but still homeless

Day 206

Due to unusual circumstances I was able to take up the “role” of an anti-social drug addict this weekend. I have to admit that after having performed a bunch of rude gestures, insulted a few “like minded” and “chilled” in more or less public places while missing one shoe, walking and running around at night, smoking, I find it difficult to let go.
However, my hair has turned into a “mess”, my shirt smelled of sweat, alcohol and less healthy fluids, I was missing my “favourite” shoes and the dark under-eye circles I put on with make-ip began to appear more realistic the longer it took.
I remember being an “intolerable” show-off, quoting from various sources and speaking in at least three languages, annoying a drunk enough to throw an mainly empty milkshake cup at me.
But there were also “kind” people, one offered me a “weapon” to defend myself, one gave me a drink and an other one offered to have my back while I slept. There was a very young man who continued to play his time-worn violin only stopping once to eat and then to find an other place. There was a corpulent woman that hold unto the hand of a man who had not many teeth left. There was a group of teens sticking papers to walls and fences with personal signs and advertisement for various bands on them and there was a probably lonely man who wanted to convince people that “God was love”.
There were police officers and growling dogs and some “high” young adults smelling of puke that looked at the sky searching for stellar constellations behind the clouds, trying to name them themselves.
There was a person traveling around talking to me about dark chocolate, not knowing when they would find “home”.
Nights in big cities turn people into someone else, but not necessarily into a villain. Though people seem to belief that truth, even those who wander in the dark.
It seems that at night when you enjoy yourself, shouting out “death treats” and rolling on the smelly, black appearing grass after a physical fight, you must cling to yourself and every distraction to strongly to judge.
People at three am are fundamentally rude, but they don’t condemn you, they care or they forget, because there are more important things than you.
People at three am might have this advantage on everyone else.
It is amusingly ironic that they can’t know that, because as soon as they did they would loose it.

(-confession/lie 104)

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Annnnnd, we’re back, folks.

Don’t forget about IwaOi Week, it’s getting closer and closer. Which day are you most excited for? Admin Oikawa has been working on a fic that he says he “can’t show” me, but I’m pretty sure that the one he’s most excited for is May 6th, because that freak is *obsessed* with fairy tales. I think my favorite is going to be May 2nd. I freaking love unrequited love stuff, because I love suffering. 

But, hey, what are you most excited for? Let us know! 

The prompts are: 

MAY 1st: Immortality/College
MAY 2nd: Unrequited/Firsts
MAY 3rd: Charm/Song-Inspired
MAY 4th: Holidays/Paranoia
MAY 5th: Free day/Miscommunication
MAY 6th: Fairy Tale/Anomaly
MAY 7th: Goodbyes/Hellos

-Admin Iwaizumi 

anonymous asked:

dude pls talk about some jason angst if you're up for it... my corps are dying...

