F a t h e r L u k e ’s dot Blawg

So…

I’ve blawged about Workforce and how they treated me, a homeless man, as a lower class citizen. And why not? The homeless are scum, a scourge upon America, the keepers of the keys to the gates of hell. Fuck ‘em. And fuck me for trying to change my class among a hierarchy set and complete and who the fuck are you anyway Father Luke Miljevich?

So here’s where we are at:
One day Workforce Connection sneered at me and told me to scram. My rightful place is at the bottom of the food chain, so why make waves, eh Bub?

There is a game I like to play which goes like this: Surrender to the highest idea. The rules are very simple - if a better idea comes along go with it. It’s sort of like trying to hold onto the truth. You can’t really hold onto the truth because there is always another truth. Oh, a thing is itself, sure. A table is a table until you pick it up and throw it into the bay and then float on it. Then the table is a raft.

How does all this apply to Workforce and driving a truck? Who cares. It was fun to write. But watch this…

If you read the last letter I’d sent to the Governor, you will have a pretty good reckoning as to the course of events.

Here’s a summation:

1. I heard from a truck driving school that Workforce Connection offered financial help for low income people
2. I applied at Workforce - they laughed at me and told me to go suck a rope
3. I laughed back at them and flatly stated they would end up sucking the rope after I was done with them
4. Workforce invited me to participate in their program
5. I wrote to The Governor of California wheedling him about the Workforce Connection offices in Fresno. (wheedling means teasing and flattering.)
6. Friends started a letter writing campaign to California’s Governor on my behalf
7. I heard back from the Governor’s Office asking me to send details, case numbers, etc.
8. Workforce gives me monthly bus passes and gave me 85 dollars to get my eyes checked and buy reading glasses
9. Workforce tried to get me some clothes from an outfitter called Catholic Charities in Fresno. Another joke. Come back the third thursday of the 53rd week of the year with your brown nose on and don’t try and ask for food, we’re too fat to share any of that with you, you skinny-ass homeless fucker
10. I’ve used Workforce’s Fax machine to fax resumes to prospective employees
11. Still no word from the Governor. This is an election year, after all

Well. I am scheduled to meet with Workforce Connection to see what they can do about getting me a scholarship to a local truck driving school.

Persistence alone is omnipotent, I’ve been told. Persistent I am. Especially when it comes to being bored, having time on my hands and with the potential of earning my way off the gravy train to hell.

The last few months I’ve been working to earn the money required to go to Truck Driving School. Dig this: If The Government pays for my schooling at the Truck Schools locally then the Government pays $4000. If I pay cash, through money I have earned working the last few months then I pay only $1500.

And this isn’t state money, man. This is Federal money. Fifty States in the Union with Workforce Connections in many, many cities in every state and each paying 100 lucky winners per office each year $4000 for something the schools charge individuals $1500 for.

You do the math, man. I’m a word guy.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke

Sunday I spent the day seeing Yosemite for the first time. A cousin
of mine thought I needed a day off.

Whoa. Yeah baby.

If you’ve never been to Yosemite then go. If you’ve
been there then make plans to go again. Real soon.

The water was sufficient enough to make the waterfalls glorious enough,
glorious enough for me. I waded in the Merced River. Freezing cold. Right
in time for the sweaty hundred plus degree weather in anus-ville, a.k.a.
“Fresno”.

Sitting under the waterfall, looking over at Half Dome, I thought:
“Wow. What a great place for a parking lot.” But all in all, we’d done
not a bad job really at preserving the natural beauty of Yosemite.

Much has been written about the splendor and magnificence there,
for me it was a needed day off and one I shall remember for forever.
Thanks, cuz.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke

When I was living in the only home I have ever known, the Pigeon Coop in Santa Cruz, California, I used to come home exhausted from work.

After feeding my fish, I would sit down at the ‘puter and type out a few words. Most of what I wrote came out short. I was fucking exhausted after a mind numbing day of being called all the worst things imaginable as a phone solicitor collecting money for such as the Shriners Hospitals for Children. It’s a terrible thing to want money to help save children in pain.

I’m resentful. So sue me.

