At a certain point…

After multiple sequential indisputable instaces of dealing with the insanity of others, in multiple locations… The conclusion I came to was 1. Either the whole world was nuts or 2. I am attracting crazy.

I eventually settled on door # 2 while holding out for the possibility that door # 1 had huge potential.

I knew I couldn’t change the world so I settled on me. The first thing I had to do was quit drinking.

In conclusion I believe there are at least 2 worlds. In World # 1, the sober world I have inhabited for close to the last 20 years; crazy can happen. However being sober means that I have a fighters chance to deal with whatever comes my way.

In the alternative universe of world # 2, with alcohol and drugs… I am guaranteed chaos.

My summation on the subject of attracting crazy is that crazy is abundant and not difficult to find. However if you are able to go through life sober and aware, then that shite can and probably will be reduced.

Dennis Mantin

Seaton House is on George Street in downtown Toronto. It has the distinction of being the largest homeless shelter for men in Canada.

I arrived there after I left Maise and her grief. I called Seaton House,”Prison with knives.

‘Out of the fat and into the fire.’

I took a top bunk for perceived safety. It worked I guess. I didn’t suffer any physical injuries. I was there for 5 nights… the last night for me was New Years Eve 87/88.

At Seaton House that last week of December, every night seemed to get crazier and louder than the night before. Fights and assaults were the norm. I saw the first knife fight I ever saw. I saw a man attacked with a knife who disarmed and knocked out his attacker. It was insanity. I was fucking terrified. The rule was that if you wanted in from the cold, you had to be in by 8 p.m.

On New Years Eve from 8 p.m.to sunrise New Years Day not a peep or sound was heard. All the Jackels and Hyenas and lambs   were silent. Each alone with our thoughts.

Anyone in a homeless shelter on New Years Eve had nothing to howl or brag about. Silence rained down upon the reality that anyone there was a loser.

I smiled and left on New Years Day.

They are all dead now…

It stated in Maise’s obituary that she was predeceased by her 3 children.

‘Not a line you read everyday.’

And I felt sad for her tragedy.

I lived in her house for 3 months in 1987. She was kind and accommodating. When I arrived she was embarrassed about the state of her house. She had gone away for a vacation and when she came back; someone had broken in and stole all her furniture.

I don’t know whether I believed her or not.

At the time, her daughter Diana and son Roger were both living with her. They were both in their mid 20’s.The oldest son Brian was in prison on some trumped up charges according to Maise.

At Christmas dinner while Maise was bemoaning the absence of her eldest at the holiday feast, her youngest Roger, admitted that it was him who had stolen the furniture to pay for a drug debit and his absent brother took the rap so he could go back to prison…

Brian was what prison people refer to as “Institutionalized. “

Christmas dinner ended abruptly.

I could hear her moaning in her grief and I left in silence on Boxing Day 1987.

The world was strange and alive.

I remember not being able to shut off my mind…

And I remember being afraid to sleep for fear of not waking.

I also remember being able to sleep for 12 or more hours.

Now I’m lucky to get 5 before waking; however I do get to go right back after a brief interval.

I have also perfected the 20 minutes nap.

And dreams!?

I have this wonderful dream life where I no longer fear sleeping, I look forward to sleep.

She took me out at night to the elementary school and told me she wanted the Christmas 🎄 that the school had thrown out that day.

“I’ll buy you a fucking tree!” I smiled sarcastically… and continued. “I don’t steal and I’ll be fucked if I’m going to start with stealing a Christmas tree from an elementary school!”

“But they’ve already used it and won’t be using it again.” She was smiling however I thought she might have tears in her eyes.”

“You have a point I guess.” I relented. “Why don’t you steal it?”

“I can’t carry it.”

“I see that. “

Maise was probably closer to 60 than 50 with dyed jet black wirey shoulder length hair. Her dark eyes looked sunken against her porcelain white skin. I found her strangely attractive.

As I carried the stolen tree down Norseman Avenue towards her home, I told her,

“Never again.”

I left her house on boxing day and never spoke to her after.

My bladder kept expanding.

Proportional to the pain.

Sipping coffee while I am waiting.

Will I see a toilet again?

There are moments in this process.

Where tears are in my eyes.

If I ever thought that I was bright.

Sometimes I’m not so wise.

The heat was barely bearable…

The pipes they groaned to creak.

The misery was all sharable.

At the others I dared a peak.

The cat was on the carpet.

The kid was in her bed.

She was shifting and still wide awake.

And the other wanted fed.

I turned on the air and fan.

With snow still on the ground.

In the distance my mind went long ago.

We all faded without a sound.

There are whispers on the internet, in the shadows and in the streets.

There is talk of revolutions in the basements of sent out tweets.

It is loud and often teary, and frothy and sometimes dumb.

But the activists are organized in the homes of Dad and Mom.

There are solutions for the masses, if the old would just comply.

But who would cook the dinners? If all the old folks die.

The are fly’s still in the ointment. Leading minds are working out.

No more news to report right now, from the lands of pose and shout.

There are no rules for love and war.

You pay for less, you want for more.

You want to cut? You measure twice.

You wanna play? You roll the dice.

All talk stops of heaven and hell.

But it’s in your mind and just as well.

I saw the cheat at the winning hand.

Felt so complete and just as grand.

Whoever said its not win or lose.

Has all the rage of the terrible two’s.

All smiles and service at the House of Gourmet.

Had a massage and feeling ok.

Everyone is talking, still nothing to say.

I nod and I eat, I work and I pray.