  • Jason Todd is lonely. He has made amends with his family, and he has the Outlaws, sure, but at the end of the night…he’s a lost child stuck in the body of a man. He’s still the homeless kid who slept in boxes and hid in corners, and he doesn’t think he can ever accept companionship. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he genuinely thinks he’s not worthy of it. “Everyone leaves.”
  • His time in Arkham really fucked him up. To put someone suffering from PTSD into forced contact with the source of his trauma?? Jason spent night after night choking on his own sobs while listening to the clown laugh. He was the kid again, the toy soldier that belonged to Batman, and he hated it. Batman wasn’t coming for him; nobody was.
  • It hurts Jason to care about people; its absolutely toxic, he thinks, loving someone. Loving his family, his friends…it’s an all consuming burn that he can’t fight. Everyone and everything he touches is sure to die. Being alone meant everyone (but him) was better off. 
  • Jason has the worst reactions to fear gas…like it’s literally brutal. But letting people know is exposing a weakness so he drags his shaking body back to his apartment, locking himself in the soundproof room. Bruce and the others once find him there after he’s MIA for a few days; he’s hydrated, unresponsive, and there’s bloodied scratches everywhere. Bruce is shaken, but Jason refuses to talk about it. How was he supposed to tell the man that the fear gas showed him that fatal moment when Batman slit his throat? 
  • Speaking of which…Jason doesn’t think there’s anything left in him to break. But everytime he thinks about how Bruce (his father figure, his mentor), picked the Joker over him, an unbearable silence settles over him and he has to close his eyes for a moment. It’s too much. It’s the saddest moment of his life. 
  • Jason Todd can laugh, live, and fight. He’s as functional as any of the others, but there’s always going to be one factor that separate him from everyone else. He doesn’t think he deserves this second life. He thinks its was a mistake, something everyone kindly ignores.
  • He thinks he’s a walking grave; he thinks Bruce looks at him, and sees the glass case down in the Batcave
  • He’s a ghost, and he knows there’s nothing he can do to change that
  • Because no one will give him a chance to
  • It’s easier if he stays a ghost
  • There, but not there
  • It’s easier that way, for everyone.
  • (Everyone but him.)
instagram

Jaebum for The Bling Magazine

OMG … . 🗣JAEBUM … IN THOSE BOOT … I AM LIVING YAAASS

I just… I think about The Lost Years™ and I get so emotional??? Imagine Robert, driving away, at first distraught and filled with anger and outrage, an “I’ll show them” mentality… until he reaches London. And the panic starts setting in. He barely has any money. He only has the clothes on his back. He has a car, for as long as his money and petrol last. Did he sleep in his car? Waste some of his money booking a room for the night? Did he stay in a homeless shelter? Where did he go? What did he do? How long until he found a job? He was alone, in the city. Without family, without friends or any sort of connections… what happened to Robert.

Nine thousand people passed away in the earthquake of 25 April 2015. Houses,heritage sites, livestock and businesses were destroyed. Beautiful Langtang was wiped off the map, the entire village. Nepal is still coping. People are homeless, politics still chaotic. “Philanthropists” from Amreeka have now safely landed to another new trend tormenting some other black/brown community.

Dear people who look down on the poor and the homeless: I used to be one of those disabled homeless vets you read about, and I only have a roof over my head now because I qualified for disability, and because others helped me get back on my feet. I’m one of the lucky ones; not everybody has those advantages.

I tell you I have experienced more caring and generosity of spirit from poor people than from anyone else. People with a home and a good income can be generous, as well, and I’m not dogging them for what they have and what they choose to graciously give–that is genuine and admirable kindness and love for their fellow human beings on their part, and I respect and admire them for doing what they can.

But you have to understand that when someone is living hand to mouth, who is one step away from being on the street themselves, offers you a hand up, they’re offering proportionately so much more of what they have available. And they do it all the time, because they know that most of society doesn’t care, so the poor HAVE to help each other, because odds are no one else will.

You also have to understand that most homeless people don’t have the resources to do what it takes to get off the street. And that if you see them with something you don’t think they “deserve” to have, like a smartphone that most likely was given to them or they got fourth-hand, that may be the only thing that connects them to anyone or anything that they might be able to use to help themselves.

A few prepaid minutes or a cheap basic plan isn’t going to get them a home, but it can sure as hell make their situation seem a little less hopeless. When I was homeless, I still had my monthly plan, a cheap flip-phone, a tablet, and the car I called home. Selling those things would have gotten me some temporary cash, but having them let me skip a few steps in getting back on my feet. They helped me find places to couch-surf, and eventually helped me get off the street. Selling them would have gotten me some quick cash, but that wouldn’t have lasted.

You cannot simultaneously look down on homeless people while also sneering at them for managing to keep the things from their old life that can help them stop being homeless. When you do that, you are essentially rooting for them to remain homeless.

And if you see a homeless person spending donated money on booze, well, I guarantee you that most of you would take anything you could get to make the pain and undeserved shame of your situation a little more bearable.

