A Sad "Anniversary"

To My Dearest, My Cuddle Bear:

I am SO very sad today because it has been one year since you left your body.  Honey, you KNOW how much I loved and STILL love you...I am still feeling the intense pain of our separation.  I hope you are in a much better place now--you certainly deserve it...I always said you were my angel; I hope you have forgiven me and that you guard and watch over me right now as I type this letter to you, my love.

If you are in the spirit world and can read this letter, you KNOW that an evil force invaded our life, intent on destroying our relationship, driving us apart and killing both of us; it succeeded with you and now it is trying to destroy me too, taking away everything that I enjoy about living and driving me to suicide.  I am trying to fight it off, but I am afraid that it might be a losing battle.

I just survived yet ANOTHER attempt to kill myself.  I wanted to be with you again SO MUCH...to talk to you again and make you understand and acknowledge what I was up against during our last two years together.  Maybe you already understand and were instrumental in preventing me from fully completing my suicide mission. 

Honey, PLEASE forgive me for my weakness; I had never before experienced such an overwhelming level and combination of fear, stress, hopelessness and worsening mental paralysis as I did during our last few months together.  It truly felt like a huge, evil tsunami crashing into me slowly, forcing me away from you...with each day came more stress, more fear and more paralysis...I truly wanted to die, but I chose life instead that day...away from you, my love, which I severely regret EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY--BUT I WAS FORCED INTO IT by this evil supernatural power, or curse, or WHATEVER THE FUCK IT WAS--IT WAS REAL.

Honey, in that last year you were repeatedly telling me that you would always be with me...maybe you were more aware of what was happening to us than you let on.  But you were displaying some of the things that were scaring me to death--almost literally.  I felt like I had lost your love, your support--leaving me with NO HUMAN SUPPORT AT ALL to help me with such an unreal crisis of a proportion and scale that I had never felt before.

I MISS YOU SO MUCH--but not the last two years together when my life felt like it had transformed into a horror movie that we were starring in.  I challenge ANY HUMAN BEING to go through what I went through those last two years and NOT break apart mentally.  I actually think that I was stronger than most...but not strong enough.

And, OF COURSE, the horror movie did not end with our separation...it continues with me to this very second.

Honey, on this day I am thinking of you, missing you.  Oh, how I wish I could turn a corner and see you standing there, waiting for me with one of your wonderful hugs...if there is an afterlife, I hope we can hug again.

I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND ALWAYS,
Your Honey Bunny

Homeless Supplies

Something you should always carry with you when you are homeless:  a kitchen sponge.

A sponge is used mainly for keeping yourself clean when no shower is available.  I also wet a sponge before I sit on a toilet seat: squeeze water on the seat and use toilet paper to wipe the seat clean.

Sleeping supplies.  Yesterday, someone took my sleeping bag, blanket and sweatshirt (which I use to cover the carrying bag to use as a pillow) from where I was hiding it in a raised planter next to a commercial building; then, later that evening, one of my guardian angels instructed a human being to give me a sleeping bag!

Keep a small towel in your bag for drying your face and hands when no paper towels are available.

A small metal or plastic cup to fill with water or free coffee.

Clean underwear and socks.  I do laundry once a month and have enough underwear to complete the month; I shower once a week and use the sponge method in between showers.

Nail clippers and dental floss; homeless centers always have free toothpaste and toothbrushes but never give out floss--which is critical for oral health care.

A plastic knife, fork and spoon.  When you happen upon that perfectly good meal in a takeout container that someone has left on a park bench, it may not have eating utensils.

Extra pair of reading glasses and a couple of pens to write with.

Roll-on deodorant.  You MUST do all you can to keep your body as clean as possible and NOT stink--or places will ask you to leave.

Half a roll of toilet paper.  Toilet paper is good for A LOT of personal things--and, sometimes, right after you finish your business at the toilet, you discover that the TP supply is out in that stall.

A small airline-size blanket to use while resting on the lawn in a park--or use for warmth in winter.

And, a small, collapsible umbrella.

FOOD

Homeless and the housed poor will never starve in Santa Monica.  Food is everywhere--both cheap food and free food.

