Heart and Hand Jack-a-hoe

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My body is for shit.

I don't know if it's because of the cold weather or because of laying around for weeks but I have no stamina, no strength. Today, I went outside for a walk. Yeah, I wanted to march earlier this year, even while it's a bit cold to get into shape sooner. This was my plan. I checked the weather on the Internet and it had climbed up ten degrees from 30 to 40. I was happy for that. 40 degrees tends to be my cut off point. I stepped out and headed downtown, aiming to make it ten blocks, and to stop off and do some chores on the way.



From 98th street to 92nd it's all uphill. In between those two points there is a Cablevision store, where I purchase my Internet connection for the month. I did so, and moved on. About the time that I got to 92nd street I was sorely out of breath and panting like a whore at a vacuum cleaner salesman convention. I went around the corner and headed back down on Amsterdam avenue, winded and exhausted. I went on to 99th street to the grocery store and did some shopping.



Light shopping. That's what's happening with me now. Light shopping because I have light money. Yeah, near the end of the month my funds are so thin you can see through them when you hold them up to the light. A little bit of this and a little bit of that. Mainly meat and vegetables. And a rotisserie chicken, because I can't cook real chicken in the microwave. Baked, broiled or fried is the only real way to eat chicken. Boiled or dried out is not. Microwave devices can only do the latter.



I head out and in the street I run into on of the denizens of The Spot. Remember, I live in a pseudo crazy house. Well, not like a sanitarium, but a lot of mental defectives live here along with the disabled. From my apartment building, they go out and infect the streets of upper Manhattan. A neighborhood filled with the high brow of New York, now polluted with the cast off of society shambling about from my building. I look at a homeless looking guy that lives in my building as he stops at a garbage can and rifles through it.



And there you have it. I see him digging away and I think about how I look. What I look like. I look like him. A friend of mine said to me that I have been homeless for so long that I don't know what I look like any more. I still dress like I am. It depresses me. I look like I'm still stumbling along the sidewalks all day, looking for money dropped on the sidewalk. I don't think about how bad I look when I stroll out of my room, but then again, I really don't care.



I've been homeless for so long that I really don't care how I look when I step outside. I just put on anything that fits me and stroll out the fucking door. It works for me. I can not help but to think that if someone is looking at me anyway, they have a problem. In fact, they have THE problem. I don't give a fuck...and I think that's the problem. I don't care anymore. I don't give a shit how I look or how people perceive me. This is somewhat disturbing for a man who was once so fastidious that I wouldn't go outside without staring for a half hour at a full length mirror. I was once called, "Mr. Sartorial Splendor."



Now, I am Mr Mud. Mr, Pile of Shit, or Refuse. Now I don't give a fuck, which may be a good thing because I'm going out to walk now. Get my wind back, and work on my bod y to get it into shape. I was on my way last year, this year I'll just top that and soon, very soon, I'll trim this shit down and get back to the man that I want to be. 2011 is a year that I am taking for mine. My Horoscope reads for the year: "You'll be highly motivated to develop your skills and talents this year.  In April, new encouragement comes in the form of a special relationship.  May brings an emphasis on religion, education and cultural pursuits.  There's money from a fresh source in June.  July is the ideal time to travel.  Wedding bells ring in October  !!!!!"



I don't know that I believe in horo- scopes, crystal balls and shit like that, but I do have a strong feeling, and I had it in 2010, that 2011 was to be my year of redemption. This just may be it.



Whatever the case, it starts with me and me alone. It starts with me taking more care of my body. As W.B. Yeats said in his poem, The Second Coming, "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tied is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, with the worst are full of passionate intensity."



With this I also say as Yeats did.... "Surely, the Second Coming is at hand."

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