At Squalor's Door

In the bliposphere, it is commonplace for household pets to act as surrogates, protecting the privacy of the blipping humans. Let's say that this sensuous longhaired moggy takes in the warm September rays and collects a toll of pets and scratches at Squalor's Door.

I was chatting at the cafe with a friend, and he suggested we drop in unannounced at the home of P, who has been in and out of rehabs over many years, treating the overuse of heroin, alcohol, or whatever may be available. The term some use is "garbage head." I've known him for a few years and he's a very well-read and intelligent man of about forty, but when he goes back to it all he has a creepy aspect, he shows you his razor-scars from suicide attempts, resigned to a life and inevitable death in the dark hole. But I had never stopped in at his home, which is about eight blocks from mine.

The front porch is quite ordinary but very peculiar is that the front door is not kept locked! No lock?? It's unheard of here. We never walk away from an unlocked entrance. Inside, it's in the condition of an abandoned house before intelligent squatters settle in. All the tenants are on public assitance for mental or addiction disabilities.

P's room has a huge hole on the ceiling where rain has come through the roof and destroyed the plaster. the walls are scarred with kick-marks and marks (not graffiti, just the dirt of many years of wear). Books of philosophy and high-end literature cover the floor, and the little space is cluttered with absolutely useless, broken things. If he put all of it out on the curb, no one would pick the trash for the odd useful thing, as is done by 3/4 of the residents, including me. No computer; no radio; no TV. No bookcase, no pictures on the walls.

P sat lotus-style on a bare and very worn, threadbare matress witth a filthy bandage around his hand. I sat on a milk crate and said almost nothing, and he talked (clear-headed) with my friend about little practical points of his situation. I shook his hand, we wished each other well, and I left, scratching the cat's head on the way out.

Well that's my blip for the day. The site wouldn't let me upload it last night, apparently due to an overloaded system, but who knows why, really? Who cares? I'm the blipster, telling of P --not the other way about --and the cat looked well-fed and in good health. The weather is clear and warm, and the rains have stopped, at least for now.

Let's close this with a song from Lou Reed --of course!

PS Here's a back-blip that will cheer you up after this big downer.