If you have no money and you find that panhandling is too humiliating (which it is), there are several ways to eat.  The OPCC Access Center on Olympic at 5th gives out free food almost every day.  On Friday mornings, there's a small group that gives out free coffee and sack lunches in Reed Park on Wilshire.  The abundant Farmer's Markets in Santa Monica are a great place to graze for free food (mostly just fruit).  Many compassionate people will leave food on the street for the poor and homeless.  And, finally, if you are truly desperate, trash cans in and around downtown Santa Monica frequently have perfectly good food in them (one time I found a box of pizza, still warm from the oven and not a bite taken out of it).

The problem is that free food is usually the worst kind:  starchy, sugary, carbohydrate-laden breads, bagels, crackers, etc.  It is very difficult to find protein like meat or eggs or cheese.

But beggars can't be choosers, of course.

Fat Cops & Other Observations...

I've been noticing a lot of fat cops lately...seriously, dudes, lay off the carbs!

There's a crazy/demonically possessed homeless black guy who practically lives at the corner of Third and Arizona on the Promenade in Santa Monica...he is always yelling obscenities at people and acting crazy.  This morning, I watched a middle-aged white dude give him some cash.  WTF?  Don't give that demon any money!  Are you giving him money because of your white guilt?

Seriously, all filthy/demonically possessed street people need to be rounded up and put somewhere where they can't bother people anymore...LOCK THEM UP!

Every County needs to have an assisted suicide center--just like in the classic movie "Soylent Green."  I saw that movie when I was a kid and even then it seemed like a compassionate, rational thing to offer people whose lives are completely hopeless.

Lots of homeless people never set foot inside a homeless center...they beg, steal, and eat out of trash cans.  What a fucked up life this is...I am sick of the whole, shitty mess.

This world is fucked up and getting worse every day.  Popular culture is sinking lower and lower...it's become a race to the bottom.

And, demons, you don't scare me anymore with your tiresome parlor tricks...FUCK YOU!

Have You Noticed?

Have you noticed a huge increase in the number of people talking to themselves on the street?

Have you noticed how many more people are wearing/displaying crucifixes now?

Have you noticed the huge amount of people (adults AND kids) wearing clothing with human skull images?

Have you noticed how many movies these days are about demons, evil, etc?

Have you noticed how many people have telepathic powers now?

What is behind all of this?  Is it the Second Coming?

How to be Homeless in Santa Monica

If you are homeless in Santa Monica, your first stop should be at the OPCC Access Center, on Olympic Boulevard, between 5th and 7th Streets (within spitting distance of the Santa Monica Freeway).

At the OPCC Access Center, you can get a mailing address and receive mail and telephone messages there.  OPCC also provides food, shower and laundry facilities, and medical aid.  If you want a case manager to help you, they have those too, but, priority is always first given to people who used to live and/or work in Santa Monica.  If you want a locker, you must have a case manager.

In other words, if you come to Santa Monica from outside its legal city boundary, you can pretty much forget about getting serious help to get off the streets permanently.

Your next stop should be at the Welfare Office Building on Pico Boulevard at Sepulveda Boulevard in West Los Angeles.  There you can sign up for food stamps and cash aid; it's not a lot, but it helps.

After going to OPCC and the Welfare Office, you are exhausted mentally and physically.  Where will you sleep tonight?  The bad news is that the City of Santa Monica has effectively outlawed all "camping" within its jurisdiction. 

In other words, there is NO LEGAL PLACE in the City of Santa Monica to bed down at night.  Not the beach, not the parks--and certainly not on private property where you WILL BE hassled by the Santa Monica Police, and possibly arrested for trespassing.

The City of Santa Monica has declared war on the homeless and they want you OUT.  There are several local ordinances aimed at making your homeless life more miserable than it already is.

You'll notice when walking down the street that most buildings display signs saying that "sitting or lying" in that spot between 11 pm and 7am is illegal.

It is also illegal to remove anything from a garbage can.

Thinking of doing some panhandling to get some money?  That's illegal too.

Want to stretch out on that bench on the Third Street Promenade and take a nap?  Illegal.

And that shopping cart?  The police will ticket you for having it in your possession and you will get a date at the courthouse--near L.A. International Airport.

Of course, all of these things are illegal but the streets of Santa Monica are filled with homeless people who are forced to break these laws in order to survive; it keeps the Santa Monica Police Department very, very busy.

The little local newsrags are in bed with the City on this issue.  When they print police crime logs, they always make sure that there is a preponderance of crimes committed by "transients," stoking public hysteria over the homeless problem.

