i_would_sell_my_blood_first rillian and his crowl when another human being chooses to beg for assistance, shaking their mcdonalds cup of coins at the passing lines of people with their hidden plastic money, jingling advertisements of their need to be pitied, what really should be done here? by giving them spare change are we actually doing damage to society? perhaps. perhaps not. all of us at one time have given, thinking our little handful of silver and copper would add up later to a bottle of numbing oblivion, but what if they were saving up for a bus ticket and a breakfast that would give them energy and transport to start a new job and a new life? noble thinking, until you see the same person week after week, growing fatter. mumbling their scripted appreciation while they talk to another gutterpunk about how drunk they were last night. i shake my head in sadness, frustration, and wonder at this scourge in america. i can't figure it out. all the hows and whys, all the what happeneds and what to dos... i've given, i've passed them by, i've bought them food, i've told them where work was available, i've taken them to lunch, i've avoided them. i've judged them. i've given them dirty looks. the issue is convoluted. and not until we are willing to sit down with them, ask questions, listen, and attempt to understand will there ever be any assemblance of an answer. maybe there is no answer. only choices. snowball effect. like, if my wife died, i would go live in the woods. 040107 ... Sonya I actually experienced the same types of things. In San Francisco sometimes I'd grab lunch at Wendy's in the financial district. There was always this same homeless girl who would open the door for people coming in or going out. I think it was so that in return they would give her money or a tip. Needless to say I always ended up helping people out and I really wasn't in that position (can we say starving student?!). Anyway, I think that this issue needs to be addressed but most people just don't want to, or they don't have the time for it. Many times I wonder how people get themselves into these situations. I think it's important to realize that not everyone starts out with the same opportunities. Example... a child growing up in suburbia who goes to a good school that has tons of money for programs, vs. a child who grows up in a ghetto neighborhood, who attends a run down school, and is surrounded by drug dealers and crack addicts. (The idea of going for a simple bike ride or roller skating on their own street might even seem crazy to them...but to those of us who could do that safely, we might have taken it for granted.) The only thing I feel I can do is just to remember that I don't know what these people have gone through, the choices they had to make...etc. However, I think anyone who has ever been out of a job, struggled to make ends meet or pay off huge bills, laid off, fired, or kicked out of their home would somehow find it easier to empathize... Just my thoughts... 040108 ... slc thanks, that helps. 040108 ... misstree it's easy to disregard the downtrodden, to lift your nose high and name their faults, but if you pause a moment, just to listen, you'll find that each story is different. here is a man once eroded away by the poisins he couldn't deny, here is a woman, her life torn apart by a brutal old beast of a guy. here is a youth that just doesn't fit in though he tries to be true to himself; each person you pass, you will find, if you ask, values freedom and life before health. so before you pass by with a cynical eye think of kindness and human relief. be it quarter or word, your voice can be heard to remind them of faith and belief. .....that was written in new_orleans, after a companion had made some disparaging comments about homeless people... a few weeks later, a man asked me for spare change... i didn't have any, but i offered to read him a poem instead... i read him this one... he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of a carton and handed it to me... he was really touched... i spent a fair amount of time with the gutterpunks and tarot readers and quarter rats in general... i considered myself lucky, though i was technically homeless for the majority of my stay, only once did i ever have to sleep on a porch... though i don't relish the desperation of hunting for someone willing to let me stray cat with them for a night... and though i was only employed for two months out of eight, i was taken care of, and i read poetry on the streets for cigs and money and food... just a step sideways from selling your blood, trust me, i've done both... so where did this land my personal take on destitution? some people really work to change it. some don't. each person ended up there through different circumstances, and who can say what could have gone differently. i judge people by how they interact with me. the person that's been out of gas here in town for three years, i give nothing to. the person that honestly says they want to buy a forty, if they'll go into the store with me i'll buy them two and one for myself, and see what entertainment we can conjure from passing students. but this much i know: life from that position is fucking hard, it wears you down like nothing else i've ever thought of, people around you strip you of your humanity and your pride is under constant attack and desperation becomes more than just a flavor of angst. it paints every moment, and it is *not* a pretty hue. desperation drives people to extremes, but when there are no extremes to go to, it just grinds at you. i'm not saying you should pity or empathise or be nice; i'm just saying that these things are there. and i agree, it's something that really needs to be spoken about more, from smallest to largest scale. it's ugly and difficult but god dammit it's people, i don't want anyone left behind. and i was a bit touched by the story of the girl who opened the door at wendy's; part of why i read poetry to people was for the feeling of making it an exchange rather than just getting something. if i was in your position, i would likely slip her a little note... just something to make her smile... i accepted those as tips for poetry as well--smiles, that is... share what you can... always, always, share what you can... 040108 ... shadow le crowl i was working at a landscape account in the city about five years ago and was approached, by appearances, a homeless person. he smelled. he was dirty. he had ratty long hair and a long, scruffy beard. he didn't ask for money. he asked me about the flowers i was planting. we talked for about ten minutes. he was intelligent and engaging. he told me of experiences in idaho as a logger. he went his way. over the past years i saw him several times and we had many more interesting conversations. and the more recently i see him, talk to him, and ask him questions, i find out a lot more about him. like what happened to him, why, how... he has a small apartment, full of treasures he's collected over the years. he has a beautiful garden in the back yard we call "monet -on-bartlett" he works odd jobs for those who look past his "condition." his wife died of cancer. he has a 15 year-old son that lives with him. i have trusted him with all my secrets. i have told him my story. he has listened to every word i've said and has given me the same kind of advice my father would have given me. he is my best friend. but there are those "people" who would never give him the time of day. and it's those who lose out. 040108 ... belly fire I think my answer is simply that we need each other. If there is meaning to be found in our positive and negative interactions...poor student to busker, refined wife to single mother...whatever...then let us strive to continue to have them. Our opinions will always be salted with our social limitations but, I ask, why should our consciences be soothed by dropping loose change into someone's pocket? Or volunteering once a year? Or whatever else. Be more compelled to interact. To make eye contact, observe, react or simply recalling for yourself a time when someone impacted your life. To realize that we need each other to live. 040109 what's it to you? who go blather from