Bronze This!

Speaking of people bribing Real Change vendors to vote for Bob Dole -- did any of you out there know that I am a vendor? That's right! I don't just write this junk I PUSH IT ON THE STREETS! And, although my legal residence is an alley, I AM A REGISTERED VOTER!*

So make your bids today! Send cash, check or money order and a note telling me who to vote for, Bill Bob or whoever, to (c) Dr. Wes c/o this rag. The largest bid wins a beautiful framed certificate promising my vote to your candidate. All losing bids accompanied by SASE will be returned, and those not will be kept! I promise!

The Following Is An

Unpaid Poetic Advertisement

We're open daily from nine to six

For accepting all your electoral picks!

No candidate will be considered absurd -

We'll write him/her in! We give you our word!

Hurry! Don't delay! Send your checks in today!

Buy our vote NOW! It's the American Way!

(* I've been asked to explain how this can be. OK, the trick is to tell the truth. "Gasp, no!" Yes! E.g., when registering, if you live in a doorway tell the County which doorway. Then give them your mailing address.)

Recently the StreetLife Gallery was invited to set up a show at the park by the Darth Vader Building at 4th and Lenora. We got permission from the landlord, Martin Selig himself, famous big-time Seattle Developer. Ironically, many of the participating poor and homeless artists had been ejected from the same park in the past, and probably will be so in the future. This, and the knowledge that people who don't look poor are not generally run out of the park, and the consequently doubly offensive statues of poor people sitting on the park's benches, inspired a poem.

The Park by the Darth Vader Building at

4th & Lenora, or Opus 31 1/2, I Hate the Park by the Darth Vader Building, or

Opus 32 1/2, The Printable Version

Pretty park by a shiny glass building!

I WILL stay and eat my fries, why not?

The flies stay, THEY got no pass;

I set my ass down by the bronze bag lady.

Made artistically she tells the likes of me

"Feel free to stay, I'm welcome, you must be, too".

So I DO stay to eat my fries, why NOT?

Then the Man comes to say "This park's not yours,

You THINK you can sit ANYwhere outdoors?

You don't WORK here I don't know your FACE,

I'll tell the COPS to kick you OUTta this place".

Pretty park by a shiny glass building -

Pretty people with pretty power wanting -

To eat pretty lunches for a pretty hour -

OH YES -

I WILL stay and eat my fries - and THAT'S WHY.

Martin Selig's bronze poor people tell me Selig really loves the poor - speechless and immobile.

Chicago

Speaking of Hygiene Center slogans - this gem turned up at the first North American Street Newspaper Conference held in Chicago last month, attributed to activists in Atlanta. It was too precious to pass up:

Pee for free with dignity -

like Jesus did in Galilee!

Yours truly, even though still homeless, attended the conference as a guest of the Real Change and it's director, Timothy "Big Spender" Harris.

The conference was replete with Poetic Moments. Here's another, which shows that I was not the only one struck by the irony of our presence there.

This is a very close rendition of an actual conversation in a Chicago cab. Tim, myself and two other conference participants were present. Our Polish immigrant driver spoke first:

"So, what, you are with big homeless paper meeting?"

All: Yes, we are.

"But you have places to stay, you are going eating?"

Absolutely.

"You are not from here, you come from all around?"

The U.S. and Canada.

"What do you do? You take train? You take Greyhound?"

We came by plane.

"I am KNOWING IT! I am STUPID! I am IDIOT!"

"They all say go America, work hard, you will be making it!"

"I come America, I get taxi, I drive TWELVE HOURS a day"

"NO MONEY! I get off work I want taxi - I can't pay!"

"You - YOU - HOMELESS in AMERICA, you take plane, taxi, stay

hotel!"

"NOW I SEE! I SHOULD HAVE BEEN HOMELESS - I call back to Poland,

that's what I tell!"

Tim: Yes, homelessness been very, VERY good to me...

"But - HOW YOU PAY? YOU HAVE GRANTS? YOU GET WELFARE?"

Me: Well, we're paying YOU today with Food Stamps.

"Yes, YES, OF COURSE! Don't fear, it's OK, I tell no one

anywhere!"

PS: No need to report us - actually, Tim paid cash (and a tip for the entertainment).

Unfinished business regarding July's "Homeless Gourmet" article:

After talking to Mel Jackson, director of the Millionair Club, I now know that napkins are usually provided at meals. They just ran out the day I was there. Clearly, more donations from the public would prevent such shortfalls. Let's get on it, people!

Meanwhile, Anitra, fellow editor, who lets me sleep on her kitchen floor, wants her one dumpster rating retracted. Since the cornflakes,she has served omelettes, avocados with cottage cheese, and salmon ravioli, among other delights. Her food is REALLY QUITE GOOD and actually rates zero dumpsters.

That's ANITRA, who lets me sleep on her kitchen floor. I am not being extorted in any way.

Homeless, Again

Hallelujah! I'm a Bum!

