Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #20)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

 By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

 

 

THE SKEL(SIE)

“Skelsie” is a combination of the two words, “Skeksis” and “Skell.” Firstly, I need to explain what a “Skell” is. "Skell" is an abbreviation for skeleton, and is a terminology used by most police officers when referring to a homeless person. 

Like a lifeless skeleton, with no hope of returning to the world of the living, they have come to view all homeless to be nothing more than mere skeletons. When you don a skeleton custom for Halloween, you're a “skeleton” for a night. The homeless are “skeletons” for life.

Now, a “Skelsie” or “Skelsy” is a "Skeksis"-or "Skeksy," as I like to spell it-that has become one of the living dead, a virtual zombie.

Are you confused enough yet? I hope not.

Nevertheless, they are considered to be the soulless ones, who may not even know they exist anymore than a person in a vegetative state, on a respirator.

Besides the fact that they have long-since given up on the upkeep of their bodies, they have very little communication with the outside world. You might see them in a rush hour crowd, starring off into space or holding a vigorous conversation with themselves. Their ship has lifted anchor and sailed away into the azure horizons many moons ago, friends.

This is what I mean by a "Skelsie."

Even the police leave them alone. And if they have to respond to some irritated neighbor's call, complaining about some crazed man or woman being a blatherskite at two o'clock in the morning, the police call an ambulance to take them to Bellevue Hospital or the nearest hospital that has a psyche ward. The polite police officers refer to these as EDPs, emotional disturbed persons. They really don't care to have any further dealings with them.

The “Skelsie” stands alone. 

Now, I would like to further illuminate upon an otherwise, hither-to-unknown, homeless phenomenon. One that, would it not be for my drawing attention to it, would go unnoticed among the pantheon of homeless folks you pass on any given day of the week. It's a strange, eclectic group of homeless folks I dubbed "The College Kids." Even you will have difficulty wrapping your brain around this one.

 

(To be Continued...)

 

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #19)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

By Daniel Canada c.2010

                                                         (Continued)

 

 

 

THE SKEKSIS(SIE)

As you can see by the above title, the correct spellings are as such. However, I like to rearrange the spelling of words, thus my spelling of “Skeksy,” or “Skeksies” for the plural. There's also the word “Skek,” which is the abbreviated form of “Skeksy.”

So much for that.

In reality, the word “Skeksis” comes from a Walt Disney Movie, entitled “The Dark Crystal.” In this great puppeteer work by the late Jim Henson, there was a bunch of evil buzzards, who ruled the land with a despotic iron hand-or should I say claw. Anyway, these buzzards called “Skeksis” were the epitome of uncouth and gross behavior. When they ate at the dinner table, they squabbled over pieces of meat. Food would daggle from their mouths as they partook of their victuals. They were filthy and unkempt.

What else can you expect from buzzards?

Unfortunately, a good portion of the homeless population fit this description too.  That's why I refer to them as “Skeksies.” Watching a "Skeksy" eat is enough to convince you that humans really don't need to eat food in order survive. It will certainly turn your stomach upside down and completely ruin your appetite.

I still haven’t figured out why it's necessary for "Skeksies" to leave food particles around their mouths when eating. Are their lips magnetic? Dining at the table with "Skeksies" is a hard ordeal. They talk with mouths full of food, and with foodstuff falling out of their maws. They throw food on the floor when a garbage can is within handy reach. They just don’t give a good-flying-Dutchman's fuck about anything they do.

"Skeksies" don’t bother to wash or change their clothing either. They seem as if they want to be left alone. You can spot a "Skeksy" coming down the block from a good distance too. No one else on the surface of the planet walks like them. They have the walk of the preternatural, of the living dead. It's as if some body part on them has failed, and they have to get along the best they can without it.

I’ve often wondered why they hobble from side-to-side, like a metronome when walking. And then one day I realized what it was. Before they became homeless, they were use to walking about the street with a cool, ditty-bop, but now after being out here on the street so long, sleeping on the hard concrete and what not, their ditty-bop got broken down. Now, all that's left is an awkward wobble.

Even their speech has deteriorated into guttural groans and indecipherable grunts. Neanderthal sounds have replaced what was once their diction. It's impossible to describe it in words, but once you've experienced a "Skek" and heard them speak, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

What more can one say about a "Skeksy," other than they are considered, even by homeless people, to be the lowest of humankind. This poses a challenge to Darwinian Evolution. Humankind is supposed to have evolved from a primitive state to what we are now.

