There’s a homeless man who sits outside Broadway Junction with his dog. When I saw this Memorial I thought both man and dog had died but today I saw the gentleman and stopped to give my condolences. Also pats on his shoulder. Human touch means.
As he explained to me while crying that dog was his family. All his immediate family members are dead. He has nobody. My heart went out to him because I’ve been seeing him every day since 2012.
The dog’s name was Bones. Bones was his constant faithful companion. Bones was eleven when he passed away.
Though only 55 the death of his beloved Bones has aged him twenty years. The shelter system in New York City does not allow pets in the shelters. For many homeless people all they have are their pets.
I did my best to give comfort and Yes I did give him a dollar. But even more important I gave a listening ear. Though we pass by the homeless treating them like so much flotsam and jetsam. They too were somebody’s child. And in the Eyes of God the Lord sees them as Human beings.
No judgment. Just Acceptance.
Please read Luke 16:19-31 New International Version (NIV)
Homeless people who have disabilities are often treated very badly by the system. In fact disabled People in general often don’t get the programs and services they need. I hadn’t planned to attend this church fair but God had other plans for me. Plans to meet an Angel.
Today at a Church Health Fair I met Angel McMillan a young woman who uses a wheelchair.
Ms. McMillan currently lives in the Magnolia House Shelter located at 1424 Herkermer St.
The elevator is kept locked and only the security guard has the key. In case of emergency Ms. McMillan is trapped in the building. She has to beg just to gain access to the elevator to even get outside for doctors appointments or fresh air.
The Magnolia House shelter is also filthy, dirty with garbage and trash strewn everywhere. Definitely an unsafe environment for a young woman with a disability. This facility is in direct violation of the Americans with Disabilities Act.
❤❤❤❤❤🐱🐱🐱🐱❤❤
Of course I advocate for my brother Stephen all the time but think about the homeless disabilities People.
Previously in March I assisted a blind woman to locate the B56 bus at Broadway Junction.
She was Crying for help so I immediately went to assist Her.
Despite the fact that both the Police Department is at Broadway Junction as are the Transit Workers neither came to her assistance.
Stayed with Her until bus arrived. She was on Her way to the homeless shelter somewhere in the area of 75th and Elderts.
Why does the City of New York send blind People to unfamiliar places and Destinations? Earlier that day she had fallen and injured her hand. Being that this is a low income neighborhood the sidewalks and streets are tore up. Overwhelming obstacles for a blind person.
Why are blind People forced to Live in homeless shelters? Surely NYC can do better.
Seeing Eye Dog Sculpture
Seeing Eye Dog Sculpture
Seeing Eye Dog Sculpture
Seeing Eye Dog Sculpture
I advocate for my neighbors with disabilities. Who do you advocate for?
Activism, Advocacy and Resistance to the system is not only providing immediate help but contacting local neighborhood elected officials to get disabled People the goods, services and programs that they need.
For your reading pleasure I present HalloReads in the Poetic form. Enjoy.
The Urban Zompire’s Junkie Dilemma
Pickled heroin methadone heart. Brains oozing oxycodone pus. Blood inferno tastes of road tar and gasoline fired up my internals causing me untold hours of nocturnal agonies. I am thrashing as flames roar through veins and arteries. Oh where is the pure sweet virgin blood that will wash away these LSD hallucinating fantasies that have me flying off twenty-six story buildings down in back alleys filled with Quaaludes, dirty needles, Crank, crack undead hunting, seeking, roaming searching……
The drugs have gotten nastier over the decades while I with a Claude Rains get-up travel as the Invisible Man prowling the underbelly of the city buried in a darkness so deep that nary a ray of solar has pierced it’s shades in over one hundred years. After feasting upon coke rattled users their blood coagulates and congeals before I can swallow. Feeling like something was gagging me and needed to be coughed up and expelled. In times that I was truly desperate and bereft of money and social graces I preyed on the homeless, walked the halls of neglected overworked City hospitals where no one questioned my presence the abandoned and unwanted were rancid, rotten, salty from IVs, antiseptic from disinfectants, but being ravenous with unchecked hunger I ignored their foul smells I drank my filling ending the useless meaningless lives faster than the diseases ravaging their corrupted bodies.
