i remember walking along a seawall in victoria each morning when i was homeless. Every day i walked past the boats and the blackberry bushes and the dead seagulls in oil patches. Going to my panhandling spot for another day of pride killing.
I would hitchhike to each place i went which became second nature. I rode in the back of a pickup listening to tool die on my tapeplayer as the batteries waned out bringing the music to a slow stop.
When blackberry season came around i gathered as many as i could and boiled them down to a jam and stole a loaf of bread (this is when i was staying at a friends house for about a week while it was available) and made awesome blackberry sandwhiches.
Before this i was in kamloops barely holding on to a place with absolutely no money. In kamloops it was all just a matter of garden raiding. In the hight of the season i would be able to collect everything from hot peppers, potatoes and corn to watermelons, and various forms of plums. Sometimes i would build a fire down by the river and roast the corn in the coals and watch the sun rise and think about the last ten or so years of my life.
These things....

once, years earlier than this i was kicked out of my house and slept in a bank teller room. At around 5 in the morning i stole morning newspapers and brought them to my friends house where i asked for a place to sleep.
oh nice mild stories for ya

now i need sleep

the carriage with cracked wheels rolls forth
weighed down by the building blocks
handed down by my fathers before me
this barren landscape is where i shall build my home
knowing that the crops will fail and rain shall not come
nails worn from digging my well
forming my grave under rolling skies
only in my rest shall the rain fall
wash the dirt from shallowed eyes

through inner manifestation of dreams i peceived a future brighter than the one of aching hands. Through the building of foundations i beleived in a grandiose accomplishment of architectural might. Through my forming of bonds i saught the strenght of family.
I will wade through this time of rot.
Abide with me through the waves of trial.
No undertow shall pull us down.
Through mandibles i attain strength.
Down throat i input sustanance.
Through time do i begin to malform and degenerate.
hold fast

i work in a pot cafe in downtown vancouver bc.
The main money makers of the cafe are tourists, but we have our regulars.
There are certain dynamics of the cafe in which still entertain and fullfill me somewhat.
But i swear that every transaction crushes me down just a little bit more.
Something about losing your intuitive awnsers for programed ones. Something about the monotonous actions occuring over and over, occasionally broken up by the crack head i have to throw out.
Would you like a small or a large?

dustin, aka peanut butter jelly whatever else has signed off of general reality in the split second decision made under water pressure falling from above.
Pursuaded earlier in the night by a drunk alley cat, who walked with a slight limp on his right leg and that smelled strongly of a night of rum and worries; he had found himself with much more than he could contend with. Sitting across from the soaked alley cat dustin pulled forth three cups of flour and a class of milk. He placed it on the forhead of the cat, making low gurgling sounds in the back of his throat.
cat: would you like cream and sugar with that missour?
dustin: no i drink it black
cat: how about four leters of cows blood?
dustin: just put it in the back with the rest.
jesus i am the messiah.
dustin and cat: say whaaaaa>??