When I was a kid in the 1960s, the farmers could be heard lamenting about a changing world that they feared.

Beautiful stone cobbled streets of small towns were replaced with “The Shopping Mall Generation!” AND cities grew. “Who would grow the food?” The farmers asked.

But did anyone see this coming down the pike? A generation so smart that they make money while they sleep?

A generation who became so important that not having children became for them, the best option. Which is probably the best thing since we can no longer determine genders…

I am not afraid. I am not in control. I am embarrassed… or am I entertained?

I am being left behind…

I am a dying breed.

It’s ok.

The generation left behind by technology.

I like this modern thinking.

Stay single and make money while you sleep.

I pretend I don’t know why there is so much unhappiness and rage.

If you aren’t cultivating relationships and you don’t have to work and you are having your food and sex delivered… What exactly are you doing with your time? I would be writing, painting, and making films, but that’s me… I am being left behind.

Not much in the offer.

Sadly quiet before the dawn.

The Madman is dodging traffic.

But not all hope is gone.

There’s a prayer, and there’s a promise.

There’s a hole in that link fence.

There’s a need to use the toilet

Not much else is making sense.

It’s Thursday in the springtime… mornings dark and new.

I can’t say I ever loved her, but my feelings kinda grew.

There’s a black cat on my rooftop. And I’ll be leaving soon.

I’ve made and packed the lunches. We all dine from bags at noon.

I’ll be driving out to Pearson. Arrivals coming from JFK.

It is Thursday in the Springtime. Waiting for the light of day.

I lacked understanding and put a question out to the universe. I received my answer. Certain Asian cultures are very honor based, and there is great shame in not “Saving Face.”

I owe someone an apology whether I like it or not…

I have chosen work and have not considered the alternatives. I realized early that I neither have the constitution for crime or the want to do the time.

As I watch the bums ply their trade and bounce from face to face, searching for that empathic glow to dig deep and hand over; I realize I don’t have the constitution for this either. Either side of the equation.

Oh, don’t get me wrong… I have handed out my share! Hand out change, and you get attitude back. Hand out a 5 or 10, and you get smiles and a reputation. They will run into oncoming traffic to cross the street when they see you. I am retiring from bum giveaways! Spread the word.

Like retirement from work, there will be the odd exception.

He limps in the shadows as I wait for the approaching streetcar, dodging in and out of traffic collecting and counting change in the shifting light… when he has gathered enough, he will go to a lottery kiosk and purchase scratch tickets. After that, he will lay on his belly in an abandoned doorway and scratch.

At first, it seems to be bad luck. But once you really look and begin to study them and their habits in their natural environments, you begin to realize that very often, some people create and, in turn, deserve their own pain.

It’s where they want to be. Maybe where they need to be. I think I understand now. I will not interfere. I will not try to help. I will mind my own business. Like a scientist observes their natural surroundings. Just letting life unfold without intervention. Dumbfounded at their findings… 

“Once again, the troubled beautiful starlet has created the perfect scenario in which to endure the maximum emotional impact. Fascinating.”

Dennis Mantin

The Dutchman he was legend. He was carved at the great war.

He went where eagles dared to fly. And kept coming back for more.

He was huge in more than stature. He was the edge of sword and knife.

Left a carnage in nights silence. For the ones who still held life.

In times of peace and loving. When the healing had begun.

I found his story from the words of my friend, The Dutchman’s son.