Asylum Rising (Verse One): Even Hell Is Cold In Winter

Lately, I’ve had less time to dedicate to overlooking oversights.

I don’t have as much concern for the negligible.

I am highly sensitive.



I mean, nothing gets past me. The smallest furl of a lip can set off my alarms.

I suppose because it is the holidays,

and I know that finding places to duck

are getting slim, and even the social media(who’s he kidding, right…*cough*Twitter*cough*)

which tends towards the more vain and egotistical is being warm and caring to one another.

I can’t take “no” for an answer.

I focus more.

more aware of being lonely.

I’m more antagonistic towards violations of my alone time.

I’m deathly aware of what should be a priority.

The cold tends to worry me.

Yet, the cold of people’s hearts scares me even more.

That is something I never thought I’d be as naive about as it turns out I have been.

You know, I’ve seen some pretty ugly people and acts in my life, and it isn’t even about,”oh, I never thought it would be me…”, sure, I really didn’t, but…

There is an abruptness in the responses of people I know.

There is an immediate sense of “how long is he going to be here.”

There is a lack of solutions…

which is the biggest thing…and a complete reflection of the macro that is the micro I represent. now…

…so, people tend to have this attitude…you know…

“Well, I don’t know what to do to help, and I have this to worry about, and…”

I get that…A LOT.


That I didn’t expect.

I never realized just how much people value their pain.

Pain is a commodity in many regards.

And when you are in my condition, nobody is going to let me play on their court.


(*yuck* Even this coffee is cold…)

In a phrase: The world is self-centered.

We use very lofty phrases of brotherhood, altruism, and the like…

but I don’t even feel the holiday spirit, (yeah I know, I left out the quotes, right?)

from anyone but those who seem to be in the same situation as I

(I can hear Khairi in my ear,”What you expect? Thought they was…”(I love that line)).

I don’t know, what should one expect the reality of homelessness to be?

And I know I type “afraid” and “scared” more often than I have ever.

Maybe that is inaccurate.

It isn’t “fear” like “oh, those guys are going to rob me.”

I don’t get that trepidation.

It is a concern for my future. There is a bit of limbo in my life, that draws me to worry.

When people that you call “family” feel less like that, or maybe more, I suppose…

well, you start to be concerned about what is it that is indeed necessary.

I’m thinking absolute objectivity, here.

And what matters is what you can give to others.

What matters is what you don’t take away from others.

People don’t want you in their space reminding them of how “soft” they are by your mere presence.

People don’t want you in their space reminding them of how “real” life can get.

People don’t want you in their space reminding them of how “weak” not being able to help feels.

People have trained not to save people in financial binds.

Hell, as I check my reaction to those words being typed…

I would say that I have been trained to not even be able to accept being “saved”.

You have all of these people screaming about being heroes and the like…

but if you can’t sign this, right here, sign this line, date right here…sign this…

then they can’t get money for what they are doing.

And yes, my every breath is somebody’s bottom line in this condition.

That’s another thing:

I know we always say it, but I really have learned just how cheap words are.

Not so much my words, right? For the most part, I really am living off of my words.

But, I actually get this aggravating feeling in my upper back when I hear or read “positive” statements.

You know?

“Stay up,” “It gets greater later,” “God doesn’t put more on you than you can bear…”

Man, look, fuck god, can that extra bed you got be my greater right now?

I hate to be caustic like that,(well, it does add a certain cool to my geek, though, right?)

but those words, no matter how well meaning, just add to my pain.

It is like attempting to soften a separation.

No matter how delicate the “goodbye,” it is good bye…

There is a finality that has to be lived through.

A pleasure is about to be taken or altered in some form.

Now, don’t take this to be solely referring to the cloying and empty attention getting done on social media.

I’m more discussing the sentiments of people I deal with in a more familiar fashion.

Not that I don’t need the words, but I need them not to be a candy coated rejection.

I need them not to be a candy coated denial of service.

I am a pretty strong mind. But even I need a hand that doesn’t close when I need it to be open.

I don’t want to become the manipulator I sense many people silently demanding me to be.

People are very, what is the word here…use to being used.

I deal with two types: those that are attempting to overwhelm me, and people that want me to overwhelm them.

Like a drug.

And I have been judged on my ability to overwhelm almost in the same sort of terms.


Yes! People will give you a grade on just how well you overwhelmed them!

The euphoria of a comfortable oppression may be more addictive than opium.

It is in that understanding, or in that mental space, that people want me to operate.

Nobody truly wants me to answer the question,”How are you?”

Dude, I’m without a spot to crash, life is peaches and cream out here…what do you want to hear?

There is a need to rectify that with something.

The do gooders and heroes have to aggressively force their vacuous advice and statements:

“You can go here, and sell this…”

“You’ll get through it…”

In my mind, the response is:

“Bitch, you go and sell it and give me the money I don’t have to buy the shit you asking me to sell.”

Yet, I’m a more disciplined and self-contained Owl these days.

I’m not helpless.

I’m not a child.

I’m not a “case”…nor a “case number” for that matter.

I’m not incapable or incompetent.

I’m not getting an adequate income. There is our bottom line again, yes?

Everyday I seclude my Self in some establishment’s restroom.

I attempt to groom my Self the best I can.

I use my hand to press out my clothing.

I cleanse my Self as best possible.

I don’t want people to label me as a “bum.”

I don’t want to be looked upon as “broke”…it implies,”broken.”

The realities I attempt to avoid have educated me
on just how acceptable classism is,
and just how many people that claim to be against it
are actually some of its stronger supporters.

I’ve learned just how strong the ego is.

It is stronger than our bandying about of ego destruction.

In fact, that is the ego speaking because it knows it can get attention there.

The ego as the martyr is still the ego.

No one wants to read or hear me discuss my severity;
they are too busy waiting on their turn to say,”Ooo! Ooo! Me too! Me too, my problems are bad! Listen to me!”

Or even worse…

“I would know how to get out of that condition if I were Owl…let me save the day with my mighty words…”

As much as I want to disclaimer this piece and write that I hope
no one reading takes anything here too personally or as a slight against them…
if I have to write that, then I don’t mean it.

If I have to explain that, given my circumstances, then whoever I’d be reaching is a self-centered, immature bastard
that I hope I’ve offended.

With that, love and peace, right?