Sunday, November 17, 2013

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #40)

By Daniel Canada c.2010



TRINITY is living proof of the truth of the Athanasius Creed: “For there is one Person of the Father, another of the Son, and another of the Holy Ghost. But the Godhead of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, is all one.”

I’m not much of a religious person at all. Fact of the matter, my cosmological views are so outlandish, that I prefer not to disclose them whatsoever. Period and amen. As far as the above mentioned creed codified at the late Council of Nicea in 325 A.D. is concerned, I was not a believer until I ran across him.

I’m talking about “Trinity.”

Have you ever seen a man talking to himself and holding three conversations all at once? And with different, competing, points of views? It would be incredible, wouldn't it? Well, PT Barnum would declare himself a charlatan, strike his tents and leave town if he’d saw the likes of “Trinity.” Even he would be astonished if he had happened upon “Trinity” on a New York City soup kitchen.

I mean like you can almost, actually hear three separate, individual, voices conversing and arguing with each other simultaneously, when “Trinity” speaks.

No shit. I kid you not.

It's a bit frightening, to tell the truth. That's why I normally give “Trinity” wide berth, whenever I’m around him. You never know. I wouldn't want one of those discarnate personalities to get upset, break loose and throwing me a Linda Blair style beating.

No sir!

“Trinity” seems to be at peace quarreling with himself. Correction! They seem to be at peace quarreling among themselves. So far, no one’s gotten unruly and no violence has erupted during all the chatting. Thank heavens! So I guess it’s all good for “Trinity” to fuss about and converse with all his unseen companions. The thing that gets me the most, is that “Trinity” will show up to a soup kitchen, wait for a half hour or more on line, even in the most intemperate weather, with a meal ticket in hand, but never go inside and eat.

Instead he’ll gleefully stand outside, on the outskirts of the line, conversing with his “selves,” waving his ticket around for all to see. When it’s time to go inside and chow down, he’ll simply return the ticket back to the volunteer, and merrily walk away into the blue yonder. Perhaps the alter personality that decided against eating that particular meal, on that day, won out in the debate. As a result, the rest of them followed along and hit the bricks. 

One can never tell.

Other than that, “Trinity” is basically a harmless guy. However, sometimes a few of the "Skeksies" do get a little worried and uneasy around him, especially when he goes through his multiple personality tomfoolery. Even the crazy homeless folks and "Skeks" know that they’ve been bested when it comes to “Trinity,” and stay far away from him.

Let’s just face it. Trinity’s thrice-gone out to pasture and there’s no returning to home plate for him. Oh well. I was holding out a modicum of hope for the poor chap.

Trinity’s story is unique, in that I really don’t have a counterpoint to speak of in his behalf. The fact of the matter is he’s just plain crazy. Notwithstanding this, I chose his story to make a social point that I feel would’ve been easily overlooked; and that’s the government’s role in overseeing the needs of the mentally ill, that find themselves homeless in so many cities across this great U.S. of A.

The burden falls squarely upon the shoulders of the government to provide proper, affordable-if not free-health care for the mentally ill, and to see to it that they are safely tucked away in affordable staffed housing, in the event they are no longer able to take care of themselves.

Unfortunately, this is not the case, and there are a lot of Trinities out there, with stories that aren’t as comical as the one I decided to highlight. Perhaps it would be a good thing for us to contact our local politicians and press them to enact legislature that will guarantee the protection of the mentally ill, especially those found homeless and abandoned on the streets.

I don’t know.

Either that, or to go back to the football game, playing on the fucking twenty-two inch T.V.

Along with the beer nuts.

Having said this much, I can confidently step off my soapbox…at least for now.

So don’t get too comfortable. 

(To be continued...) 

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