On the skids became a response to the chaos in Sweden and me situated for a few weeks on the East coast with a broken keyboard and later the ipad, (dog stepped on it and wrecked it completely).
Then, when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did
Now, a few years down the line, events in Sweden continues to escalate, the latest reports showing the calamity homemade grenades bring.
The bomb attacks are at unprecedented levels in a country where there never used to be any.
” I am not white, I’m Swedish “ demonstrates the Scandinavian national identity, people from every country on earth lives in Sweden. We embraced everyone who wanted to join us.
I am very much part of the product and I still believe in certain humanitarian core values imprinted in my youth.
I move in deeply multicultural communities with African American, Asian, Jewish and Arabic representation where everyone categorically express concern over events unfolding and every single one know the answer as to why they want to live in the West.
The demagoguery is from a overwhelmingly white privilege leftie perspective, the Comrades adhering to the ideology I was born in to.
Armchair Socialists deaf to the testimonials given by the people who actually lived and endured the doctrine.
I’m a work in progress and one thing I learned while mourning my niece, is that I ought to acknowledge what I was articulating unintentionally dimmed by grief as a blanket address of a issue which represents fractions, not the whole.
I don’t hate anyone, not even the people who stood by the sidelines mocking my niece as she walked towards her death.
Or the ones attempting to do the same to me while I was mourning her passing.
I was and will be writing about cretins, criminals and criminal acts in progress and if anyone reading feel smithed by it, my assumption would lead me to think they belong to the aforementioned groups.
To my South/West Asian crew who happen to stumble upon this, I love you.
MHz ( public ) network is showing renown French culinary drama ‘Le Chef’ ( Chef för the mono linguists ) on Mondays starting at 8 pm with a rerun at 11 pm.
Paris is best in the bleak of November (as is Madrid), but then again, Paris is always at its best no matter what the season.
I’m cuddled up on lambskin pelts, outside snow clings to not yet defoliated trees in heavy sighs.
Sipping on hot wine while the extract of L’Heure Bleue melt to envelop me in pre war glamour.
The cinematography is a mood depicting the melancholy of the French perfectionism while fall usher in a new season.
Lingering memories of days vagabonding and extensive dinners unfolding in to the night with the wine flowing as each dish is brought out.
Airing a few charceturies and a loaf of pumpernickel. Ripe figs and baked Moroccan spiced Valencia oranges to top it off.
The quickest way to a woman’s heart is cleaning the plate said no one ever, yet I fawn watching my food being devoured.
Maybe I tie a bow around my waist as well.
Enchantee I’m sure.
This morning brought a message to look up the Halloween theme by the WK clan and so I did.
It depicts Kanye in a bug getup with wife Kim as emerging larvae albeit the most glamorous kind I’m yet to see. The offsprings continues the concept in various progressions.
What a strange choice for a costume you might think or perhaps you catch it instantly even though most sources reporting on it appears completely oblivious to one interpretation in particular.
Vaya Con Dios peeps.
I mean that quite literally.
This is a public service announcement, primarily aimed at the female demographic although blokes stand to gain knowledge as well. Ya ready? –> Unless there are actual bugs crawling around on the seat, you don’t catch STDs from a toilet.
Sit your ass down and tinkle like a proper lady Sucia.
Having dinner at a moderately high falutin restaurant this weekend the bathroom looked and smelled like a CTA elevator on a day of frigid freeze,
I had to go back to my companion and excuse myself as I dashed over to a nearby hotel begging them to let me use their powder room.
Guys may not know this, the ladies bathroom are some of the grossest around with a lot of women standing over the loo like a bitch in heat trying to aim with something that has nothing to aim with.
Spraying everywhere, splattering the entire area, outside of the bowl, the floor and even the surrounding walls. Don’t get me started on the thighs and cheeks of the perp.
There is NO nozzle.
These gals leave with micro drops of urine all over their derriere, thighs, hosiery/pants thinking merely washing their hands cleans them up.
The toilet was designed to dispose the offal away from the body, lurching spread eagle like Quasimodo with one hand against the door eliminates this benefit. Duh.