I didn’t do much editing. What I wrote was what you saw. There are days worth of stuff I wrote I never go back and read. People who do read what I wrote tell me it’s really something. That’s nice. Thank you. I never spend time rewriting what I wrote, and I’m almost afraid to go back and see what everyone is making a fuss about.

Recently I wrote something that wasn’t quite right, but I posted it anyway. I called the piece: The Poetry of ruin. Well, the idea was there. I liked a few lines, but the overall piece just didn’t work for me. It was like a piece of food cooked around the outside but not in the center and I’ve sent it back to the Chef.

Hopefully it won’t get spit on and sent back to me. That’s always my fear when I send food back to the kitchen. “Make this right,” and then the food is taken back to the Chef who then spits on it.

I’m working on that piece, The poetry of ruin. When I like it, I’ll post it. I think this may mean that I am growing as a writer. That would be nice. All I want to do is to write. When I get to driving truck, I will make more money in a year than I have made in my entire life combined. With that will come more problems but in the end all I want to do is to write. To have an indoor place and to be able to write.

In the meantime I practice writing.  Kind of like this.

- - 
Okay,
Father Luke

And on, and on and on it goes, as I continue getting letters from my crazy fans.

 Wrote to the Governor, Padre. Find a copy of the letter enclosed.

Then I read this:

> This is what I sent to the meat head
>
> Office of the Governor 
>  State Capitol Building 
>  Sacramento, CA 95814
>
> Mr Arnold Schwarzenegger,
>          You have recieved a letter from a friend of mine asking for
> help. Oh how I wish you have responded to it. His name is Luke
> Miljevich, and all he wants is a small amount of help to become a
> prosperous taxpayer that will vote for you. Now, I may not be a
> taxpayer, and I may not be an American, but my cousin moved over 5 000
> miles to fight a war for your president and I pray that must mean
> something to you. A member of your constituency crys out for help,
> what kind of man could stand idle and let his dreams die? All the man
> wants is to drive a heavy vehicle on a long run across your Red White
> and Blue. Is that so hard a request? Please find it in your heart to
> make his dreams come true,
>           Your Fan
>
> Mick
(Reprinted with permission)

Good Gawd!

I’ll be shipped off to Guantánamo Bay sure as my mother hates me. “I told you the cocksucker was no good,” I can hear my mother shouting at the telly, dry food crumbs flying from her mouth as my long, sad face is paraded by on the nightly news in an orange jumpsuit. Me, manacled at the wrists, pleading for mercy and begging to be distanced from my well meaning but degenerate and deranged lunatic fans.

But I must say, that I am loving the attention.
Thanks all… .

- -
Okay,
Father Luke  

I’m looking at a seventeen year chip I got last year from my dentist, a dear friend whom I call Painless. When I had a mouth full of rotting teeth, he made an appointment with me. I told him I wasn’t able to pay for anything. Painless smiled, lit a cigarette and then told me he’d see me on Thursday, his day off.

He spent over three weeks pulling rotten teeth, filling cavities, replacing ill-fitting caps. Then he built bridges to fill in the holes in my face where teeth had once been. I don’t have pain in my mouth anymore and I never, ever saw a bill. And that’s how Painless spends his days off.

The seventeen year chip is a brag tag signifying that it’s been 17 years since my last drinky-poo. At twenty years of age I was in danger of losing my liver from drinking. My last drink was in 1988 and many years before I quit selling my plasma and doing drugs. Now I don’t even drink coffee.

I started writing this because I was feeling my right front tooth with my tounge. My Dad busted me in the lip using his fist when I was a kid and he chipped that tooth. It’s a small thing, but I get to remember him by it.

Chip

Tooth

Then I thought of Painless and I dug the chip out of my pocket to look at. On the chip it says To Thine Own Self Be True. Then everything else came out the way you read it.

Love is all that matters in the end.

Office of the Governor
State Capitol Building
Sacramento, CA 95814

So nice to be writing to you again!

I see that you have been in Fresno several times in the last month. Well, election year is here and every vote counts. I notice that you haven’t stopped in at The Poverello House to have any lunch with the folks too poor to buy their own meals. The families, the indigent, the broken tired huddled masses yearning to be free who are not allowed to vote because they are homeless.