The "Skeksy" has apparently devolved back to the primitive. Before long, they will be swinging from trees in Central Park. I learned something vital, in which I would like to share with you. Whatever you do, during your time spent on the streets, do not fail to give constant attention to your person. As the saying goes, "check yourself, before you wreck yourself." Then you won't lose respect for yourself, and not be able to correct yourself, and have to reject yourself. O.k. I'm sure you get the point of where I'm proceeding with this logic. Bottom line is, you don't want to end up being a "Skeksy, just because you're homeless."

Life is hard enough for an undomiciled person. Elevating oneself back to the level one has taken a tumble from is a real challenge, but there's still hope. However, once you've descended to the level of a "Skeksy," chances are you might not be able to return to the place from whence you've come.

Aside from this, there is another group that I've run into out here, that is definitely on the long slide to the point of no return. This is what I call the "Skelsie." Just from the name of it, I'm sure you can tell it's not going to be pleasant discussing.

 

(To be Continued...)

A message from the Author Concerning Homeless Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York

Message From the Author:

 

I'd like to pause from posting and just take out the time to thank all of my readers on Face Book & my subsequent blog sites, for your support;  your reading and commenting on my Face Book site & blog site, concerning the "Hobo Handbook:  Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York." I'd certainly greatly appreciate your words and suggestions.

Firstly, I like to apologize for several typographical errors that I discovered upon reviewing my own works.  These misspellings have crept up a number of times, and are insidious little bastards, in that they can undermine the seriousness (or humor) of the text. Once again, I apologize for these, and shall do my best to be more diligent in catching and righting these matters.

Lovingly, not one of you have ever remarked upon this-because you all are so fantastic. Nevertheless, I like to also announce to one of my faithful readers, whose name I'll leave anonymous, that I will do my utmost to make each excerpts a little longer than the snippets I've been providing in the past. I'm thrilled to know that you enjoy them that much.

Once again, I want to thank you all for your commitment to following the posted excerpts of my yet-to-be-published, "Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York." With that I shall return back to posting.

-Sincerely yours & always indebted to you all,

Daniel  Canada  a.k.a  Obsidian

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #18)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

 By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

THE SHELT (Continued)

What’s really the rub is that a "Shelt" doesn’t have to do any of these things at all. If they live in any of the government shelters throughout the city or state, food is served in these institutions three times a day. What is more, these shelters have to follow a regimented dietary code. Most Shelts are recipients of welfare, and welfare provides them upwards of two hundred dollars for food, and two hundred dollars cash for expenses, every month.

Most government funded and run SROs also serves three square meals a day-for free. So, there’s no reason on God’s earth a "Shelt" has to be standing on a goddamned soup line, humming for grub!

I suppose they just want to.

Why? Because they’re a bunch of greedy, gratuitous, grubbing, bastards. That's all.

Sorry folks. I wish I had something better to say.

 

THE HOMELESS STREETER

 

Now these guys and gals are the real deal!

They’ve gone hardcore, and said so long to the world and all its trappings a long time ago. They don’t rely upon the government or any would-be sympathizers for a goddamned thing. The way of survival on the heartless streets has become the Tao te Ching for them. Subsequently, they, just like the Toa te Ching, have become nameless and formless and can conform to any type of hardship life tosses at them just for shits and giggles.

They’ve mastered the art of building "hotels" out of cardboard boxes, to rest their heads for the night. They’ve become proficient in the art of the glom. Some of them even earn a modest income as canners, people who you see collecting the cans and bottles you happily throw away.

They are totally self-sufficient, and will rise out of the ashes of a nuclear holocaust, to dust themselves off-along with the cockroaches-and get about their business, before they were rudely interrupted by that pesky atomic blast.

YOU have to worry about the confluences and mercurial nature of the stock market, and Wall Street’s quarterly reports. YOU have to suffer the plague of lost sleep, because of the whims of a recalcitrant and overbearing boss. But not the "Homeless Streeter." The "Homeless Streeter" has long since divorced themselves from these concerns.

Sleep tight "Homeless Streeter." Trust in the Lord, but keep your shopping carts tied down.

 

(To be Continued...)