I reign as a leech, a mosquito seeking succulent prey. Sometimes I follow Catholics after Midnight Mass. The popists still use real wine so tender, so gentle that one can still detect hints of the grapes origins. Not like that Protestant grape juice shit that triggers the urge to regurgitate saccharine back onto my victims. Transients and one-stands, for I filled the trick-turners with sperm-less semen, were the worse for vomited tinged sweat oozed from the pores and every bodily orifice.
Crack houses of 1980s and 1990s recall in memory the squalid opium dens of 19th Century Sherlockian London. His Seven percent solution mellowed out by a good cocaine laced Vin Mariani. Exsanguinating the well-born dandies whose addictions to Legal opium, laudanum, cocaine and morphine well fueled by shots of Brandy and smooth Cognac produced a sweet umber warmth quenching my parched throat. There by night I’m the suave smooth sophisticate, the pompous dandy now called Metrosexual I float into the 21st Century luring gullible Trust Fund babies High Class Tarts into my Lair relieving them of not only their life essence but whatever monies and valuables I find within Glass and steel Luxury condos.
Zompire ~ Welcome to My Neighborhood!!
I especially enjoy emptying their medicine cabinets and secret bedroom chambers filled with Celexa, Lexapro, Paxil, Prozac, Zoloft, Xanax, Klonopin, Valium, and Ativan. With some Ambien thrown in for good measure. Makes it so easy to get the Stepford 1% Women to do my bidding. Wealthy but weak. No street smarts like the inner-city denizens. They are the filet mignon of human victims their blood tart, tangy, occasionally sour milk with a nutsy woodsy crisp flavor that I crave nightly. Their minds a blank slate easily led. Liberal on the outside, Tea Party on the inside their bones crack easily as I sucked bone marrow from femurs. Here I am well-nourished so here I will stay. The Fortune 500 are my personal cornucopia.
Brooklyn Go Hard Morning ~ Raunchy, gritty, grungy, hardcore, dirty, filthy, artsy-craftsy, petal soft primal woodsy, wild. Designer baby strollers, Citi-Bike riders, health food buyers, vegan organic garden juxtaposed within a few blocks of BodegaLand wilted fruit, shrunken veggies, seven churches on one block, artery clogging foods, liquor stores, Loosies, shopping cart pushing poverty stricken poor beings hustling up another meal from the local food pantries. The B25 Bus will take you to all worlds in one short ride.
Bumble Bee Buzz Razor sharp concepts ideas, plans, exciting, off the chain, rose scented thorns up your crazy cool a$$ fantasy, all the way live, drama, Elegance, earthy, witty, Wow! The Borough of Kings filled with Queens. City of Dreams. Poems and Schemes. Living the Grind to expand my mind. Peace out!!!!!!!!!
Brooklyn Evening Downstream Rush
Brooklyn ~ Land of Drama and Dreamers, Hipsters, Hucksters and Healers, Shirkers and Workers……
Amidst the filth, dirt and refuse he sits. Sleeping dog by his side. I stopped. I had to stop for my Guardian Angel bid me pause.
As I got closer I realized underneath the grit and grime of Broadway Junction, the light deprived space next to a ramshackle breakfast, bagel, Danish, egg sandwich cart was a white man possibly in his 30s or early 40s. Unwashed tousled hair steady gaze. Hoping. Wishing. Praying that passersby will stop, recognize him a human in distress only needing a few dollars which more than likely will be used to buy dog food for faithful canine companion and maybe whatever the food cart was not able to sell during the day.
In him I see me. I was almost there. Paid my rent. Nothing left to buy food for either myself or my two feline friends. I prayed and my Guardian Angel caused the local junkies to drop $9.00 on my doorstep. Nine whole dollars which went to Fancy Feast for my beloved cats who love me down and out, rich or poor, in sickness and in health.
Was this man who sits peacefully and patiently once a King, an Emperor, and a contender for something greater than a Brooklyn street? Today he is a homeless man his only companion his faithful dog who arose in friendly anticipation of monetary dispensation. Only $2.00. That’s all I could give him today. Wish I could have given more. He generously thanked me. I saw his heart through his eyes.
Maybe once he was a Warrior, now beset by the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune. Did Desert Storm take the wind out of his sails? Who or what abandoned him to this desolation of watching teeming hordes of semi-purposeful beings trod the garbage strewn path to catch departing buses and subway trains to who knows where? In another life was his ever present Prince Valiant Pup a trusty steed in King Arthur’s court? Did he reign over the Knights of the Round-table? How came he to this ignoble end, yet still maintain a semblance of dignity?
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 