A Living Magazine - Day 127 - Milwaukee in Black and White--Color and Night

What fantastic dreams came to me! I was still trying to remember them as they faded out, and my anxieties about the money and blog crossfaded back in, causing a long sigh along with my short yawn.

Unzipping my front door, at least I was greeted with a blue sky sunrise. I never look forward to packing up, but it went quickly as I filled my mind with other concerns--there were plenty. Today would be a trip to Oz, and so I will bring you along with me; from the tornado of an oppressive mental stress to the temporary wonderland of thankfulness. Cue up the Pink Floyd (my friend Glenn will know to what I refer, he'll also catch the Steely Dan reference below)...

BLACK AND WHITE   

Rusted love; forgotten by one, but still held onto by another.

Or, maybe that's just me. Hmmm. The answer is locked away.

The roof of the stinkiest and loudest building in Milwaukee. Good morning world!

Awww...Windblown trash collected on roadways. How I have missed you.

A picture may say a thousand words about this city,

but I distill them down to two: Urban Decay.

Not sure what this guy's mission is, but I see him

drive up and down Wisconsin Avenue every day.

Now! For a limited time! Three legal things America sanctions with which to slowly kill yourself...

1. Alcohol

2. Prescription opiates.

3. Cigarettes.

But wait! There's more! How about a little transfat, sugar and red meat?...

Sign of the times--I love you and I hate you.

Time to bolt.

When I got to Starbucks, I recalled how much trepidation I'd felt leaving my resignated final Facebook post the night before--essentially giving up on the idea of growing the readership of this blog. If people weren't going to care about what I was doing perhaps they could at least take a look at the people in their own lives who they have written off. Here is what I wrote...

I have a new request...

If you don't feel that contributing to my blog is worth it anymore, please give something to someone else that you say you care about in your life. Skip the strangers for now. Find a family member or friend who is struggling to eat, or find a job, or stay warm, or have shelter from the rain, is sick or disabled, stuck in the chains of depression...and give them what you won't give me.

I understand what it is like to be looked down upon by most of my family; to be forgotten; to be given "tough love" [the euphemism used by those who are self-blinded by their own comfort--to excuse themselves from providing human compassion].

Search for the needy ones you have been trying to "teach a lesson" to by not helping, and give them a $20 bill. Maybe they won't use it for what YOU think they should, but do recall that to judge other people for not living up to your own standards and expectations is creating a black hole in your own soul that you may never be able to escape from. It is sucking you into the bottomless pit of non-existence.

If you're an atheist and consider yourself and everyone else to be soulless, then just keep fucking the world by not ACTING, because none of it matters anyway. Amen.

I choose to do what I'm doing, because I am LED to do it. I suffer, not because of a lack of support, but because of a spiritual obligation that I am driven to fulfil--at all costs to myself, apparently.

And, when the angels cry teardrops of rain, the next time one lands on you, may you remember that NOTHING stops the rain from falling; no belief system; no religion; no scientific theory; no philosophy; no ideology; and especially, no amount of money.

If these words mean anything at all to you, then you are still able to wear your soul on the outside. Let it migrate there, and any black hole will evaporate like a teardrop in the Light.

To LOVE is to GIVE.

I truly meant it, but as I connected to the Wi-fi, I figured it would just be another thing taken the wrong way--pushing away the rest of my readers. Turns out, I was wrong--and happily so.

About a dozen contributions filled my email, ranging from very modest to the relatively stout--ALL, extremely generous. It hit me like a smack on the face; not the kind from a fist but rather a kiss from those angels who had been crying the night before, and caused my own eyes to turn as cloudy as the sky had been then. I could barely control my emotions, and pulled the visor of my hat down over my face.

They did care. Touchdown in Oz.

COLOR AND NIGHT

I'm so isolated out here, and very few people comment at this blog or talk about what I'm writing at Facebook (actually, I could count them on almost all the fingers of one hand). I just never really know until something like this happens. The temptation is to chalk up the surge in gifts to "sympathy money", or maybe accidental, reverse psychology prosecuted on my part. All I ever see are the stats. Stats are cold, folks. I starve for your reactions and input to what I'm doing far more than I starve for food and supplies. Just a thought.

I worked for six hours straight writing the day's post (please see the previous post, "For Art's Sake"). I wanted it to be some of everything that people have told me they liked--admittedly, still guessing quite a bit. And, I think I did it. So far, it was my favorite post on this journey. (Maybe, every now and then, drop me line. I am not just doing all of this for my own masochistic pleasure, nor because I like to be the only loudmouth in our little congregation. I'm doing it so you can experience as much of what I am as I do.)

I hadn't eaten yet and now I could. I hit the "Publish" button and headed out and east down Wisconsin Avenue, this time turning onto Jefferson toward the "Historic Third Ward"; another of the places suggested by my new friend, Chris at the Subway a few days earlier. I (metaphorically) ran right into the Public Market...

It had a semi-pretentious feel about it. I walked around it about three times, being occasionally eye-balled by booth owners. All hail! The "backpack profiling" and "poverty prejudice" was kicking into second gear. I stopped by one stand and saw some gummy snacks called, "Raisins" for $0.99. It came to $1.05 with tax.

I only had one dollar in my wallet, having not yet accessed any funds for cash, so I handed the impatient and unsmiling woman my card. She looked at it, and then back at me, like "Are you kidding me? YOU have a credit card?" Instead, she said, "You know we have a $0.15 surcharge for debit/credit purchases under $5.00, right?"

I said, "Forget it then."

She said, "It's okay, you can just pay the dollar."

I said, "No. Forget it," (I won't even give a dollar bill to a company that gouges - that's a 15% increase - they didn't need to it, and lost a customer) put the wallet back in my pocket, and walked over to the Greek counter where I'd seen small platters for $5.99. I bought one along with a Gatorade and turned to find a table.

The very kind Greek woman said, "Oh! Wait! Here is your heated pita pocket!" I like free food. It makes me happy. I thanked her and sat (accidentally) at the table of a Mexican Food bar...

All veggie and delicious Greek platter. Not a bad price either.

Realizing I was being a bit uncouth by eating another place's food there, with a big Corona Extra sign staring me in the face, I decided to rectify the situation and bought a beer from them...

Splurge! Best beer I've had since leaving California.

With my belly full and a bit of a glow on the brain, I ventured out to explore the area a bit before dark, feeling thankful and recharged...

Love these signs.

This definitely caught my attention. $2,000.

Even with my tight-ass sensibilities, I would consider

it, once (if ever) I am settled and more financially secure. 

Check out the word in the lower left corner. Accident.

Yes!

This seems to be a city of doppelganger images! The day before, it was my friend, Karyn. On this night it was my friend, Eduardo...

Of course, Ede is a better looking guy... Just something about it.

I hadn't noticed this before! What a cute story...

Sometimes humanity pleasantly surprises me. Too, bad it was 70 years ago.

I left this in despite the blurriness.

Also a city of misspelling and grammatical error--something I can definitely identify with.

Can you see it? Starr is spelled correctly.

"Hey 19"!

Frank, Vicky, Melinda, Carl, Ellen, Patrick, and many others will catch this.

A shout out and wink to Sheryl!

No wonder the place is closed.

As if clicking my heels three times, I was back at the camp spot, a changed man. Other struggles, more pain, more insecurity would be ahead. But, on this night the Wicked Witch of Uncertainty had been crushed. Glinda was still to come. I settled in and slept well, with another incredible dream occurring later that night.