 

 

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #17)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

By Daniel Canada c.2010

CHAPTER TWO

LEVELS OF HOMLESSNESS (Continued)

 

It will become clearly evident in how you handle and comport yourself, and what route you take once you find yourself out here. When a hurried, working-class citizen walks down the street and sees a tattered man sleeping on the sidewalk on a cardboard, he might easily thinks that this is just another run-of-the-mill homeless person, like so many others he's seen.

In this chapter, I intend to take away the scales of society's constructs from your eyes and help you to see what is truly there in this image of the person on the sidewalk or the park bench. I intend to take you on an odyssey into the very lives of these otherwise invisible people. This I will also do even further in the upcoming chapter, "Personalities of the Homeless." When I am through, I hope you’ll have a better understanding of the various typesets that make up the composite group identified, collectively, as simply "The homeless."

So, lets us begin to dismantle this perceptual layer, by addressing the topic of the various stratum of homelessness, shall we?

 

THE SHELT

 

A "Shelt" isn't worth a dime. I was originally inclined to say something much stringer, but curtailed my tongue, for the time being. You think I'm being overly harsh on this type of homeless individual? I can understand your concerned response. But if you allow me, I will outline the reasons for this seemingly shocking initial statement.

The "Shelt" is a person dwelling on the fringes of homelessness. He or she lives in a shelter, or SRO, but still likes to fake it and perpetuate the notion of living under the deprivations of the rest of the domicile. The word “Shelt” is short for shelter, in that it indicates a person still has a roof over their head and, for whatever reason, is not on the streets just yet.

However, you’ll always see the "Shelt" standing on line at every soup kitchen, church, synagogue, and run-of-the-mill government establishment that serves up grub to the homeless and indigent. They’ll be present on every swag line, and wait around in the evenings, in the cold, for hours for the Coalition for the Homeless and Midnight Run vans that comb the streets, giving out food and all kinds of accoutrements to the needy. 

Like a thief pass the time to cop a merchandise, they never miss a trick.

 

(To be Continued...)

 

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #16)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK
By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

 

 

PLASTIC SHOPPING BAGS (Continued)

 

After you've mastered the art of stashing your belongings in a suitable shopping bag, and learned the wisdom of keeping handy newspapers around to insulate yourself from the cold, you're already transitioned into life on the street and didn't even know it. Now that you've become proficient in stowing away your valuables in a good hideaway, and discovered clever ways to keep tract of the passing of time, as well as how to keep up your personal hygiene, you can almost pass off as regular citizen of the State.

What is more, after you've also garnered a working knowledge of the many operating soup kitchens, around town, that give out decent hot meals, you're practically on your way to becoming a bona fide, well-experienced, homeless bloke.

Admittedly, not much to pat oneself on the shoulder about, but there it is. Notwithstanding all of these undertakings, there's yet more to learn about homelessness.

You will be loath to discover that there are many different levels of homelessness, some of which you can unconsciously slide into, if you are not watchful. One needs to be cognizant of the subtle transformations a person can unwittingly undergo, after spending too much time out on the streets. In the next chapter, I will take great pains to emphasize the various levels of homelessness one can slip into, if one is not vigilant in taking constant stock of themselves.

 

 

CHAPTER TWO LEVELS OF HOMELESSNESS

 

Maybe this chapter should have come first, but I chose to make it second simply because homelessness is not only just a state of being, it can also devolve into a state of mind. Who and what you are on the streets can depends greatly on how you deal with the issues of the previous chapters. In addition, what you become out here has a lot to do with the sensitive conditions of your initial beginnings, with what you were before you became homeless.

 

(To be Continued...)

 

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #15)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

 By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

 

 

PLASTIC SHOPPING BAGS (Continued)

 

 

The fact of the matter is shopping bags can transport a boat load of essential things. Without failing to enumerating such items, like clothing, food, and the so forth, let’s suffice it to say having a shopping bag around helps alleviate the burden of bearing your belongings with your bare hands.

Can I get an Amen?

Don't everybody respond at the same time.

I used it on several occasions myself, and was not ashamed to be caught sporting my oversized, handy, Duane Reade shopping bag by any passersby who observed me from over to tops of their noses. However, I always made sure that I toted a snapping, brand new one, whenever I had the opportunity, to give the impression I was just another jolly recipient of Duane Read, and a valued customer.

How could anyone tell that I was just a homeless shmuck, carrying all that I owned, save my skin, in as fashionable a manner as I could? It seems that all the homeless souls must've caught on to my ruse, and without haste began to follow in my footsteps. After a while I saw every homeless person and their mother swinging a Duane Reade shopping bag around.

