Anti-Pirating & Censorship at the Austin Public Library…
YO BRUCE!, Letter to The Boss On Behalf of the Working Class…
DEAR STEVE, Letter to Steve Inskeep on Behalf of the Radio-Listening Public…
COLOR OF HOPE, The Graffiti of the Esperanza Community, True Punk Rockers Live In Tiny Homes off the Highway
And I will give him the morning star.
—Revelation 2:28
YO. Trainer here. Who else? How ‘bout those headlines? That’ll blanche your pubes. But seriously, romance? Romance is total inclusivity. All the love but all the hate, too. I don’t mind black magic but some folks do. You either use the shit for a good end or for a bad end but it’s always The Shit. I’m not concerned with my own well-being as much as I can care for another but will rue to the end my enemy even if it spites me. It’s capitalism baby and whatever gets you through the night is fine by Your Writer.
You can ask Ralph, squatting in the sun like Diogenes out front the SoCo CVS but he’d be the first to tell you, in his warbling Texan draw, that he can’t call it. He said what’s happening in Palestine is in the Bible so I quoted for him the Book Of Revelation and we had a smoke and a Pedialyte ™ together on Wednesday. I hit on women (Hi, Ashlie) and asked Ralph what his biggest need on the street is.
“A home,” he demurred in a tone that I couldn’t help feel suggested he was actually asking Whaddiyou a comedian? Serves me right, too, with my KOOP tote bag and rainbow scarf, my bitch-slap rappin' and my cocaine tongue.
“You like the city Ralph?”
“Yeh.”
He went from the country in Alvin to the pen for meth-amphetamines and now he back out on the street (obv, fuck is wrong with you). He’s 50, herniated and suffering with cirrhosis of the liver.
“Fuck,” I said.
Ralph smiles. “I kinda don’t wanna know.”
“Community Care?”
“Yeh.”
Just then Ashlie walked by and it took my breath. After a pleasant introduction (and visual smack down from an old Betty walking beside) I sat back down, or tried to.
“Yo Ralph. I gotta go man. My back is fucking killing me.”
“Bless you,” Ralph said and I did. Back into the CVS for my ‘script and a couple more pairs of dollar socks. When I came back out he was gone.
I ripped the parking ticket from my windshield, backed out of my spot and cranked an illegal-U. Burned down 6th and when I pulled into the drive, I kept all the windows and doors open, to continue listening to Death Cab, natch, and unloaded the rest-of-my-savings-worth of groceries into the crib. Made it.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Pissing In The Press Pool to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.