It wasn’t always this way. I wasn’t always unreliable, down on my luck, penniless, destitute, late paying rent – then homeless, messed up inside and having it reflected outside. I was once a University student, paid my way through school and always, well almost always, arrived at classes on time.
My name really isn’t Boggles Brown, it’s maybe Brown but Boggles is just some caffeine-injected epithet I gave myself to bolster my street credentials. Oh, is that too personal? That’s the thing when you live on the street, you find different boundaries, different possessions and different schemes to put “Humpty Dumpty” together again. “Humpty Dumpty” being myself, my shattered psyche and my eggshell-thin patience with life.
It’s sometimes good to outline a story from the top, start at a linear 0 point and allow multiple nodes of congression and confession to articulate and elaborate themselves as “the gist of the story” begins to form on the palettes of the reader – ever read what an second-hand ham & egg sandwich tastes like to a homeless person? The kind that some office worker ritually dumps, perhaps to piss off their mate, in the trashcan outside that office building which looks like the head office of “Clones, Inc.”. Still, good nutrition is good nutrition, but my stomach has made us digress.
This is supposed to be about news. Is that “North South East West” or the four winds from which I pull God’s description of the daily affairs of man? Or does News mean just “Who’s winning the human race?” You know, people who live “alternative street lifestyles” often are modest enough to talk about their crazy edge, yet proud enough to not let themselves be lumped into the “ear to the ground” crowd. Homelessness often teaches you that there are different plateaus above and below the ground which are left out of conversations by “the normals.”
So, what’s my edge? Who does Boggles Brown report to? Is he atheist? Doesn’t the church help him out sometimes, at least in providing him with grist for his Hamlet Mill? I can say that I don’t answer to anyone, though my referencing and reverence of history is as bad as my aphasiac mind.
I’m not being elusive to say that you can’t guess who I am – narcissistic and vain, but I hope the process of us discovering our modalities of reading and writing each other will be as secure as a rubber room …
Until next time, adios, adieu and all that. 🙂