The nerve of them.

Unfortunately, a good number of the homeless forget to exchange their well-worn-out Duane Read shopping bags for new ones, and after much use, went about sporting the most unsightly gear imaginable.

Now, the jig is blown.

On second thought, you might want to switch over to a more trendy D'Agostino shopping bag, just to throw them off. After my form of chicanery went viral among the Skeks, I had no other choice. The benefit of this is that no one will catch on to the fact you're really a down-and-out homeless person, and you can still maintain a modicum of dignity for a while.

So next time you go to Duane Reade, or any super market

in a upper-middle-class neighborhood, to buy a Snickers bar, ask for a shopping bag. It takes a shit load of gumption, but what the hell. You’re going to need it anyway, on the long trip…home.

 

(To be Continued...)

 

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #14)

 

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

 By Daniel Canada c.2010

                                                                      (Excerpt #14)

 

 

 

 

THE POWER OF THE PRESS (Continued)

It’s amazing the number of conventions the common newspaper can serve. So, let’s just get right into it, shall we? When using the restrooms, you can cover the floor, if some klutz before you left urine tracts behind to mark his or her territory. It can also serve as a handy door jam, for public restrooms that lack a latch, in order to secure your privacy.

Moving to the great outdoors. When sleeping on the hard earth or floor, newspapers can be applied onto the ground to protect you from, not only the cold, but from infectious dirt as well. But I'm certain you want to make sure you choose a clean spot to lay down from the beginning. 

Remember, anything else is considered “Skeksy.”

I could go on and on with this, but feel you’ve got the point already. So make sure to save up on your newspapers and store them away. They can really salvage you in times of need. Besides, carrying them around makes you look smart.

Another item held in high regard on the street is plastic shopping bags. They can prove to be a lifesaver, and many a homeless person does swears by them, including myself. You would be simply amused...amazed...at all the utilitarian functions the ordinary plastic bag can serve.

 

PLASTIC SHOPPING BAGS

 

Have you ever notice lately that almost all of the homeless people are walking around with Duane Reade shopping bags?

Strange isn’t it?

Well, if they’re not carrying a Duane Reade shopping bag, they’re carrying some other kind, but shopping bags it is! It seems to be the au courant homeless thing to do now-a-days.

 

(To be continued...)

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #13)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

 By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

 

 

STASHABLE LOCATIONS (Continued)

 

You don’t want to be caught carrying all that stuff around town, do you? I didn’t think so. The tricky part is finding an actual spot that’s safe enough to squirrel away your get-up without the inconvenience of it being discovered. Discovery means lost, friends. And when you lose your belongings out here, it’s gone forever, and you're in a real tight spot. I was lucky, for a while, to have discovered a great spot in a location I and my companion, Hobobob, referred to as, “Up the old Lady’s Ass.”

What?

Look. I'm not trying to be offensive here. So, before you jump to conclusions, and simply write me off and what have you, I'd like for you to continue to follow along with my some-what twisted, homeless, logic, and eventually it's all going to make sense.

Getting back to my stashable secret spot.

Where can such a place with a name like this possibly be? Well, it was right behind the lady statue on the left-hand side of the famous New York Public Library, situated right on Forty-Second Street and Fifth Avenue. Believe me, it's the God's honest truth. Sometimes the best place to hide a thing is in plain sight. Who would've suspected? Matter of fact, that location served me well for many months, until one day the public library custodians decided to do spring-cleaning and…well…you know the rest.

The lost to me was considerable. This underscores the reason why it is imperative that you find a hiding spot to squirrel away your belongings that will not be discovered until the end of the next century. Eventually, all stashable locations are discovered.

Wasn’t it the Buddha who said the only thing permanent in the universe was change?

Well, there you have it.

However, if you chose wisely, you can have the blessed, temporary peace of mind that your valuables are tucked away in a well-secreted location, safe from the paws of any would-be-homeless moochers.

Or custodians.

Now that we've got that out of the way, I'd like to elucidate upon the multitudinous purposes of an article-no pun intended-that we use and discard on any given day, without taking into consideration some of the other uses from which a homeless person can gain from it.

I'm referring to your average, daily, newspaper.

As we shall see, this item has more functions than merely providing you with the updated scores of your favorite baseball team.

