I just found this, we had to write a paper on paradigms.

Melanie Moors

Larance

English 101

1 September 2005

Paradigm

Dingy hands pounded away at leather stretched over wood. Smudged face held cracked lips that opened and closed with each deep resonating sound. Notes that twang and pound away pieces of hearts of persons standing close enough to hear, but refusing to see. Typical tattoo green illustrates age of man tanned and weathered. Preaching as he sings, each note a syllable of wisdom, something so deep that passerby used excuse of his state of poverty to dismiss words of insight. Grimy knotted locks of hair swung with rhythm of remarkable beat. Sitting in sand with the sea breeze filling his voice with salty roughness, his appearance matches that of his temporary home.

Why did he choose to settle here? His feet have known so many roads, so many tracks, so many beaches and yards and lots. This man has no home, no food, no car, and no telephone. For as much he lacks monetarily he makes up with heart. As dingy as his hands and home can get the clear clean beat rings true to ears even if eyes cannot bear to watch. His knowledge is so vast, and he chooses to sit in paucity on the hot sand with holes in his shirt and rips in his shorts. His home is a sleeping bag over a bench, complete with gum stuck to seat and obscenities carved into the back. It shames the crowd. His bucket placed in front of him holds a battered sign that reads, “I would prefer food.” His only friends are those who have been given a similar fate, but not by choice. “Case Poverty” as Dr. Galbraith is quoted in Dwight Macdonald’s 1963 article in the New Yorker, where this type of poverty is “related to characteristics of individuals so afflicted

as mental deficiency, bad health, inability to adapt to modern life…alcohol and insufficient education.” (Ferman 7). He does not posses any of the above stated causes of poverty. Unlike his comrades in homelessness, he chose this path.

He has not lost his wits like so many of the other transients that grace the sidewalks. He very much knows everything that is going on. The year is 1971, and He is pushing 50. His grasp on the times, his awareness of the present, past and future far surpasses his peers and juniors. He is well aware of the fact that most of the people here share is views on the War. He conscious that this is the most people he can easily make an impression on. He would not be welcome in the hip coffee shop across the way. He would not be paid any attention if he sat anywhere but here, where the itinerant seem to roam free. He spits out truths with the audacity to call out to the women and men strolling by. Reluctantly they listen, but they cannot watch. People come here to witness free speech of the outcast. Even if his place of residence has no mailbox attached, his roof is an awning and his bed has been transformed from seating accommodations, this is where he is needed; this is where he will be heard.

His paradigm on his world is completely shifted compared to the other people walking by. They have turned luxuries into necessities and by creating a bigger want, creating a bigger void needing to be filled with materialistic objects. They go home to color TV’s, he watches the people go by, he paints pictures of the sun setting over the ocean on a clear day. They drive automobiles to the store and to parks, his legs are lean and his feet constantly soiled from travel on foot. They eat dinner on coffee tables in spotless living rooms. He sits in a circle of dirt and eats fruit out of his hands. Theirs world is a home as big as possible, with seven feet tall refrigerators, telephones, neighbors, and lawns. His is a world of simplicity, a drum, dirt and a sleeping bag. He is

completely satisfied with his habitat of sticky afternoons, halitosis, windy nights and sunny days. Dirt and grime fill his every pore, stuck in his hair, and will never be washed out of age-old clothes.

Tonight, he will lay his head down for a welcomed rest this evening on his bench, he will be content with smelling of weeks old body odor. He will be comfortable with the sand in his shorts and sleeping bag, His cracks in his lips will ache and his hands will throb with a day of music. He will be happy with where he is, not asking for anything more than to wake up to his pile of sand, his bucket, his drum, and his audience.

Things that make you go, hmm

I feel lost sometimes. Sometimes during the day I feel like I figured it out.

I wonder sometimes if I am just not compromising, not committing because I am inherently fucked up.

I find that good people, honest people that will stand beside you, they are so few and far between.

My mom called me today in a flurry frustrated because I needed to bring Avanlea's car back to her. I was pretty shocked and scared... I asked her if she would give me a ride back to my place after I dropped it off. I could feel her smugness oozing through the phone. "Why would I do that, when you can just drive your truck?"
For some reason, some crazy reason, she fixed it.
Well, 700 bucks worth of fixing. She asked if I could help her with some of the cost, she wasn't planning on spending that much. I was so shocked she would do something so nice. It makes sense I suppose. Every time just her and I hang out she talks about how bad she fucked up and how sad she is that we will never have a real, mother/daughter relationship. I know she is trying to make up for it. Even though I have already forgiven her. I cried.