We read about you in the Fresno Bee, you know, and we are proud of the work you are doing for Fresno. Even if we can’t vote, we cheer you on. “Yaay, yaaay, Governor Schwarzenegger!” You should hear us yell when we hear your name.

And okay to all that.Your staff has asked me to mail you a letter. And in cooperating with your hard working associates, I am here to serve the Governor’s office in any way I can, so here is the letter they have asked that I send to you.

Please, make yourself at home and relax. A comfortable sense of leisure is essential.

Several weeks ago I went into WorkForce Connection in Fresno to see about receiving assistance in getting some schooling to become a Truck Driver. A friend of mine had gone through WorkForce Connection, gotten assistance, and had gone on to become a truck driver after he got money to go to school from WorkForce Connection. He had great experiences, and he suggested that I might benefit from WorkForce Connection’s services. I was reluctant, Governor, I have to tell you the truth. But I went anyway. Pride comes before the fall, and I swallowed my pride and went into the Fresno offices of WorkForce Connection. I told the man that I was homeless. He told me straight off that there was nothing that he or WorkForce Connection could do for me. I was surprised and asked him if that was the policy. He said that he would check. He referred me to his supervisor. I introduced myself to his supervisor and told her that my name is Father Luke Miljevich, I am homeless, and I would like to do whatever is necessary to begin the process to apply for assistance in going to school to become a truck driver. Governor Schwarzenegger? May I call you Governor Schwarzenegger? According to statistics, Truck Driving is the number one job in Fresno. Number one. Numero Uno. The biggest needed job in Fresno. The woman suggested that I go get sober in a local facility and try back in six months. Well, Governor. I was rather embarrassed for her because I do not drink or do drugs or smoke cigarettes or even drink coffee. But I did as she suggested and went to the local facility and asked them if I could get into their program. They laughed and patted me on the back. Oh Father Luke, they said. You can’t get into our program if you do not have a drug problem. So, I went back to WorkForce Connection and told the supervisor that I couldn’t get into the program. It was at that point that the supervisor told me that I could not get any help what-so-ever from WorkForce Connection. I asked her if there were any alternatives. She got up from her desk, folded her arms and said that was the final word. I asked to speak with Her supervisor. I was sure that something must be available for me, a homeless man, struggling to succeed and better himself. Her supervisor arrived. I asked the new supervisor if she would put into writing that I was not entitled to help as a homeless man. She asked me to repeat that.I did. She talked with the other woman. She came back to me. She told me to come back tomorrow and she would see to it that the staff knew to get the ball rolling for me. Since that time, I have been given tests and helped in a lot of different ways, Governor Schwarzenegger. I have been given approximately one hundred and twenty dollars for glasses. I have become a bit nearsighted in my old age and I now have glasses to be able to see! Unfortunately I have also been beaten as I slept.

About a month ago, a gang of about six or eight big guys ran at me while I slept on an overpass. One broke a bottle over my head and the rest of the gang beat me with sticks. I still have a few bumps on my “noggin” (that’s slang for my head). I sure could have used your help then. I’ll bet that no gang would go up against Governor Schwarzenegger. No sir! Gangs are pretty bad in Fresno.

But I’m not a crybaby so okay to all that.

Anyway, the WorkForce Connection hasn’t done anything about helping me to get into school yet. They say they may, but it’s hard to tell. They tell me you vetoed a bill which would have allowed them several million dollars to help people.

Anyway, this is the letter you have asked for from me via your staff. Again, I realize that this is an election year, and you are busy. So, it’s okay if you do not get back to me personally. Being homeless I cannot vote and you have responsibilities to your voters. I sure want to thank you for the opportunity to be able to write to you.

If you are ever in the neighborhood, I know about a thousand people who would be delighted to see you and have lunch with you. Check out the Poverello House in Fresno. They serve 1,200 meals each day to those, much like myself, who cannot buy or prepare their own meals. I do hope we shall all see you in at least one more action adventure movie before everything is all said and done.

May I add that I send my very best to your lovely wife. You are a lucky guy to have a good woman like that behind you.

