Tags: 'The Mad Turk', homeless, artist
I'm really disappointed. The Mad Turk has returned from the desert with his homeless tail between his legs. (see "The Mad Turk Heads Out Into The California Desert") He called me a few days ago from back in the big shitty whining about the hardships of homelessness, hinting around that some kindhearted working stiff could take him in out of the harsh reality of the street for a while.
What a pussy. He hasn't even been homeless three weeks yet and he's whimpering like a stick-beat yard dog. I'm kind of disgusted. He was a tough-talking hombre sitting on his couch in the comfort of his Hollywood apartment (that his wife was paying rent on) before his wife left him for a rich man's mansion (and a twisted old fart who likes to be tied up, beat and humiliated when he isn't busy stealing money out of employee pension funds ).
Three weeks and The Mad Turk is cringing already. I had higher expectations of him. I saw him, in my mind's eye, living the solitary, noble artist's life in a cave in the desert, painting his mad surrealistic mindscapes and sleeping unashamedly naked under the desert stars, but instead, he's back in this trashy fluorescent dump of a city, squatting in a rat and spider-infested storage trailer in some sympathetic tattooed Mexican's back yard, painting storefront signs for chump change and handing out flyers begging for lowbrow housepainter work.
All my artist friends have clay feet.
Now you may think that I'm just in a sour mood since I just lost that INS government job because I can't blow hard enough (at least I didn't lose it because I couldn't SUCK hard enough), but the truth is that I get pretty testy with anyone telling me how hard homelessness is when they really haven't gotten both feet into it yet. Three weeks. What a jellyfish. Don't talk to me about how hard homelessness is until you've been in it at least a year, bucko. That's when the bone REALLY starts grinding on the pavement.
Powered by Qumana
1 comment:
Most don't last much past the two week point, before scurrying back to what they left.
Post a Comment