The City is currently finishing a re-do of every bus stop in the city.  Gone are the long, metal benches with backs and armrests; in their place are two tiny, backless and armless "stools" to sit on while waiting for a bus.  Trash cans at bus stops are now under lock and key--no more casually flipping up the lid to see if there's anything you might need inside.

Then, there's the Santa Monica Library--the main one Downtown and its satellite branches.  They have a rule about not bringing blankets into the library and no oversize bags are permitted.  Make sure you keep your body clean because if you stink and someone complains, they will ask you to leave.  Bathing and shaving in the bathrooms is not permitted, but people do it all the time.

You really cannot blame city leaders for taking this hardline approach.  The homeless continue to flood into the city every day, and it is the "bad apples" that spoil the barrell for the rest of us.  Remember back when you had a normal, "housed" life?  I certainly do.  The presence of the homeless WAS annoying, wasn't it?  Yes, it was--admit it.



 

James Dean in Santa Monica

Tragic film star James Dean was born in 1931 in Indiana.  In 1935, James and his parents, Mildred and Winton, moved to Santa Monica; his father had transferred to a new job as a Dental Technician at the nearby Veteran's Hospital.

One book I read about Dean stated that the family first lived in an apartment near the southeast corner of 26th Street and Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica; today, there is no apartment building at that location.

Another book about Dean, "Rebel," states that the family lived at 1422 Twenty-Third Street, just south of Santa Monica Boulevard in Santa Monica; today that location is a parking lot (of course).  On the other side of 23rd Street is a row of surviving bungalow homes, so you can get an idea of what their home probably looked like.

The 23rd Street house was a small, rented California Craftsman-style bungalow with two small bedrooms, a parlor, a lush front lawn with a palm tree, and a rear garden. 

Little Jimmy Dean started 1st grade at the Brentwood School, on Gretna Green, just off San Vicente Boulevard; after one term in Brentwood, Jimmy transferred to McKinley Elementary School, which was just around the corner from where they lived on 23rd.

Jimmy's mother Mildred died in the house on 23rd at age 29 of cancer.  Right after her death in July, 1940, Winton Dean sent his son back to Indiana to live with relatives.

James Dean returned to Santa Monica after graduating from high school in 1949.  He lived with his father and stepmother in Santa Monica in a "squat little stone house."  He attended Santa Monica City College and, later, UCLA, but dropped out to pursue acting in New York.

While he attended UCLA, James Dean took acting classes given by actor James Whitmore in a rehearsal hall at 26th and San Vicente in Santa Monica.

Other Homeless People/Bums

There's a homeless guy in Colorado who has posted a bunch of videos on youtube.com, most of which are about how to survive homelessness. 

In one very entertaining and informative vlog posting, he instructs his viewers to absolutely stay away from other homeless people; he says, rather explosively into the camera: "FUCK OTHER HOMELESS PEOPLE!"

I have taken this advice to heart and it has served me very well so far.

Early this morning, as I was walking along Santa Monica Boulevard, I spotted one of the worst of the homeless about a block ahead, walking toward me.  I can spot these demonic homeless bums a mile away:  their distinctive walk, filthy clothes and blanket slung over one shoulder, and talking/shouting to himself/herself--usually laced with choice obscenities.

These demonic bums love to start saying shit out loud to me just as we pass one another on the street; it's obviously meant to provoke me.

But this morning, I lost it with this possessed asshole from Hell.  I crossed the street to the other side to avoid interacting with him but, just as I passed him across the street, he starts in with the provocative loud shit, directed clearly at me (there was no one else around at that early hour of the morning).

So I yelled at him to shut the Hell up and to go fuck himself.  "GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM YOU DEMON FROM HELL!" I yelled.  This started a very lively and spirited exchange of "FUCK YOU!" shouts at each other from opposite sides of the street.  I started walking towards him, but he kept walking in the opposite direction, shouting "FUCK YOU!" back at me.

I am losing my patience with these bastards--they are EVERYWHERE, all over Los Angeles and Santa Monica.

Carol Burnett's Father, Joseph Thomas ("Jody") Burnett in Santa Monica

I've just finished re-reading Carol Burnett's wonderfully-written, cannot-put-it-down, don't-want-it-to-end 1986 book "One More Time, A Memoir" in which she writes about her childhood in Texas and Hollywood, leading up to the early years of her fabulous career in television, film and writing.

