I seen what I saw....

In spurting rain and that chilled September wind he wandered about the teeming streets in half trance taking the noise into his person as if to replace the clatter in his own mind with something more ambient something closer to abstraction than the thoughts that ran endlessly. The city was a place of loss, of useless striving the street people there of their own volition, addiction, or neglect conjured future incubes' of his own fear. That he, himself would be reduced to such poverty..living on the scraps of other peoples consumption. Crossing Third from the corner of Burnside seeing the porn house, bars, nude clubs, and the constant line at the 24 hour donut shop it all seemed false like a nightmarish dream scape born out of some devilish philosophy and the people, of which he was one, were caught by some unfounded cords whose origins were unknown, forgotten, and accepted. To what end did they breathe? That answer was as soon coming as the fabled second coming and the answers in each individuals mind as mythological as that old orthodoxy. There can be no greater falsehood than the image we construct of our own lives. On the streets it becomes clear the people are in the throws of labor attempting to birth reality into their construction. He sat at a table smoking and observing many of the faces of those he had seen before but in those other faces he could find no recognition.

An old women was barely shuffling across the cracked pavement pushing a cart with all her material possessions. Her one leg swollen, purplish dragging like an off rhythm drummer while the other foot was knarled, the large toe firmly under the adjacent two and in her hunch back deformity she struggled on in some unknown task calling forth guilt and revulsion on the passersby like some silent Elijah calling forth consuming fire from heaven. He struggled in his hopelessness to effect any long lasting change. And even if her health and material poverty could be elliviated what of the mental, dare it be said, her spiritual poverty. In truth he felt less sorrow for her than the affluent woman coming down the side walk in the opposing direction. At least the hunch back knew the truth, each day is a new suffering, there are no illusions for the dispossessed.

A heavy drone a heavy sway...

Upon first glance there seemed to be little out of place in the small Midwest city of Minot. Lights where on, vehicles on the road, restaurants where full. Save for the disproportionate number of help wanted signs it seemed to be a quintessential farming community before the harvest not ground zero for record flooding. Speculation was high as was the growing discontent after three days on a school bus. As we pulled into camp the faces of our fellow workers were gaunt and tallow like meth heads and abusers. The taunts and jeers of fresh meat, cat calls, and other absurdities left us all wondering what the hell was going on. It was a far cry from the situation described at orientation. The whole atmosphere was one of a prison bus full of the newly convicted pulling into the state penitentiary.

Luckily three of us new comers where snatched up by a few guys who where less desperate and people I would gravitate towards anyway. The next evening we were all on job sites ready to do the work we had planned on doing without much knowledge as to what we were really there for. The revelation fell heavy that we were there only for the cheap unquestioning labor we provided,we were there for the desperation...desperation feeding desperation. Feeling a sense of misguided nobility when asked about working a double I said sure. This merely translated into 24 hours of labor. During those hours the reason i boarded a bus to Minot became clear namely to work off my transgressions, to toil in a hell for redemption never to be found after death in some eternal dream.

There is no redemption to be had. Not even in a flooded out town festering with disease and decay. Why even seek redemption in the obvious fulfillment of life? Ruin.