 

THE POWER OF THE PRESS

 

I’ve touched briefly on how I used newspapers to line my clothing, during less than favorable wintry nights, and how this has saved my hide more than a night or two. In point of fact, this wasn’t my brainchild but was actually thought of and put to use by the late, great, American Psychic, Edgar Cayce, during the many privations he had to endure while pursuing his chosen path as the “Sleeping Prophet.”

I read about it in a book and borrowed the idea. So, there’s no royalties on newspaper usage for me, here.

 

(To be continued...)

 

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt # 12)

 

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

 By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

 

 

TIME (Continued)

 

 

If you’re late, you’re shit out of luck. Food and supplies run out fast and survival is only for the swift out here. Homeless folks who can’t make it on time to these places aren’t going to last very long on the streets. Thus, the need to always be cognizant of the time.

Believe or not, homeless people are never late for meals. Amazing, isn't it? Yeah, they all have their grub meters tuned and calibrated to the next and nearest soup kitchen. It’s remarkable to watch how a “Skeksy” who seems out of his or her mind most of the day, walking around, talking out loud to themselves in gaga land, can manage to locate the next soup kitchen and get there well in advance of time.

It is indeed puzzling.

If you can scrape up enough cheddar to purchase a cheap five-dollar watch or get a cheap cell phone, it would serve you well. If you can’t afford regular, competitive, baby Ma-Bell phone service, you can always buy a TracPhone from Duane Reades or your neighborhood dime store. They’re very inexpensive, and you won’t accrue a monthly bill.

 

What is more, it has an automatic time digital display!

In the event you just can’t afford to buy a watch, then it’s time to live off the land, trooper. This calls for an observant eye that looks out for clocks and digital displays throughout the many buildings and billboards that carry these, on your travels about town.

Clocks and digital read-outs are practically everywhere!

 

If you take a good look around you will see clocks of all kinds, just about anywhere you go. They’re on buildings, advertisement signs and what have you. You can even find digital displays on the modern meters located on most city blocks.

The point being, you don’t have to be lost for time just because you don’t have a timepiece. No matter where you are you can always, as Flavor Flav once said, "know what time it is…Boy-ee!"

Now, that the day is drawing to a rapid close, and you're chomping at the bit to hunker down for a good night's rest in one of your well-selected places, you'll need to stash your precious bags and items while you sleep. Knowing where to tuck my valuables away was another important skill I had to acquire promptly.

 

So we'll discuss that next.

 

STASHABLE LOCATIONS

 

O.k., now you’ve glommed just about everything your big-ass, glom hand can attract. So, what the hell are you going to do with all that swag and accessories, Skek Prince? This is where it comes in handy to have a well-hidden spot to stash all your gear and supplies.

(To be continued...)

Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #11)

 

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

By Daniel Canada c.2010

 

 

 

PLASTIC BAGS (Continued)

 

 

 

First, you must make yourself invisible. I don’t feel it’s necessary to explain how to affect this. I’m sure you know what to do. After you’ve hidden yourself well out of sight, take out your handy, plastic ass-bag and quickly take care of business. 

And I do mean quickly!

Now, here’s where skill comes in.

It is of the utmost importance you tie the ass-bag immediately after use! This prevents the release of any offensive methane. Do your best to get rid of the ass-bag in the most proper manner. Be considerate of others, for heaven’s sake! You wouldn’t appreciate it if someone left their…end product…exposed to your proboscis, would you?

And besides, there are poop-a-scoop laws currently on the books. They kind of sort of apply to you. Well, at least within the spirit of the law.

Anyway, as crazy as all of this may sound, they are the solid truths and can help you, as it did me, whenever you get into a pinch-no pun intended. Therefore, make certain you remember to always stock up on the multi-faceted plastic bag.

Now that we've wrapped up this topic, let's move on to the subject of keeping track of time.

 

TIME

 

“Time is the fire in which we burn.” Well, at least that’s what the character Dr. Tolian Soran, in the movie Star Trek Generations said to Captain Jean-Luc Picard. On a more positive note, we all can agree that without knowledge of it we’re somewhat misplaced. You might be wondering why in hell would homeless people need a watch, or timepiece, in the first place. They don’t have anywhere to go anyway, right?

Wrong.

Homeless people have to keep a constant vigil on the passage of time, unless they’re completely gone out of their cotton-picking minds, in order to show up to all the soup kitchens, food lines, churches and shelters that give out grub and swag, and a whole host of other places throughout the day and week.  

(To be continued)