With fondness to you,
Father Luke

- -
Okay,
Father Luke

Thoughts of things I once enjoyed comfort me.

 In Zen, memory has been called the friend from far away.

I can taste foods I loved letting that old friend from far away come visit with me. I can feel the excitement of things I once accomplished. For all it’s glory memory is but a friend not a lover. A faithful friend, but there is a spark to direct experience differentiating it from memory, the same way dreams differ from waking.

Each day I hear things. Snoring, traffic, the run-on sentences that never end out of the loud mouths of sleep deprived speed freaks, trains, farting, foreign languages spoken at a rapid clip, children screaming, sirens, cursing… city noises… the noises of pain… the noises of suffering. The cacophony of agony is ceaseless, it is endless, and it surrounds me.

What I miss is music.

I have linked the music I love on my website. That link has been there for forever. Really.

What is it like?
It is the question most have wanted to ask me. Most wanted, but never, ever asked.

May I help you in any way?
That is the question I am asked most. And I politely say No. Thank you, but no. How may anyone provide privacy? I shower and clean myself in public with strangers. How can anyone provide me, or the others, with simple dignity?

I have washed the only shirt I own in the shower with me. It is draped over the galvanized metal wire basket on the front of my bicycle. It’s drying.

I’m standing here, shirtless. The sun is over my left shoulder. I see my shadow ahead to my right. I look up from the shadow. People are looking at me. There is concern on their faces. I look at them realizing I am crying. Big tears are dripping from my eyes. I wipe at them. The tears will not stop, and I sob out loud.

On my website I’ve linked to the music I’ve loved listening to. It’s been there for forever, really.

And I don’t care now that others see me crying and I laugh. Oh Kimberly. There are things I miss being homeless. Music is one of those things.

Kim has collected three cd’s worth of my favorite music, burned them to cd’s, and mailed them along to me with a walkman cd player, batteries and headphones. I am listening to music I haven’t heard for forever, it must be. I’m standing among us, naked to the waist and alone, and I cannot stop the tears I am crying.

There are things no one can give to an other.

There are also things one can give to another. Things which may move them to tears.

The memory of the music I love is a friend from far away. That friend is an honorable friend. But cd’s, batteries, a walkman and headphones? Ah. Ha, haw… There is a lover, violent with passion and lust in their abandon to fulfill me.

Fuck you for making me cry, Kimberly.

I love you.

I love you really, really, really fucking hard.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke

Growing up I won everything anyone ever entered me into and I got a nickname: Lucky Luke. It got so that I quit allowing people to enter me into things because I would win and there would be hard feelings all the way around. 

A day or two ago, I got this message from my pal, Louis C.K.:

Hello folks.  You’re getting this email because you’re registered at my website, aren’t you?     

Anyway, it’s Sunday which means, tonight, a new episode of Lucky Louie is airing on HBO at 10:30pm (9:30 central)

It’s an excellent episode and I think you should watch it.  That’s just what I think.  Okay?  So watch Lucky Louie tonight. Thank you.

Your friend,
Louis C.K.

Louis cracks me up and I’ve never even seen him perform. I don’t know. He may be an idiot, but I’ve always been impressed by his wit, charm and personable manor. I’ve always liked him.

I wrote back to Louis when I got the e-mail:

Hey Louis:          

I am homeless.

Really.

I live on an overpass and I use the computer at the library. I don’t
care if you believe me or not it’s true.

When you get a chance, go to mywebsite: http://FatherLuke.com or my
blawg, http://fatherluke.org/Blawg/

I would watch you if I could.
You know that.

Love,
Father Luke

Louis sent back this reply:

Hello folks.  You’re getting this email because you’re registered at my website, aren’t you?     

Anyway, it’s Sunday which means, tonight, a new episode of Lucky Louie is airing on HBO at 10:30pm (9:30 central)

It’s an excellent episode and I think you should watch it.  That’s just what I think.  Okay?  So watch Lucky Louie tonight. Thank you.

Your friend,
Louis C.K.

He may not be attentive one hundred percent of the time, but I love him.
Watch his show on HBO and tell me what you think.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke