Some times when I am doing chores at the mission and
completely focused on the task at hand, I can be a bit short
and cold with people from the general public who show up
to ask questions or bring us donations of clothes, housewares.
or canned food, etc.

This happened the other day, and one of the other volunteers
spoke to me about it after the unknown person had dropped
their donationos and left. She said, "do you know her? Why
were you so cold with her?" Of course in that momentary
exchange I was not aware that I appeared cold or indifferent.
It was only because of the critique of the other volunteer that
I became aware of it.

There are many, many people in our neighbourhood who have
careers in the arts, in cultural organizations; in fact, this postal
code and the one adjacent have the highest density of people
who make a living in the arts, music, theater, dance, circus,
small press publishing, poetry, all of that stuff. Highest in all
of Canada.

For the past 30 years funding for the arts from federal and
provincial governments has been absolutely pitiful. Not since
the days of Lester B. Pearson and Pierre E. Trudeau has
funding for the arts been a priority. The National Film Board
and Canadian Broadcasting Corporation both flourished with
adequate funding and encouragemnent. Many other groups
benefitted from grants and bursaries, etc.

The lottery industry became legitimized back in the mid-70s,
and then gradually over the years, governments have decided
to use them to provide money for the arts and leisure activities
of all kinds. Peple just became accustomed to swinging from one
grant to the next like trapeze artists. It is a precarious life,
but many people have adapted to it.

For the poor people who are severely addicted to the lottery fix
it is like a perpetual prison. Everything is postponed, delayed and
devalued until that magic moment when the big win comes in.
We have people on welfare who spend more than $50 a month on
lottery tickets. They might not always have enough food on the
table, but they have lottery tickets.

The lottery industry is nothing more than a parasite on poor people.
It prevents them from becoming adequate, sufficient and able to
confirm their residence in the moment. We do not get to know what
they might be capable of without this imposed imaginary prison.
We have no idea who they are. Everything is concealed and kept
in a coccoon until the big win comes through.

Many people in the arts community think that the whole world
loves them, that they are at the top of the heap in society, and that
they are honoured with wealth and lots and lots of free time to create.
They think that the government knows how important they are, and
that is why they earn a good living, etc. They really think that their
shit don't stink. There is a snoot vibe, and I have a hard time tolerating it.

Anyway, I do know that person who came in and dropped off the
donations. Not really well, but I know that she is very well connected
in the arts world, both as an artist, and as an administrator. I was
introduced to her a long time ago by one of my massage clients.
She is one of those people who would bristle if I was to make
a comment about how much lottery money she has scored over
the years, and how many broken dreams and fucked up people
are connected to that money.

You would never in a million years get a grant to do a piece
of dance or theater about the terrible lives of lottery addicts.
Forget it! Find another topic!

There does not seem to be any way out of this problem.
We are stuck with a government which distrusts the arts
and culture. Funding is at an alltime low. At the street mission
these days when we do food bank we see new people in
their late 30s, early 40s who have never been on welfare
before. They have lived on arts grants for the past 20 years
and now suddenly have nothing. They look bewildered and
lost. Maybe they will start to buy lottery tickets now, too.

unhappy little shit playing bass louder and louder again.
he is definitely not playing within his expensive recording
studio. much too claustrophobic in there.

The idiot guitar neighbour started to play a concert
on his bass, but then suddenly changed his mind.
Or else this is just the beginning of another long
series of mini concerts, as he has done before.

He thinks that we are missing something important.
Fucked up psycho princess.

the pathetic psycho monster thinks that we need to listen to
him play a concert on his bass. gradually louder & louder.

most definitely not playing within his expensive studio.
needy & useless little man.

adequate deep sleep, in spite of lots of afternoon napping recently.
i ate a huge ginsbergian breakfast this morning with coffee. first coffee
in five days. Zoom City. i have not consumed any yang herb tonics for
a whole week. it is super dangerous to consume any type of ginseng
during a bad cold. same thing for astragalus. makes congestion and
overheating so much worse.

i am listening to opera on the radio, vacuuming and housecleaning.
my shack is a big mess, even the cat agrees. i can lower my head
down rapidly now without getting woozy, etc. as a matter of fact i just
now had a mini kick/punch routine with speed, and it felt really good.

every cough or sneeze is super-productive, if you know what i mean.
different kind of housecleaning. i think i am ready to start a new brew
of the ling zhi mushroom today. the beginning of the next month will
be my 12th anniversary here in this studio apartment, and also the
12th anniversary of my relationship with ganoderma lucidum, which
is my best friend in the universe, since forever. in fact, it was the
mushroom that secured this place for me.

i had been homeless, couchsurfing, housesitting for people, and
just barely surviving on my income from massage work at the homo
gym. the people who were living here wanted to skip out on their
lease, so they passed the keys along to me, via friends of friends of
friends.

so the chinese landlord's daughter came along one day to discover
that i had given cash to the concierge for rent. who are you? she
said. how did you get in here? i should phone the police and have
you thrown out on the street, etc. etc.

she suddenly stopped in her tracks when she entered the kitchen.
what are you cooking there? is that the ling zhi mushroom? who
taught you to cook it that way? who are you? what is going on here?

she slowed down enough to sit down and listen to my story. i told
her about my herbalist in chinatown and showed her a photo of
him & me together. after a long pause she composed herself, got
up and said, wait right here - i will go get you a lease form. you
are welcome to stay.

who knows what might have happened if she had thrown me out?
when i leave my front door, the big sprawling, wooded park where
i run, walk, meditate with trees, etc. is less than five minutes away.
the ling zhi mushroom and the mountain of love are so well blended
together in my soul i cannot seperate them.

no red ginseng for at least two more days, but maybe some dilute
astragalus brew before then. it is very good for recovery after a
flu bug.