They’re not homeless because they spent five bucks on a pint of cheap rotgut. They’re getting that cheap rotgut because it’s all they have to look forward to. Saving up a few dollars here and there isn’t going to substantially change their situation, but damn it, for a couple of hours, they can numb themselves a little.

Do some people manage to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps?” Sure. Some people get lucky–like me–but even with the advantages I had, it wasn’t easy. Some people become Olympic athletes, too, but not everybody can.

I have a policy that I hope you’ll adopt, too. I’m not wealthy by any means–especially now that I’m not going to be sharing expenses with someone else–but anyone on the street who asks me for money, I will give them at least something if I have it on me. It might be a handful of change, or it might be a five, but unless I am literally down to my last couple of bucks, I’ll share it.

It’s not my job to police what they spend it on, or to decide whether or not they “deserve” it. It’s my job to do what I can, however small, for my fellow human beings. It’s not something I need a cookie for–it’s just my responsibility as a human fucking being.

And if you’re fortunate enough to have spare cash when you pass someone less fortunate, I hope you’ll consider it your job, too.

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May 15th, part one: exteriors.

This complex of apartment houses , open since about the 1970’s, has now been abandoned for around a year. It is awaiting destruction and redevelopment, though some homeless still occupy the empty units. The top picture shows graffiti in white on the sidewalk, reading “Fuck This Shit Yall Can Have It,” with an arrow pointing to one of the units.

Why should kids be taught to hate the police? Because there are 2.3 million people in jail in the US right now and every single one was put there by a fucking cop. Some people talk about good cops and bad cops, but a good cop, a cop doing their job properly, still puts nonviolent drug users in jail for many years, totally ruining their lives as they lose their jobs, houses, cars, romantic partners, access to college, and become substantially less employable upon release. A cop doing their job properly still gives homeless people tickets for vagrancy which they obviously can’t pay and when a warrant is issued as a result an officer doing their job properly arrests those homeless people. An officer doing their job properly peppersprays and arrests environmental protesters so that logging companies can clear-cut old growth forests. An officer doing their job properly is evicting a family from their home as you read this because the parents’ jobs were shipped overseas so that the bosses could make eight figures a year instead of seven. Those people will become homeless, vagrancy tickets will be written, warrants will be issued… And then there’s the “bad ones”.
— 

Sacking Rome: A Magazine for Vandals, issue one

nicely put.

waroncops.tumblr.com

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Hi friends! My name’s Marius Pontmercy. I’m a linguistics and history student and general lover of life. I grew up kind of sheltered so I’m really just getting into the whole social justice scene, but I am already very passionate about LGBTQ rights as well as poverty and homelessness. I’m still learning a lot and the whole lot has been very patient with me as I figure everything out. I’m bisexual, fall in love daily, read too many books, make a fool of myself, and don’t understand meme culture as well as I pretend to. So yeah that’s about it! See you all around! –Marius Pontmercy

No, seriously.

Why should kids be taught to hate the police? Because there are 2.3 million people in jail in the US right now and every single one was put there by a fucking cop. Some people talk about good cops and bad cops, but a good cop, a cop doing their job properly, still puts nonviolent drug users in jail for many years, totally ruining their lives as they lose their jobs, houses, cars, romantic partners, access to college, and become substantially less employable upon release.

A cop doing their job properly still gives homeless people tickets for vagrancy which they obviously can’t pay and when a warrant is issued as a result an officer doing their job properly arrests those homeless people. An officer doing their job properly peppersprays and arrests environmental protesters so that logging companies can clear-cut old growth forests. An officer doing their job properly is evicting a family from their home as you read this because the parents’ jobs were shipped overseas so that the bosses could make eight figures a year instead of seven. Those people will become homeless, vagrancy tickets will be written, warrants will be issued…

And then there’s the “bad ones.”

― Sacking Rome: A Magazine for Vandals, Issue 1.