It's official. As reported last month I am a lazy jobless penniless homeless bum, again. Send your donations c/o this rag - send mountains of money - and I will promise to spend it only on beer and cigarettes, while I sponge off the system and camp out nightly, 'cause that's the way I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.

I have already received many sympathetic responses from well-wishers. For example Doug Hogsstutter, of Rat's Tail, WA, who writes:

"Dear Lazy SOB

I used to enjoy the high intellectual caliber of your monthly contribution to the Real Change, but since you were laid off last fall you do nothing but moan and whine. What you really need is a good swift kick to the stratosphere. But instead here's a poem that might `lift your spirits' -

Your intellectuality

Is disappearing constantly

Each day and night

Each word you write

And you already probably

couldn't end this poem for me."

You sure got that right, Doug - but thanks for that inspirational call to excellence. You have obviously been following my progress religiously!

Speaking of excellence, it's about time that I used this space to pay my respects to one of the great poets who inspired and influenced me during the malleable years of my youth. I am referring of course to Percival Dovetonsils, but as I don't have a poem to suitably honor Percy this month someone else will have to do. So let's see, who should it be? I want to be intellectual but I don't want to have to think too much - how about Dylan Thomas?

One flask of Scotch and a half hour alone later,

Camping Out on Fern Hill

An Homage to Dylan Thomas

Now as I am old and stiff upon the clover field

About the lilting dumpsite and happy as the grass is red

The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower

Also digs a root into my spine

And am I dumb to tell the dingle starry

And am I dumb to tell the synagogue of the ear of corn

When only the moon rages and the citizens lie abed

And have TVs at elbow and feet?

Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head,

And pretend a rock is a pillow?

Casual Sextrains

My First Sextrain

© Dr. Wes Browning

Must your legs be always in the way?

We only have the room for an hour!

Can't you do your reading another time?

What? Now you have to take a shower?

Well, while you do, I'll sit in grime

And write six more scenes of my play.

That was a little experiment of mine. Let's get scientific and experiment together!

Given a list of random words your brain will try to combine them into one idea. For instance, presented with the words onions, tobacco, umbrellas, five, and neon, my brain pictures five Englishmen with bad breath entering a Broadway theater. The cognitive psychologists have proved that this sort of thing happens all the time to college students of all ages who need the money badly enough to answer silly questions for hours. But they're certain it works for everyone else too, because they are psychologists, and that's how psychologists think. This is also a fact from cognitive psychology!

We can exploit this phenomenon to write poems without concentrating! We'll pick words at random from a dictionary, let them operate on our brains as above, and then use one word per line to describe our image poetically. Since I am into sextrains this month I'll pick 6 words for this illustration:

Poem Based on Random Words:

Letter, scratch, deluded, brain, rabbit, spin

or Opus 21, "Where's the Rabbit?"

Got your LETTER in the mail,

I'm reading it now as I SCRATCH.

DELUDED as always, beyond the pale -

Amazing, what your BRAIN can hatch.

You just STEW and seethe and steam and spit -

Here's my suggestion: "SPIN on it!"

It's just as easy as it looks! Here's another one at no additional cost to

you, the reader!:

Poem Based on Random Words:

Job, rent, food, bed, street, reeks

or Opus 22, My 3rd Sextrain

This sextrain is about a JOB not had;

With RENT to be paid - that's really bad:

It's not that it's hard to find any FOOD -

It's not that I'm going to miss my BED -

But the STREET always puts me in a foul mood,

It &#!$-ing REEKS, as I've always said.

Special thanks are due this month to fellow editor and community leader Anitra "alf" Freeman for reminding me of the usefulness of diffusion.

A Muse-ment

Last February I admitted to having an imaginary good friend Cindy, my Muse. Questions have been raised since then, such as "What? An IMAGINARY friend?" Well, why not? After all I am imaginary myself. And (think about it!) you should be, too. Mostly, though, people complain "Why does Cindy sound like such an airhead?" To this I answer "Hey - that's my Muse you're bad-mouthing!" and "If I had called her/him James would you have interpreted her/his directness as cranial ventilation? I think not!"

But I don't have to defend Cindy or any other imaginary person. I can let her do it. Here are 3 portraits of 3 other imaginary women (all homeless) by Cindy, so you may get to know her better:

"Marjorie"

From that dark moment

A floodlight upon

A dead branch in snow

Reveals a Person

Inside and outside

Forever caring...

Shining on the lost.

For one dark moment

She feels forgotten.

Then the light expands,

Embracing her tears.

"*Elizabeth*", by Cindy

Trees outnumber *Elizabeth*

Clouds blossom Streets carpet

Locks harbor Walls garden

Glass pictures Steel poses

Lamps fountain Stones nurture

while

Trees,

still

outnumbering

*Elizabeth*,

surround and defend....

"Ann", By Cindy

Ann plays only the black keys.

The harsh realities of her life

As ex-wife and 5-time-mother

Want another scale than mine

To remind THEM of THEIR ways

Until the day she sings again.

