Comments 2008 July | Deadartist

DEADARTIST Tales of Lembrook

DeadArtist: Comments 2008: July

July 2008

Removed to THE ROCK!!! B116. RockParkHotel!
It was to be a new beginning. I was excited. I was actually happy, for the very first time in a very long while. I was FULL of great anticipation and actual “joy”.
I had nothing. Everything from my entire life-span was gone. The very last word of furnishings, music, clothing, collectibles, books… everything, was an e-mail from the past Spring. It opened with the words “I am so sorry…”. What-ever followed, I don’t believe I ever read. Gone. (Previously, everything I’d ever had in my entire life-time was taken from me, by siblings! Even at a time when I had no-where else to go and couldn’t afford the “storage” that THEY had arranged… with the assurance and promise “I’ll help you with this.” She was “so sorry”. and I was devoid of everything.) Everything, including any “trust” in anybody or anything else in all of Creation. From that point forward, and even to the inclusion of this writing, which was not part of the original “Journal”, nothing did nor has ever since, meant anything. Form this point forward, and to-date, “living” is something that I did and continue to do as the time passes. “Now” is built on “then”, and “then” is this period of time. Nothing matters. Nothing makes sense. I am no longer a “participant”, no longer “caring” about anything in “life”. I am, simply put, “here” for right at the very moment that is, and there is no looking forward to anything other than the moment when, at long last, the situation and conditions afford my departure, on MY terms, in MY comfort. And my “comfort” is tantamount to all.
I cannot recall time when I actually felt that I have been of any particular good use or purpose. I cannot recall any particular moment when I was encouraged to feel positive about myself. No matter how much good I did, no matter how much positive feed-back I received, it was always, and with-out fail, negated, at some point… often at repeated points.
This Summer of 2008, I removed from The Bronx and places so familiar, to the “End of the Earth”. To the shore, the edge of the North American continent. To the beach where, as I stood, looking out over the open Atlantic, due to the way the peninsular was situated, there was nothing between me and Antarctica but the vast, open, endless ocean. There were constant memories of Mum, who SO loved the ocean. There were such peaceful moments.
ALL was lost when, after trying with my all, to re-build EVERYTHING… the Summer was spent sleeping on roof-tops in the rain, and Albert Green. There were accusations of all sorts of ill-mannered behaviour, none of which were based in fact.
I’d gone hungry, tired, thirsty, in need… in true “need” of so much, and yet, never took anything that was not legitimately mine. Never caused misfortune to others. Never caused others to lose or to go with-out. I bore my own tribulations in silence… complete and utter silence. And nobody knew… nobody knew. I wouldn’t tell because it was my own tribulation. I wouldn’t tell because, even as it became evident, nobody cared and nobody would bother to listen, to support, to help. There was no use in telling, in talking about any of it.
Most of the trouble that I encountered over this period was due, quite honestly, to my own hunger. I was, for the most part, always hungry, and always at a loss for the necessities. I would go along for days at a time, not eating anything, and yet, I had the “job”, paying some 6$/hr after taxes and such, a “job” that afforded some 20 hours per week or so. I “worked”, caring for others, attending to the ills and inconveniences of others. I attended to cleaning the homes of others, to cleaning their clothing, ensuring that they received and ate proper meals, washing Albert’s floors when he’d shit and pee on them (and then tell me “You come to clean it up. That’s what you’re here for.”). And all through, I said nothing of it. And I did so, day after day, week after week, always thinking, some-how, that it would lead to better days and better times. It did not.
At Albert’s, it turned to many, MANY nights, sitting on a canvass beach chair, on the roof of his BelleHarbor building, wrapped in a towel for a blanket, under the night skies. When the rains came, it was nights of sitting in that chair, in the stair-well, hoping not to be seen, because of the noise in his flat, or the constant whining, or him being so stoned out of his mind that it was impossible for me to even try and formulate a thought. And I was accused of taking advantage of HIM, of negleting HIM, of “annoying” HIM! And… I was eventually “relieved of my job” with-out so much as an opportunity to express my experiences and to be heard. (Evelyn Belanton or what-ever… PatientCare Home Services… indeed.)

One day, when PatientCare failed to pay me for the hours that I’d worked, I realised that I was no longer able to stay in my little room on 116th. So, one morning, I woke, showered, dressed and walked out, walked away from everything, what little I had left. Simply walked away from it all… including all of the Journalled notes from this time period… left on the old Dell lap-top.

Today (2 June 2015), it means nothing. None of it means anything. It has been YEARS of “nothing”… meaning nothing. Existence has become a burden… but curiousity and nothing more keeps me going and moving along. But I remember.. so much… too much… much. And as I remember, I note. But now I note here, in these Journals, on the Internet, on the ether… where it will all be preserved for as long as possible… and now… finally, at long last, EVERYBODY can… as if they’d care to… know WHAT happened… for these YEARS. NOT, that I give a shit any more. I truly do not. But, at least, MY existence can be known… and that’s really all that matters at this juncture.

This is July, 2008. We enter the very beginning of the very end of “All”. From this point forward there is to be no more “life” and only a moment-to-moment prayer for Death. It’s all “borrowed time”… just borrowed time. Waiting… just waiting.