We were talking about ‘Parasite’ which she saw 4 times and she said, “I felt terrible about them being put down for how they smelled. “

I had recently talked to a woman who’s ex lived in a basement apartment and one of his acquaintances told him he smelled of basement… which I shared with her and added, “The homeless definitely have that hum.”

She said, “That Hobo smell.”

“Yes… and a real bums eye for fashion to quote Gord Downy.”

The ideas all went silent. All the writer’s are asleep.

The tongues are all about restraint, for the secrets we can keep.

The wise men are all now crazy. And the beggars found a home.

The sun is setting in the east and I never more will roam.

It’s all over but the crying and I’m broken up inside.

There was so much more I had to see but I’m falling with the tide.

The fights are all but over and I’m close to letting go.

The past is here and in between and love is all I know.

This conflict has evaporated, due to the discovery that turmoil is your goal… And I am not interested in giving into your desires.

Insights… no matter the cost have reward. I will pay the necessary price. This is my reward for choosing you.

I no longer have expectations, and as a result have not experienced disappointment. You have given me acceptance. What a gift giver you are!

Every year she takes a trip; where it’s dark and forever cold. She laments about her beauty lost, and the pains of growing old.

I can’t say I know depression and for me it’s not always cheer. I stay silent when I’m smiling, my intentions aren’t always clear.

I don’t know how much I help her, I just point towards the sun. And tell her to enjoy the ride and that it’s only just begun.

She says, “How can you be certain?” I said, “Certain? I am not. ” But the alternatives are too frightening and this is all I’ve got.”

I will bite the hand that feeds me… I want to drive you far away. I want to keep you close to me. I want you to want me to stay.

I want you to understand me. I need you to feel my pain. I like the sounds of your confusion. And how pleading you say, explain?

I know that you have your limits. And you like to hold my hand. When I tell these lies about you. Never turns out like you planned.

We have this child here together. And you hear her call me Mom. And I know how much you love her. I cry wolf and see how fast you come.

I know that you will never leave me. I hear your silence in my head. I still know you won’t abandon. So I fight with you instead.

And you know that I don’t love you. I just need someone to share my pain. The Doctor says I’m a Borderline. It’s hard to be so I don’t explain.

I have had problems with trying to determine the best way to tell a story in novel form…

The first person bores me with to many I’s… I I I I and so on. Recently the option of the unreliable narrator has appeared and since so much of what I write about is insanity or questionable sanity, I I I I believe I have stumbled upon a solution of telling the same story from several unreliable narrators.

The all knowing omni point of view seems oddly delusional and unreliable in narration with every passing day…

Went away for 85 days to nowhere… Just off the grid. Hiding in plain sight. Watching, waiting, writing. Hanging out with my girl!

I have a new respect for work as towards the end; in the last month I was having trouble sleeping.

Who knew I needed the routine of work for sleep? Well now I do. I saw all I needed to see of the neighborhood. Your secrets are safe with me.

It’s good to be back!

Dennis Mantin

I’ve never been a great verbal communicator. What I say and what is heard is often in opposition; until now.

I have just come to the realization that my 8 year old daughter and I communicate very well and I am so grateful for those moments with her. We really seem to get one another.

I felt the need to tell her today how much I appreciate her for specifically this. This opportunity is not lost on me. I feel very fortunate.

Today she gave me a riddle. She said, “Would you rather be rich and be always bossed around or homeless and free?”

I told her that being homeless is tough and that if I were rich, I could probably figure out how to deal with the bossing around, however the question did give me pause as I think she is still processing my answer.

The days are longer now, the cold seems to fade with the darkness.

Screaming Jason rages near the bus stop… cold and hungry and unapproachable.

The huddled masses are mainly silent waiting patiently the melt, except for Jason and Irene.

Irene who has made the bus shelter at Queen and Jameson her home this winter; she has not been silent either. Hers is the voice of suffering and will not be silenced yet.

I have been having trouble sleeping in my bed in the warm and cozy. Imagine?

She experienced the pain of hunger and homeless poverty and the horror that comes from that. Her icy grip on these fears have not seemed to have loosened despite my best efforts in the past decade in the demonstrations of no missed meals or rent.

She hates me for so many reasons… none of which seems to have a louder scowl than my abilities to not let her lie in her pain.

Sometimes I just have to acknowledge that I am powerless and let life have her way. You win.