Gloaming of early morning outside my window. I feel rather good. Yesterday afternoon was a success for me, in that I got my point across to the other guys. I played my bass quite well, too. It probably sounded better to them than it did to me. The solo I took on “Bubble House” sucked. It was in G7, which is harder for me to solo over. But I really burned on “The Mincer,” in A7. If anything, I played too many notes… Aesop needs wet food again, and the store has just opened. At around eight o’clock I’ll go run my errand… I remember nearly crying (for the right reasons) when “Tom Sawyer” came on the PA in a certain waiting room. Rush did their songs with so much more intelligence than garden variety bands; with quality and taste, finesse and beauty. The other guys in my band aren’t very familiar with Rush, so I think I’ll make converts of them.
Seven thirty. I hear a birdsong outside my back door. The weather yesterday was insanely beautiful. Everybody got out of the house to do various activities.
Eight thirty. Melissa had a cold, but she sounds better today than yesterday morning. Camped across Maxwell Road from the store I saw a homeless man who kept himself company by talking to himself. It really annoys me when people say that homeless people choose to live that way, out of laziness or whatever. It’s the system that failed them, not the other way around. My park ranger nephew has some backward opinions, but luckily I don’t have to be around him… Some people are born without an aptitude that fits neatly into the job market. I’m one of them. There are no gainful jobs that allow for creativity and self expression in music or writing. People like me have to figure out another way or else fall through the cracks. Ayn Rand believed that the capitalist system could be manipulated to serve anyone who worked hard enough. I have serious doubts about that. Robert Pirsig said it doesn’t matter what work you do as long as you do it with quality. Again, I beg to disagree. And once again, in a perfect world… I envision a New Renaissance, a time when people can be what they want to be. Why is it that so many of us have a similar dream, yet the dream gets trampled by those with no imagination?
Two twenty. My taxi ride to the pharmacy went just fine, and I avoided the rain as it started on the way back. I got to see Shawn, who didn’t recognize me with the mask at first. Jeanine was at the register, but amazingly there was no copay for my Vraylar. The insurance company came through for me again, so the prescription that would cost $1400 out of pocket cost me $0. The parking lot for Bi Mart and Grocery Outlet was quite busy this afternoon. Todd, the cabbie, threaded his way meticulously through the traffic. The fare for the trip came to under $15. I might have looked like a spoiled brat riding in a taxi for the one mile to the pharmacy, but I simply put aside the feelings of guilt. People could eat their heart out.
Another time, I may take a ride Downtown to the environs of Fifth Street and knock about. I’d like to visit Smith Family Bookstore again; it’s been probably three years since the last time I saw it. And there might be a new shop or two on Fifth Street, though I doubt it, based on the state of the economy and the number of homeless people living in tents beneath the bridge between First and Fifth Streets. Truly it’s a grim sight as you drive by the Washington Jefferson Street Park. My dad and I used to travel through the Whitaker neighborhood to get to Downtown all the time twenty five years ago. And when I was working, I drove home on First Avenue every day; but I never saw anything like the poverty so blatantly obvious nowadays. The so-called invisible people make themselves known, and I don’t blame them. Thus, it would be futile to go Downtown seeking to make the past materialize out of a memory; it’d be a delusion or a wish fulfilling dream…
My sleep was troubled and fitful, perhaps due to what I’d been reading. I’m very sensitive to stories, whether in print or in movies… Now I wonder why so many musicians are fans of King Crimson. I find some of their lyrics dreadful, dealing with mental illness without much sympathy. What’s their point? I don’t listen to much music these days; I’m not sure why. I’m half inclined to go back to bed, because I still feel drowsy. Sometimes I think of those clowns who worked on my house a year ago, and how slipshod they were. Ultimately it was the Portland contractor who was blameworthy for the shoddy job they did. It can be depressing to think about now… I guess I’ll go to the store and see if they have any new inventory.
Nine o’clock. I went to the market and bought a Reuben, cottage cheese, and two Snapples. Vicki’s eyes were on the front door, where she could see a pair of homeless people just outside. I passed them on my way out. Some people believe the homeless choose to live that way, and they could get jobs if they tried. I’m not one of those people. When conditions are bad and times are tough, the incidence of homelessness goes up. This doesn’t substantiate the claims of narrow minded conservatives. Hard luck befalls a lot of people. I’ve been lucky, probably more lucky than clever… Some people care more about “numbers” than human beings. I’m certainly not one of them. All is not gold that glitters. Think of the worthless “rocks” in Voltaire’s El Dorado. Precious gemstones are scattered everywhere on the streets, but in a perfect world they have no value. For reasons of greed, Candide and his friends lose Paradise, packing off a bunch of colorful rocks to the real world. Call it idealism to make this observation. It remains true.
So far my day is uneventful except for the homeless man I found in my backyard. There’s not much to tell about it. The deputy came, and so on… I’m not worried about it, but I wouldn’t want that to happen all the time. Our homeless population has grown considerably and their tactics are more and more brazen and defiant. On trash pickup day they come around in a car and collect all they can. It seems that they’ve organized themselves in order to panhandle, etc more efficiently. Where did they get the car? Stolen I suppose. But who can really blame the homeless for their plight? It’s just a big problem, when dumb people claim that the economy is booming. T— from church actually said that, and now I think he must be stupid. The homeless situation is epidemic. Portland ships theirs here, and from here there’s no place else to send them. You can see them camping out everywhere around town. It was bad two years ago, especially downtown, but now they’ve infiltrated the suburbs where I live. It isn’t their fault either. Occasionally a new shelter goes up, but the need is still great. This is what a Republican government does to society, though I don’t know how it happens. Nobody cares about people enough to do anything. Everyone wants to make money, and that’s the example Trump sets for the nation…
I have to go for now; Charlie is on his way over. But anyway, I know you have an opinion about what’s happening to the have-nots in our country. I wonder what more I can do to help it? What is the best program I can volunteer for? There’s Habitat for Humanity, but I have no carpentry skills. My sister swears by the Eugene Mission, but I don’t know about that. I guess I’ll ask Pastor what I can do.
Quarter of eleven. I just saw a homeless man in my backyard and reported him to the police. I was told that they would patrol the area. This is the second time I’ve had to call the police in two months. But this guy appeared harmless. He just wasn’t supposed to be in my backyard… The deputy was just here to check it out: the homeless man has left. Now he’s out searching for him. It’s simply one of those things. It could be a symptom of a bigger problem, but I can’t be sure. Portland deports their homeless people down to Eugene, then we’re stuck with them. Who knows what to do? Though, it ought to be dealt with compassionately. Maybe I could’ve handled it differently? Helped the poor guy somehow. Yet the police know what they’re doing. I gave an honest report of what happened to the deputy, and that was probably good enough.
Ten o’clock. Vraylar tunes out the static and amplifies the human signal from out of a confusion of nonsense voices. Every person with schizophrenia has a human voice that wants to make a connection with other humans. The fortunate ones find a way to do this, while there are many unfortunates who don’t. They end up working in janitorial if they work at all, and hang out where they find a safe place. Some patients have nowhere to go. Their families turn them out on the streets and they have to survive alone. They are at high risk for substance abuse and addiction… A lot of this sounds like my own life, but I was always lucky enough to have a home, thanks to my parents. In the mental healthcare world I’ve met some professionals who were good, but also others who were frankly clueless and unhelpful. The very worst ones tried to incorporate quackery into their practice. The woo woo stuff is positively aggravating to any person with psychosis and religious delusions. Treatment must be kept in the immanent, the ordinary and everyday. I feel embarrassed for one or two providers who didn’t have their own feet on the ground… So, this holiday season, may we keep in mind the less fortunate mentally ill who have no family and nowhere to go for Christmas Eve dinner. There’s probably no other group of people more in need of advocacy and empowerment.