While glued to her riveting and entertaining memoir, I felt like I was a member of her extremely dysfunctional, yet very lovable family, the center of which for Carol were her divorced parents Louise and Jody (both chronic alcoholics), her maternal grandmother "Nanny," and her half-sister Christine.

One of the things that jumped out at me while reading the book was the fact that her father Jody Burnett (born 1907 in Texas, the youngest of three brothers) lived for a time after the divorce (circa 1940) in Santa Monica with his mother Nora at 915 Wilshire Boulevard, on the north side of the boulevard, between 9th and 10th Streets, "...in a tiny place that looked kind of like a lean-to, right off 10th Street behind a sporting goods store."

Today, that address, 915 Wilshire does not appear to exist, and there is no sporting goods store.  My best guess is that 915 Wilshire was where The Slice Pizzeria is located today, adjacent to the alley that splits the block.  On the other side of the alley, fronting on Wilshire is something very rare: what looks like an old bungalow home.  Neither the bungalow nor the pizza place show an address to the street.

Moreover, before her parent's divorce, Carol wrote in her memoir that she and her mother and father lived "...in a little place on Montana Avenue" in Santa Monica.

Ms. Burnett spent most of her childhood in a small apartment hotel in Hollywood, right off Hollywood Boulevard.  Her mother Louise (born 1911) lived in one small studio in the building and, down the hall, Carol lived in another studio with her maternal grandmother "Nanny," to whom she was extremely close.

At about age 11 in 1944-1945, young Carol began visiting her father Jody and paternal grandmother Nora on weekends in Santa Monica, sometimes bringing along her best friend, Ilomay.  These visits were made possible partly by the fact that Jody had entered into a "dry period" and was not drinking.

Carol and Ilomay would ride the Pacific Electric red streetcar from Hollywood to the Beverly Hills station, where Jody would meet them, and they'd all complete the final leg of the trip to 915 Wilshire by bus. 

On Saturdays, Carol and her girlfriend would walk the ten blocks to the beach at Santa Monica "...and spend the day getting sunburned."   On Saturday nights, Jody would take the girls to "an early double-feature, and we'd all share a box of popcorn."  In her memoir, Carol continued, "Those were the best weekends.  I loved them."

The weekend visits came to an abrupt end after a little over a year when Grandmother Nora died, sending Jody back to the bottle, something young Carol absolutely despised about her father.  Carol's hatred of drunks and drinking explains why she was so hurt by an item published at the height of her career in the National Enquirer that she was seen in a fancy restaurant, drunk (she sued the Enquirer and won).

When Carol graduated from Hollywood High School in Winter 1951, Jody could not attend because "he was sick in a charity hospital."

Carol writes in her memoir that the last time she saw her father Jody was in August, 1954--just before she left Los Angeles to jumpstart her career in New York City.  Jody was a tuberculosis patient in the "charity ward" at what was then known as Olive View Sanitarium.

Three months or so later, in New York, Carol received word that Jody had died.  She wrote:  "I'm in New York, and he's dead.  In Venice Beach somewhere...with a bunch of wino buddies."

still alive

well, i survived yet another suicide attempt...still alive.

HELP ME

I need someone to rescue me from the streets--and soon.

It's become painful to walk because of my knees and my feet and now there's a big, broken blister on my right foot, between the big toe and the next toe.

Yesterday, I walked all the way (in pain) from West L.A. to West Hollywood.  My goal was to meet someone who would rescue me.

I sat outside a coffee place.  An extremely handsome, mature man cruised me from across the street; I cruised him back.  He came over and we talked for a few minutes.  He asked me where I live.  I told him that I am "staying" in West L.A.  I couldn't bring myself to say the word "homeless."

It was clear that he wanted a quickie hookup, but he was unable to confirm that his roommate was not at home.  When he left, a part of me was relieved because I knew that a quickie hookup with him would have been just that:  I would have been used and then discharged back onto the streets--alone and feeling more depressed.

Later, when the sun went down, I got up the courage to walk into a gay bar--something I have not done in a long time.  I didn't have any money to buy a drink, but I was hoping that somebody would buy me one.

The first guy I talked to was nice enough, but he was a lousy conversationalist.  He never asked me a single thing about me.  When I stopped talking and introduced a lull in the conversation, he just sat there, pulled out his smartphone and looked at his watch.

And I did not get a drink.

A Box of Doughnuts

Has this ever happened to you?

You're hungry, you have no money.

