Cancellation in hand, I go to Disable Hdqtrs to beg for mercy

I went downtown today with the sun less
a scorcher than most days nowadays, and
less humid for sure. Last nite spent hours
going thru every shred of paper I could
find, throwing away stuff not absolutely of
hi-est importance. I even found a note
with my "Date of Landing" in Canada way
back when - 1967! ~ arriving from my land
of birth and very much still dearly beloved.

The lady told me what I knew: I'm in trouble.
I'm undocumented since the landlady threw
out all my immigration documents and the
album of photos of my mom. The latter lady
I really can't warm up to, the former lady at
that moment this morning rite in front of me
behind the glass partition was amenable enuff.

She gave me three photocopies for the digital
file they had on me - these photocopies are
in lieu of zero, and I'm supposed to parlay them
with Old Age Benefits, while I go to Immigration
for further parlay, for which I need my US
birthcertificate from the great Commonwealth
of Pennsylvania, for which certificate I need a
government official photograph, for which I need
to go to the US Consulate. That's as in consul,
not as in console.

Dread.

My back hurts

I was stopped.

I couldn't write pömz,
or rants as my Detractor calls them.

Much has happened. And I have
done much, sinned much.

Two days back, I got a notice
telling me I was cut off from
Disability.

The same day the Housing Tribunal
heard against me, sealing the Landlady's
complaint that I be evicted. So, now,
it's official. I don't belong here.
Thank You. Lord!

I don't want to pay more than here. So,
it's not easy to find a place.

I am selling my stuff a bit at a time, to
raise cash, as I'll need it for first and
last months' rent - wherever I go
and however much I have to pay.
It hurts.

I've found a place where I can cook
for a whlie. Still, it hurts.

And by the faraway day of actual eviction,
September 9, I have
a cubbyhole where I can then sleep.
Yet it hurts.

I'm busy looking for a room of my own
and praying for a think-space where I'm
free to think and blog - yes, still
trying to blog and to write pömz. Yet
it hurts.

My back hurts from carrying stuff
to the bargaining ladies of secondhand
stuff.