Everyone Clap Ya Hands

My brother comes home with me.

For the first time he sees my small room. He admits that it's small. Yeah, but not THAT small. He cautions me that such comforts can be taken away by the government at their discretion. Do not trust in anything that the government gives to you, he offers his sage advice. Reasonable conclusion. But as long as they are in the giving mood, I'm taking. Simple as that.

Damn, my online magazine has been offline for the past week. The splash page is gone and a new one has taken it's place, reading: "CHECK BACK EARLY FEBRUARY FOR AN ALL NEW EXCITING NEW YORK SITE WITH ARTICLES ON MUSIC, POLITICS, FASHION, AND NIGHTLIFE, A COMPLETE BUSINESS INDEX WITH ALL YOUR FAVORITE NEW YORK SPOTS, AND AN BRAND NEW REDESIGN MAKING YOUR EXPERIENCE BETTER."

Now what is that about? February? And none of us were notified? Just leave us all in the dark? Unless they are leaving ME in the dark. The magazine might be moving on without me. That sounds great. My ass has now been laid off of TWO online publications. And I'm not even being paid. No more porn, no more city news. No anything. I'll have to go back online and see if I can net some more gigs for my resume. Maybe the temporary assignment is good for me. That way I'll have the time to enlarge my resume with varied projects, instead of one or two major ones. Remember, this is only an internship. On the bottom of the magazine splash page it reads: "Internships available". That's great. I'm as replaceable as toilet tissue.

Baby, it's cold outside. Last night, making my way out of the Way system, I'm trembling in the cold. I never tremble. Not unless I'm standing still in the wind for an indefinite period of time. I wonder about my brother OBSIDIAN. He has made arrangements to spend the winter up in Boston, in a nice, warm, comfy home for the oncoming cold. An option that I never had over the winter times. I spent my winters in the train terminal. I had nowhere to go. My radio producer said: 'You can always go home'. How little does she know, there is no going back there for me. I was willing to freeze out in a New York winter than to do that. Try that shit on for size and then tell me exactly what it means that I can go home.

Yeah, I had had enough of the winters one night, trembling out in the cold while my brother had left for the South to get away. I was standing on a corner, dressed in a jacket and a coat with everything that I owned on my back, and waited for a white van to appear. I hopped in when it arrived and it took me to The Box. And that night, I was out of the frigid cold and in a warm bed. I had a lot to say about The Box when I was there, but that was because I was THERE TOO LONG. It was one of the better run shelters in New York. I would say the ONLY run shelter in New York, but I don't know if I'm qualified to make such a claim. There might be some better, there may be some worse. But I remember winters.

I remember standing in the kitchen of the Box two days after arriving, standing, looking at the snow fall from behind a window for the first time in years. How I was protected against the bitter winds, the cutting cold.

I remember winters.

I look out of my window now, and although I see nothing but a brick wall across from me, I know that its cold out. I know that the hawk is out, and I don't have to contend with it for now. You might not be able to imagine a night out in the cold. You might not be able to grasp a string of nights, a ribbon of weeks, a rope of months. But I remember winters. I don't have to be reminded of, or felt guilty about, that. I can't save the world. I can't save myself. To everyone still out there in the streets, continue to struggle with your personal demons, and when you are ready, work your way out of the streets. It's not easy, but it can be done. You don't need to freeze.

That's as far as my guilt will carry me. I'm sorry. I don't function well on feeling guilty. My therapist wants me to try it. Or I suppose. That's the impression I took from our last meeting. She is strange. She asks me questions that she doesn't allow me to finish. We laugh and joke, but it's always strained. Always.

Another thing that always strained: my fucking morning exercise. Shouldn't I be getting stronger? I'm doing the same thing day after day, and yet I don't feel stronger. I feel more strained. It's getting harder and harder to do them, but I don't experience anything. My muscles don't feel larger, the reps don't get easier. All I get is sore and achy. As my doctor, Doc A., tells me if it starts to hurt, stop. I feel that that's sage advice. Although I'm not hurting, I am sore. I take a break on weekends to allow the muscles to knit and heal for the work out of the week. Now I just need to start walking again. When the weather breaks.

Further, I'll give you a little 'don't' to do when you're dieting. DON'T EAT BABY FOOD! In fact, NEVER eat baby food. That shit is like crack cocaine. No wonder little kids have chubby cheeks. They're hooked on Gerber Smack. That shit is like being an astronaut on steroids. You know, astronaut food is baby food packaged in silver vacuum packed packages. That's what I say that I feel like, more astronaut and less baby. But I'll be damned if that food isn't on my mind all of the time. I want one now. I have a refrigerator full and I've been fighting cravings for it more than anything in my room. Just eating them can throw me off my diet because I can eat so many. And at 70 calories a pop, it's great if you want only one. Bad if you eat three. Get where I'm coming from? Fucking Gerber.

Fuck guilt, fuck Winter and fuck baby food.

Well, maybe not baby food.

Hobobob