You turn a corner, and, there, sitting and waiting for you is a delicious box of fresh doughnuts, just waiting for you.  Almost like the spirit world put it there for you.

There's no one around and it's obvious that someone--or something--knew you were coming and put it in your path.

A Night at the Spa

If you are offended by homosexuality--or, you're under 18--do NOT read this post.

Last night, I decided to splurge and spend $20 on 8 hours of shelter in a tiny room at the Roman Holiday Spa on Venice Boulevard.

The Roman Holiday is a small "bath house" catering to gay, bisexual and questioning men.  Apparently it's been in that location, serving as an M4M fuckhouse for over 40 years...that's a lot of cum.

I've been to just about every gay bath house in the Los Angeles area, but this was, I think, my first time at the Roman Holiday on Venice.

It's not that big a place--about 20 rooms.  It has the usual steam room and sauna and jacuzzi.  There's a TV lounge, but the TV was not showing porn.

A note to my straight male homeless colleagues:  you can get a room here and you don't have to have sex with anyone...you'll get hit on, but, just politely decline and go back to your room.  It's a good place to clean up and get a break from the streets.  When I checked in, they did not ask to see my ID.

Apparently, the $20 rate is only good on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

There was a preponderance of Hispanic guys there and I learned that they sure like sex with mature white men.  Maybe their boss at work is a middle age white dude and they have a secret desire to be fucked by him.  At any rate, I certainly got my sexual needs met with the Hispanics and one young black dude.

So, $20 bought me 8 hours of time off the streets, but I was not able to sleep.  The sheet and pillowcase was soaked with sweat from two male bodies having sex...there was noise that kept me awake and I was horny too.

When I checked out at dawn and hit the lonely streets again, I was incredibly depressed.  I got my sexual and my shelter needs met, but, I did not meet the sugardaddy who would rescue me from the streets.  I have this fantasy (the one thing that keeps me going) that some nice, NORMAL, kind, attractive and GENEROUS man is going to rescue me from my homeless nightmare...it did not happen.

New Place to Sleep

I am now bedding down for the night just outside Santa Monica city limits; time will tell if the Los Angeles Police Department has the same policy as the Santa Monica Police Department--to drive out the homeless.

I am getting sick and tired of being homeless.  I tried to register on couchsurfing.com, but you have to upload a photo to your profile, and I cannot do that on a public computer.

I posted a message on guyslink.com, that I am looking for a place to stay.

The Homeless Situation is Only Going to Get WORSE

You're never going to get rid of the homeless and the problem is only going to get worse as the population increases.

As long as we live in a free country where movement is not controlled or restricted, homeless people are going to continue to come here from all over the nation.

You'd better learn to live with the problem because it's never going to be "cured."  You can try and drive them out, but they will figure out ways to stay put and survive.  Human beings have a very strong ability to adapt to adversity.

Santa Monica Declares "War" on the Homeless

The City of Santa Monica is now stepping up its effort to drive the homeless out of the city.

Every night, the police sweep all streets and alleys and roust the homeless from where they are bedding down for the night.  They tell you that all lists for housing in Santa monica are closed, that sleeping outside is not allowed anywhere in the city, and that if you continue to do it, you will go to jail.

The city is now in the process of installing new bus stop "furniture" at all bus stops in Santa Monica.  Supposedly an "enhancement" for bus riders, what they really are doing is trying to drive out the homeless by removing the metal benches that used to accommodate at least 3 seated persons and replacing it with two miniscule little "seats" jammed right up against each other with no back to rest on and no armrests.

The local newspapers are also trying to drive out the homeless by printing police logs and always making sure that there is a preponderance of police interactions involving "transients."  This creates a sort of panic amongst the citizenry, that most crime in the city is caused by the homeless.

I survived another night

I actually got some sleep last night.  I returned to my usual sleeping place, a business that had been vacant but is now being readied to reopen.  The mexican workers showed upo again before dawn and started playing Mexican music, possibly in an attempt to wake me up and force me out.  But, I did my usual thing and waited until the sky started getting light. 

I've noticed that this is what most other "sleeping out" homeless people do: as soon as the sky starts to get light, they get up and leave the area.

It's become quite clear to me that the City of Santa Monica is stepping up its war on the homeless.  The new bus stop "amenities" are clearly designed to discourage the homeless from lingering at a bus stop.  And the police sweeping the streets every night, rousting the homeless from their "beds" and trying to drive us out of the city.