Standing up while peeing not only pegs you as ignorant but also as a part of the problem.
I started this blog with the intent to show the invisible people, the ones living on the streets, under the overpass, huddled by the highway exits surviving tooth and nail in a city that does not see them.
I’m a creator and the challenge as such is to stay on track and not fall in to the trap of continual conception with not enough time to follow trough.
The blog is back on, morphed in to yet another version of the original but I have no intention to join the hordes sporting blinders.
I often run in to people falling between the cracks, I try help where I can, which isn’t much but the very least I can do is bring home made hot meals on the nights when the chill eats trough every layer of clothing and no windbreaker will cut the cold knawing away at the bones.
I myself live on a construction site going on my 3rd winter without heat, I’m doing so by choice, perhaps ill adviced, my choice all the same.
Some days are harder than others but I know a thing or two about enduring cold, have the gear for it and also happen to be fairly knuckle headed.
The people on the street have no thermal clothing, no walls to shield, no food and no way to escape the damp that kills.
The burgeoning shanty town a few miles down the road is populated by individuals who are slipping right amongst us.
Another camp further west of me is largely Hispanic, male and undocumented, living and sleeping in the mud flanking the Metra tracks.
To the south of me the homeless aging Polish non English speaking laborers drink their way to oblivion.
I kept an eye on a older homeless gent who fought his way north out of deep southside ghetto only to run out of steam as middle age, lack of education, prejudice and mental illness encroached.
Last time I saw him the strings he ties tightly wound around his fingers as a means of distraction from the crippling anxiety had eaten in to his flesh and caused infection.
He was in a good mood despite of the seeping wounds on his hands as it provided a guaranteed spot in a shelter.
I haven’t seen him since and I wish for him to find a pocket of safety where he can remain.
I can’t do anything for these people.
I have no money to give, no magic ticket to a clean bed.
A bowl of soup only lasts for a few hours and anyone on the street knows the anxiety wondering where the next will present itself never leaves.
Next, next, next..
The shelters are overflowing with displaced people from all walks of life knees buckling under the weight of being alive.
I met runaways who thinks the rough and tumble life of the street is better than the oppression of their homelife.
It’s all here, on the street, in plain view.
You brush past it everyday on your commute between work and safety of four walls.
Even if you do not want to get involved, the smallest act of solidarity will galvanize these dehumanized individuals,
100 times out of 100 when I explain I have no cash to spare but I can run back home to make a sandwich the answer is Yes.
Pack a extra apple, if you leave the restaurant with a doggy bag give it to the guy sitting on the sidewalk and by all means, buy a extra cup of coffee on your daily routine and give it away. You dont have to get involved, instead of bringing your old coats to the resale shop, give it to the beggar on the corner who sleeps in a doorway, the gesture requires minimal effort.
Today US House finally passed a resolution to recognize the Armenian Genocide.
At the onset of WW1 the Ottomans made moves to eradicate the predominantly Christian Armenians, Greeks and Syrians off the Empires land.
Out of a original population of 2 million ethnic Armenians 1.5 million were exterminated between 1915 – 1923 in a attempt to Turkify the Empire, along with 4000.000 Greeks and roughly 350.000 Syrians, slaughtered by the emerging political movement named the Young Turks.
– if Cenk Uygur ever gave you the impression of being somewhat demented in that special way you now have it confirmed. His show is named after a supremacist killing machine.
Kim’s open letter adressing the denial of factual events received little acknowledgement from 44.
Speed up to 2019 when we have the controversial Mr. 45 but all the same man of action holding his hand over the nation and the House votes overwhelmingly in favor to pass the resolution to recognize the slaughtering by the Ottoman death squads.
I’m yet to hear Kanyes music. I’m not a fan but I’m not not a fan either.
It just hasn’t entered my orbit as my musical inclination lies elsewhere.
Neither do I watch her show.
But I sure am aware of the power grab the Kimyes are building up to.
Congratulations to Kim for a job well done spreading awareness.