The so-called Polar Vortex is still very much in effect here
in Montreal. Windchills for the past 6 days have stayed
pretty much around -20 or -26 C. Not much new snow
falling, but still damn cold.

I have spent most of the time indoors, or venturing out only
for really necessary trips. I am now in day 7 of a very, very,
nasty flu virus. One of the worst I have ever experienced.

Back in January, I began a new YMCA membership in a
very nice place down the street from my shack. It takes
me about 18 minutes to walk there, and it is not far at
all from the street mission where I volunteer.

I started to increase my workout hours in a very sudden,
dramatic way, but I kept a good sequence and monitored
my heart, blood pressure, sleep patterns, etc. and thought
that everything was fine. I had some very good support
from my chinese herbalists in chinatown. I now have a
new shop to use for herbs, and the young couple in there
have a good relationship with my longtime herbalist, who
is now 86 years old. He no longer has a shop, but hangs
around in chinatown with his buddies, staying available
for me, too.

I was really happy with my progress at the gym, increasing
up my overall workout hours up by more than 35% in just
6 weeks. I did not feel great fatigue at any time, but I was
unaware that my system had become susceptible to this
flu bug until it clobbered me. But as has happened before,
I did not give enough respect to the symptoms in the
beginning.

Last Saturday, I had just a moderately uncomfortable
cough, but not really sick, you know. I got dressed warmly
and went out for a long walk on the mountain of love with my
ipad tucked under my coat. My cat insisted that I share some
catnip with him before I left the shack. Whom I to say no
thanks?

I walked for about 90 minutes and got real sweaty, right
toot sweet. It was a windy day, and I caught a chill on the
way back to the shack. I think this is what set me up for a
much deeper infection. I have been coughing my brains out
all week. Even to the point that I went over to the hospital
emergency ward on Wednesday to see if I had a collapsed
lung. I had to fight like hell on Tuesday night just to take
in enough of an inhalation each breath. Pretty scary.

They treated me very well over there, the hospital on Mt.
Royal. Doctor said, holy shit man! Maybe pneumonia!
So pull some blood, take kinky pictures under my clothes
of my lungs, the whole works. All the tech people treated me so
well, I wanted to hug and kiss all of them. They kept their
distance from me, though. No time for free love over there.

She came back later and said, no, lungs look pretty good.
No sign in the blood. Be careful, you are on your way up
and out of the flu bug. As a matter of fact, just sitting still
upright in chair for 90 minutes the obstructed sense in my
inhalation changed all by itself. She said it might also have
been a cramp in the diaphragm that caused the problem.

I had to go out today to do welfare cheque procedures at
the bank; pay for telephone/internet, hydro bill, etc.
Bought some white pine extract cough syrup, a few gro-
ceries, and I was relieved to see that I was not out of
breath or totally wiped out by the walk in the cold wind.

I will wait until at least Monday or Tuesday before I go have
gym workout. I was so pleased with myself in last session,
running 2.5 km on treadmill, high speed strides and lunging
and leaping around on basketball court, and hard medicine
ball workouts, etc. It was a real good workout.

The idiot psycho guitar god has been giving us a free concert
on his bass for past 20 minutes. Several very loud peaks.
Pathetic, needy, useless little shit. He was definitely not
playing in his expensive recording studio.

He is afraid of the police, so he does not play longer than
20 minutes. Quite likely he will continue throughout the
afternoon. He also played in the evening a couple days ago.

When I had my massage career I could not tolerate needy,
selfish, insecure, fucked up princesses like this guy. I am glad
that I am finished with that chapter of my life.

I deal with needy, forgotten, loveless, lonely people all the
time in my volunteer chores at the street mission. I would
much rather do this kind of service and consolation rather
than have anything to do with unhappy rich people. They
would not know a moment of real happiness if it bit them
in the ass. Fucked up princess he is.

Lordymama! Pretty interesting day so far.

Two days ago a big metal filling suddenly popped loose
outta my tooth. A lower tooth where my partial denture
plate hooks on. Potentially a very big problem. I was dreading
the idea of losing the tooth completely. I went in to the dental
clinic today, six doors down from my shack - all women working in
there - estrogen city. And they have taken very, very good
care of me.

She could have just yanked the tooth and said get lost, stupid.
When you are on welfare there is a limit to amount of care.
She examined the tooth very carefully and said not enough
time to do it properly. She put in a temporary filling and set
up RDV for next week. She said she can save the tooth. Bless
her heart. She could have given me the bum's rush.

So, I got myself ready to go do volunteer food bank chores at
the street mission. It is a one kilometer walk, maybe more. When
I got there they said that the supply truck was 'en panne' broken
down. Ergo, no food bank today. That is not a cat's ass trophy,
because everybody got their welfare cheques today. Not so
critical.

Food bank chores is usually a 6 hour nonstop blaze of kinetic
power. Lots of heavy lifting, hauling, ripping up cardboard for
recycling, etc. Sometimes quite exhausting.

Cook myself some pasta lunch, go for a long walk on the
mountain of love with iPad tucked under my coat. We have a
break from the brutally cold, windy weather. Today quite
pleasant.

My acupuncturist, from Beijing, called to say hello and wish
me Happy New Year. Her warm voice full of good chi.

Pretty interesting day so far.

Time to get drunk with the funky monk.

The psychotic idiot guitar god is playing bass just at
the edge. Not yet too loud, but I doubt that he will
stay at this level. He wants to know that we can hear
him. Somebody must have made a complaint but he
still wants to make war.

I imagine he is too claustrophobic to stay in his studio.
I predict that he will soon be pushing the limit again.