When I watched my sister walk, I cried then too. My dad sat next to me and started shedding tears and trying to wipe them away while adjusting his glasses. He and my Mom and the rest of my family watching were so, so proud she was graduating. I was proud beyond belief too. But that sick little pill was hard to swallow. None of them showed up to my graduation. In fact, for a graduation present, I got royally shafted and pushed away in the absolute worst way possible, and no one did a damn thing or gave a fuck. I tried my ass off to be a good girl, I did the best I possibly could, and every day I was doing something unforgivable. No one cheered for me, no one applauded me, no one gave me cards or flowers, no one hugged me and told me they were proud. I walked a few miles to my friends house and passed out. My sister is spoiled but she doesn't realize it.

I heard the real story about why my dad is so fucked up crazy and controlling. Turns out he was a Green Beret in the war, he commanded a platoon of nine men. He was recon, intelligence. He went in and scoped out without using violence unless permission was granted in a serious situation. He was attacked in the middle of the night. He was laying down, didn't even have his weapon when he got shrapneled so bad the medics fought him to chop off his limbs. He was the only one to survive. He hated that Purple Heart in that box, he loathed looking at it, and anything else from the War, and now I know why. He was responsible for nine men's lives, nine men that trusted him and knew what he was and what he had been through. The only men who could really relate when the war was over, he felt that he let them down. When I heard that I cried.

I was with Travis for six years. Every other day he broke my heart in different ways. I was always so lonely with him, I was never first. I then began to try and fill myself with booze and other things that aren't as healthy. I tried to cover up the fact I was so miserable. All I wanted was this beautiful person to really, really put me first . When he finally started to change I was too far gone, he never would have my whole heart. I got burned in a lot of ways, did a lot of stupid shit in the mean time. I am wondering if I am capable of loving someone and having them love me. I feel dead inside. I know all of this gay post culminates to that one really gay line. But honestly, will I ever be able to commit to someone? I am still hopelessly in love with him, I think about him all the time, as well as of other people I have burned or been burned by. I wonder if I will ever get it right, he is changing, should I go back to him? Am I doing the right thing? Why do I feel so shitty if I am doing the right thing? Will he ever commit himself to me? Am I really an ugly person inside? Why do I want to be alone when I am with him, and with him when I am alone? Why have the tables turned, and I am now doing the shittiest things possible to him? Why do I even think I need him to get by, or any man for that matter? Can't I find someone who is stronger than me? Can't I find someone I am head over heals for, I can make a family with, that realizes how awesome I am, and how awesome they are, and they just hold me and my insecurities just disintegrate? Can't I find someone to be goofy with, that doesn't judge me, that isn't mean to me, that I can commit to? Can they love my art and encourage me and support me? Am I asking too much God? Can I ask to be healed? Why have you let this happen? Why do I have to take pills all the time or I feel like shit? Why am I fixing my fourth broken tooth? Why am I so shitty at my job when I try so hard? Why don't I have enough money to help other people as well as myself?

Why can't I hear God anymore? Like when I was a child? Do I even believe in God anymore? Can you hear me God? Hello God, it's me, Melanie. Your kid. When I was young I knew you and I never faltered, now I don't even know you can hear me. Helloooooo, are you there? Can you hear me now God? Am I just wanting you to hear me, when in all actuality you have better things to do? Why didn't you call on me? When I needed something, a reason, so bad? I would give my life, I would be a martyr, but for some reason, you have stuck me here. Hellooooo God, Earth to God. One two, one two, check, check, is this thing on?

Why do I pray when I am obviously so fucked up?

Why do I think I am worthy of God listening to me when I obviously can't even get a monogamous relationship right? When I can't stop smoking and drinking? When I can't even afford to be a light in someone else's life?

Why am I here? Is death easier than living?




I don't know why these things bother me, but they do.

I woke up this morning

And I, for some reason, and this irrational belief that I am pregnant. I had a dream or something, and when I woke up this morning it was true to me. That fog spot when you wake up and you can't tell where you are or how you're feeling, that cusp where you can feel your brain and body but you can't exactly steer it right. At first I was scared, and then I was relieved. All in that weird spot of about five seconds.

But alas, I am not.


I am going through one of those difficult times where I am trying to fix everything to help fix myself. I want to save the world, it helps save me. I have nothing, nothing at all right now, and I just keep doing things for other people, giving away time and money and stuff, just trying to be a light.

If I stop to focus on my own problems I break. If I stop to think about how lonely I am, how lost I feel, how useless I feel, how dirty I feel, I break down.

Instead I spend time with those who need me, I counsel those as best I can, I do things to help people in need, and I constantly clean and fix to try and help. I get a little, I give beyond my means, but I don't care. I don't care. It's all I've got right now to help me through.

It's like my own therapy. I can't sleep if I am not doing right by someone.

I am so angry

I can't help it