DB: The Sickness

My girlfriend is sick. Her best friend has the same sick. I was supposed to practice with Goldfinch tonight, but both Aaron and Grace are sick. My art friends who live in the old methadone clinic building were going on about what they were calling the “epidemic”. I guess I’m starting to see what they meant. As I type these words the fever calls me back into the sweat soaked folds of blanket monster that has taken residence on the nearest mattress. Fear not fair bloggingdom, this weeks installment will prevail (no promises that it will make sense) for prevail it must.

Ahemm … so then now lucidly sailing in the seas of delirium and Ny-Quil on my boat of herbs and home remedies passed down from many generations of hearth-tending, earth-worshiping gypsies and hippies, let us discuss sickness and the metaphors it presents our city.

As we were preparing for this past weekends events at the warehouse, the freshly hired and extremely friendly security guard from the homeless shelter next door informed us that we should prevent illegal activity from happening outside. He said that the whole alley was being video taped from rooftops and windows in all directions. I have no idea if that is true, but it seems feasible.

Ok, we will be sure not to deal crack and sling hookers like we usually do, thanks man.

My block has been congested with crack, heroin and prostitution for a long time. These things get confused with a real live sickness called mental illness and the growing problem of homelessness, both of which I consider symptoms of even deeper societal ills. According to the News Tribune, “The last nationwide census, in 2007, found 671,888 people were homeless.” Good thing my alley has a security guard. With an estimated 1800 homeless people in Tacoma, I know this sickness hurts the whole city, much like a sinus infection hurts the whole body. It’s interesting seeing the ways the city has gone about healing itself. The fact that the shelter has hired a security guard is an apropos display of this “healing”. He stated it plainly himself, “Its my job to keep people out of this alley”.

As I observe most everyone around me falling prey to this fever/cough virus thing, it seems that there are generally two camps that exist when it comes to the task of getting your body better. One way is the sort of obvious, cough-drop-Ny-Quil-Canada-Dry-Campells-soup kind of way. We can call this the Wonder Bread approach to heath. It is clearly packaged and easy to use, and most usually gets the job done if you keep your butt in bed for a day or so.

The other approach I have encountered in my observance of this winter’s viral “epidemic” is way more complicated and actually harder to do if you are alone and don’t have a maid or significant other to prepare the ingredients. We can call this the banana-bread approach. It usually involves some trips to Marleen’s or the crazy chinese herb guy on 38th. A handful of supplements and bowls of alternating hot and cold water, essential oils in your ears and hand made soap up your whatnots. Tea, remedy, homeopathic (which means, “this dissolves under your tongue”), plants from other planets, and generally the same amount of time in bed, depending on how quickly your let your immune system know it needs to activate. Personally, I tend to fall somewhere in the middle, stopping at both Walgreens and Marleen’s. Anyways, all this to say …

There have been many interesting Wonder Bread type measures taken in my alley. Putting up a fence on one end to trap the dealers when the cops come. Taking the fence out to let the condo people have their parking lot which brings more traffic and means less “invisibility”. We’ve tried limiting the times that the homeless are allowed to gather (therefor limiting the times that the dealers and pimps can prey on them). Security guards and the little white blood cell police force patrolling and hassling dumpster divers keeps the image of the place up, which makes sense right? A pretty little wound, bound in temporary patches. Somehow, the sickness has hung on. I still step over needles and know the dealers by face. They remain, if not exactly thriving.

In 2007, we watched as the city officially declared the homeless “camps” closed. This put an estimated 300 people out of place … which for a minute felt like they all found my front door. I spoke to a police officer during that time (it was bloody crazy) and he suggested I get a gun.

I have to admit that the condo going in across the street put an end to that noise, but what is the real issue here? And where did those people go afterward? As far as I can tell we are just moving a group of people around from one place to another. Supposedly we were unable to fill the apartments that were reserved for the “campers” in 2007. Could it be that these people do not want homes?

The odd thing about sickness is that there is no cure for the common cold. Wonder bread or banana bread, you still have to let your body work it out, although, obviously a healthy immune system will have a better chance at beating the beast. I question if there isn’t some deeper infection, some more hidden American disease that keeps us from healing our symptom of homelessness. It would be interesting to review the tapes they are taking of the alley I live. Not through the lens of stamping out the crack dealers, but with a focus on finding the reasons behind the behavior of over half a million of the American population.