I'd like to sum up with these Thoughts: An unexamined image is a stereotype. An unexamined intuition is a guess. And an unexamined life is a long, expensive, stupor. But if that's the way you like it who am I to argue?

e. e.'s thing

Occasionally I visit the Real Change office and annoy the paid staff. On such a recent mission I happened to learn that our beloved Ozula Sioux is actually ozula sioux. She calls this an "e.e.cummings thing".

That got me wondering - what WAS e.e.'s thing, anyway? (I mean regarding caps). And how would I know? I would have to research the matter scientifically, the way I learned in college. So I got the beer, read two or three of mr.cummings' poems, and at the appropriate moment, about 3 AM, appealed to my Poetic Muse for the Answer.

Well, Answers. I'm sure e.e. must have had days like this:

as

mostpeople are stupidugly

creeps do i want

to be likethem no

do i want

to capitalizelikethem no

do i want

to spacelikethem no

inotlikethem

even do i period no

scroom scroomall

But that's not all. We haven't expressed his profound disgust for modern life, it's artificial complexities, it's unnecessary conventions with their distracting demands upon our attentions. Capitalizers aren't just conformists, they're foolish people who turn their backs on the good life. "besimple" must be his motto.

besimple

besimpledontpunctuatedontspacenocapsnoli

nereturnnospellchexnnnoggobackeditnochew

gumchewfoodfreeyourselffromconventionsco

nveningconcomingcomingwithtogethercoming

togetherwithmostpeoplethenyoucantbeherec

ausetheyretheredontletithappentoyousimpl

But that's not all. We haven't expressed the fact that he was a poet ‹ and what do poets make?

Here I feel I can safely speak with the authority of experience!

poor eddie's lament

or opus nothing - i'm so poor

i'm so poor i only own a half-pair of socks

" " " i have to wipe myself w/. rocks

" " " my bank is by the river

" " " i've had to hock my liver

" " " no woman will give me any time

" " " all i got's words that rhyme

" " " i owe five bucks to my fleas

" " " i can't afford new shift keys

We're Outta Here!

Homeless people are literally leaving Seattle by the busloads. In the past two months nearly four thousand have left by Greyhound, bound mainly for East Coast cities. The departures have been coordinated. They leave daily, each bus carrying away up to fifty homeless men, women, and children.

Some pay their own fare, others have their fares paid for them, generally by national organizations dedicated to homeless causes. Chief among these is the American Homeless Union. Recently the Seattle head of the AHU, Phil M. Hand, explained the ongoing exodus this way: "Basically around December or January we all began to realize that we really weren't wanted here in Seattle. And we're not masochists, OK? I mean, we've been working hard for years at making this city a real haven for our folks, but if Seattle isn't into it, we can live with that."

Further details are sketchy. The rumors among street people (what's left of them) are, as always, incomplete and unreliable. What is certain is that the departures began near the end of January and coincided with a number of setbacks for the homeless in this city. There was the recent reclearing of the "Jungle" along I-5, and the so-called sweep of the Municipal Building encampment.

But worst of all was the resistance by local merchants to plans to expand laundry and shower facilities at a few downtown service-centers. As one Belltown alley resident put it, "I always knew no one wanted me around when I was dirty and smelled like a sewer. But when I saw they didn't want me clean and smelling like a rose, either, I really got the message! It is personal, isn't' it? So right then I spent my welfare check on a ticket to Pittsburgh. I'll be gone by tomorrow."

The repercussions of this mass exodus cannot be understated. Most of Seattle's homeless-advocacy groups have already ceased to function, even though the last busload of homeless isn't expected to depart until mid-April. These groups include SHARE, WHEEL, and Operation Homestead. Several hundred social workers formerly employed by service agencies throughout the city have already been laid off.

But in addition to the expected, there have been some perhaps unexpected consequences of the sudden scarcity of homeless. For example, at City Hall, everyone from Norm Rice to Mark Sidran is complaining about the long waits for cab rides.

It seems that as many as one-third of all Seattle taxi drivers have been homeless and are now driving elsewhere. Dishes are piling up unwashed in even the best local restaurants, houses are going unpainted, and overgrown backyards are remaining so. Non-homeless residents are experiencing more muggings and burglaries than ever, now that gangs don't have easier targets to victimize.

Gay-bashing and race-related violence is on the increase again as "bum-bashing" declines. Dumpsters are overflowing with recyclables throughout the city. Seattle is awash in aluminum cans, refundable bottles, reparable TV sets, and stereos.

Corner rose-vendors have vanished and with them half the street musicians. And many service-industry businesses are discovering that they can't afford to pay the higher wages demanded and required by rent-paying and home-owning citizens. To help with these and other problems, the city has established special consulting hotlines. Anyone concerned may request assistance or further information at 684-8200.

Naturally, the Real Change homeless newspaper will not be unaffected. "Sure, we'll keep operating for a couple of months," said Timothy "Make My Day" Harris. I mean, we've got donations coming in, and we've got our subscribers and our advertisers. But let's face it. People are going to catch on."

"With no vendors and nothing to write about, what are we going to do? Well, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do! Get the hell out of here! That's what!"

Perhaps he'll head for Pittsburg.