Your President is NAZI!

Something pimply faced anthropology brats feel compelled to thrash out each time they hit a rhetorical wall? Naaaiii... not so much Might explain their choice in yon Governator.

On the edge of a dodgy bit of town

wandering about... peripatetions in downtown Montreal...
This city has long lost it's verve. All that is left now is the a thick base of funk. Even the street kids left us to make sense of it all, only their graffiti stucks around. And with no one to maintain, off to the memory hole they go.
Never mind the police action plan for summer 2004. Neighbor of mine, friend really, ex street kid, still has a 'hawk, but braids it, still troused in torn plaid, on his off days, tells me in early spring that they lifted it, somehow. Sez it's the full blown ticketing parade. Harass harass harass. Ashing on a public space, 138$ ticket, having emitted an audible noise in the public space, 138$, picking your nose... 138$, plus fees. Miss your date with the man? Got yourself a bench warrant tagging your identity. Very effective. Until he and the folk he works with decided to contest every single damned ticket they were given. Something like 2 per week per kid. Effective as well. Spread that over 10 thousand. Hard to deal with when they allready have 200 cases a day on the docket. Gotta fight them.
So here I am wandering about, aimlessly, giving street folk, the stuck ones,
the ones too old, too jaded, too sapped to find their way home. Or find a new one. Whatever I can give to let them feel human again, a couple cigarettes here, a bit of change there, a smile and some miserly sympathy. And walking along St Cathrines past Berri, where life is hard for to everyone on the ground floor I ask Shen how things are. Things are grim, nor surprised there. Lost her job as a stripper, for doing something she can't admit to herself. On the street. Admit? Carry is all you do there. Carry on, if you can still move. You've gotta be safe to admit to your self something so harsh. Having done that to herself. Having lost your only home on your own account. And safe then is far far away.
Between her rantings, the ones where you just can't conceal your need, even to a friendly stranger, the ones of 'what is 45-3?' '42' '81-3' '78', a jive I once put out. Not so mad really when she was asked by some overworked psychiatrist, testing her by asking her to count backwards from 99, subtracting by 3, and failed her without she knowing why. Not a bad test. But not a kind one. Everyone makes mistakes, but it really takes someone lost not to notice. Touch your nose while reciting the alphabet. The man's Purple Nurple. Whistle. Truth be told she passed. Schizty, probably. Possibly on the 'noid side.

Slippery slippery cracks. And Trudeau's net has long been taken away. Got ourselves a debt to service these days. Got ourselves a middle class to save.

So between -those- rantings I ask her if knew of a shelter, the one my friend told me about. The one where they don't report their guest list to the police. It's hard enough to keep those in need of safe rest when they know some sweaty man in matted hair is picking out the names of those who ran from battering fathers and uncles who wouldn't take no for an answer for a happy family reunion. Shen tells me no. Tells me that they give metal bracelets to those who stay at the shelters. That she fears them. The bracelets. Fun place place to be when you're strung out and loving on the clock.
Alex, a guy who hitchhiked to Panama on 5$, who attended the WTO riots in Seattle, who exchanges ten thousand needles a month from the van he works in, tells me he can't find the kids anymore. Hide and tweak he thinks. Can't say he's never know Crystal. Lost a friend to her. Has himself a bullet lodged in his tibia to show for that little love triangle. But I've got my own ideas. I don't think he's met Shen though. Concentrates on those under 30. But ideas like that you don't keep around.
So here I am, in some packed upstairs hippy cafe, drinking 3$ organic canned lemonade, listening to heavy jazz that went out of style with Dave Burbank. I just hope I don't have to make myself interesting to a some suburbanite anglos not to feel out of place.


Our little pearl, the one of blue and green, sandy yellow and funky brown that once told us 'food's in the fridge, help yourself' is being covered over in black, brown that hides the sun, grey hides that clouds our minds, and an orange that says 'stay away'. And she's deadly serious.

Sex is death, rain is poison? Thank god Bull Hubbard didn't make it to this decade.
I don't think he could deal with it.

And I just wish it wasn't true.

New UN sanctions coming?

Against Iran you say?
But wouldn't it be nice to see them coming in against the USA.

Never mind the WTO allowing discussion on the USA's little tariffs being against it's chater as well.

The Spice Must Flow

Ever seen David Lynch's Dune? Ya know? The part where the Quizak Sadirak takes over Arakis with his Fremin army. The Emperor of the Universe decides that enough is enough and commands 10 Sar Dukar legions to take care of it. What was his line? "This is genocide."?

On the other hand

This one I never though i'd see in ernest.

Topsy turvy.

Aljazeera keeps on the news

Nothing going in in Fallujah.

Absolutly nothing.

Nothing what so ever

But SOMETHING has to be done.