Facebook is Dead To Me

 

Back in the early fall of 2011 I used to write on a blog site called Blogstream, it was my home away from home on the internet, like most other websites however it was not without its problems. There were small pockets of cliques, and there was some in fighting, but for the most part people got along fairly well, slowly but surely in late October I began to notice a decline in interest, by then Myspace and began its decline and Facebook seemed like the place to be. By the middle of 2012 Blogstream's home page had become a mixture of actual users and ad blogs, and before September, Blogstream announced that it was shutting down. I moved most of my writing here, mostly to archive it, to get it on the web, I still write here but not like I used to. The traffic here, much like Blogstream is drying up, Facebook to me seems to be a social media anomaly, it is starting to feel like the only reason it is still here is because it's too stubborn to die. and now I have to ask, how much longer does Facebook have? for me, it's already too late, the payoff isn't worth the effort, I think I'm just bored with it, and the only reason I keep it open is I have a few family members and friends there that I like to keep track of how they are doing, otherwise it's literally useless to me. Instagram and Threads that's where I spend most of my time now, my occasional attempts to kickstart my Echoes blog is spotty, but I need to spend more time here and less time spent on wondering if Facebook is dead or dying, I just can't bring myself to care anymore, websites are like places you used to visit, places that you visit less and less in your lifetime, until they eventually fade into memory. Echoes to me is like visiting an old friend, as soon as I open the page I know that I'm home. Maybe it's just a comfort thing, social media in general is still a very strange thing to me, what's here today may last through tomorrow, but beyond that it will only last until something shiny and new comes along to peak people's interest, there always going to be the next big thing, hiding just out of sight, around the next corner, and people will blindly chase after it, like hounds to a fox.

~Scratch A.B.T. Copyright © 2025~

The View From Under the Bridge... (Through the Lens of a Former Success Story.. A Work Of Fiction.)

 

It's another cold rainy day here on the outer fringes of what most people call paradise, I choose to use the word “most” with the utmost care and consideration in the regard that not all people would define this particular part of space and time as paradise. Oh, I suppose things could be worse, I am alive if one could call it that, existing rather than living, I have a coat to keep me warm on cold nights, and the company of other human beings who in ways warm me with the generosity of their companionship when others would rather repel from view at the mere sight of what I have become. I am after all still widely regarded as human by most people who know me, in spite of what others may think. My name is Walt, I am 54 years old as of last December, I am not an animal, I am homeless, and I am not alone.

Homeless. It is strange, when you stop to think about it, what is home really? Where you are at any given moment? Or a specific structure or place? Or somewhere you keep all of your worldly possessions? Where you build your life brick by brick, raise your family, and store all of your most precious memories, your child’s first step, their first fall. or how good it feels to sleep in your own bed. I have such memories, as do most that live here under this bridge. Although I don’t remember exactly how I ended up here, I do recall having a life once, a job, wife, son, a daughter, and yes, it seems to me that I do remember sleeping in my own bed, now though, I can barely remember that last time that I've had a bath. I was corporate, I wasn't the CEO of a major company, but I was in sales, I made really good money, then one day they took it all away, I feel it was just because they could. I lost the job, I heard all of their bullshit excuses, but it was economics they said, then at the first sign of trouble, the wife left with the kids and then the bank took the house.

So there you have it and here I be. I am indeed now homeless, but at least I’m in good company. See that fellow over there? That’s Oscar, he’s 29, he worked as a car salesman, well you can probably guess how that turned out. He’s here with us now. There’s Flo, over there, she used to be a waitress I think, There’s big Mike, there’s Bobby, there’s Sully and Doris. The list goes on and on. They all have a story or two that they could tell, but most prefer to keep them to themselves. Here, they are my friends and family now, the only ones that I know, we live here together, sleep here, breathe here, and when we can, eat here. We do not judge each other, nor look at each other with great disdain at our own unclean appearance. 

When life here affords us the opportunity we build a fire in a barrel, and sit around and regale each other with stories reflecting lives that we are no longer a part of, we share memories, tell stories, some real, others merely implied, We talk about our hopes and fears, we compare scars, and in spite of all that we lost we still dare to dream of something better. We hope and pray to the very same god that others more fortunate than us do. For we too are human. Well the sun is setting, and the rain appears to have stopped for now at least, and Big Mike has some fuel for the evenings fire, so we’ll sit around it and try to stay warm and dry, and some will sleep tonight, while others will keep a wary eye open for the police, or an unfriendly stranger that comes calling looking for someone to prey upon. So now I’ll put my back to the wall, and pull up my collar, and light my last cigarette. Tomorrow will be another day, another day in paradise here under the bridge.

~Scratch A.B.T. copyright© 2009~

Howling In The Night.

I have a vivid memory from my youth that I revisit from time to time, and it never fails to bring a smile to my face. I don’t recall the exact time frame in question, but I think that I was around ten or eleven My step-brother and I were left home alone, (or so we thought) to fend for ourselves for the night. But unknown to us, my mom had left instructions with my older brother that he was supposed to keep an eye on us. Information that he neglected to share with us. (No Doubt on purpose.) seems as though he and one of his friends were outside waiting to hatch a scare plot on my step-brother and I. they waited until dark and slowly moved around the outside of the house making loud thumping noises, no doubt trying to scare us. Unknown to them, we were sitting on the sofa watching an old Frankenstein movie, and we were too involved in the intricate plot works to even notice.

My step-brother didn’t like the dark much, in fact he hated it with a passion, which made us exact opposites, it didn’t bother me in the least to go out with a baseball bat and patrol the area for varmint, but you couldn’t get him past the porch light. Knowing this, I think they were counting on us to be crying little babies at the thought of something being outside the window trying to get in at us. So, it was about an hour or so into the movie when Michael first heard the thumping noises coming from outside. At first, we were a little put off, that is until we caught them in the act. We saw Isley Blackwell, (The accomplice) hiding in the bushes outside the living room window, and it didn’t take a couple of eleven years olds long to figure out what was going on. So we hatched a plan of our own, knowing that my mother was the only one that had a key to any door in the house, we locked down everything including the windows and doors and wouldn’t let them back in.

Living in the country, we had a lot of Coyotes. My older brother hated coyotes. The way they would yelp and howl, in the pitch black it sounded eerie, and when they showed up that night in the backyard it couldn’t have been more perfect. They were howling and moaning and yelping, and my brother and his buddy were banging on the back door to get us to let them in. they threatened… They screamed… They called us dirty names… They were scared shitless. And the two eleven-year-olds that they were trying to pull a school boy prank on were safely tucked away inside a warm house laughing their asses off. Mom came home around ten thirty or eleven, and they were still out there. She let them in, and I think they only thing that saved us from getting our butts kicked by my bro was that we would tell everybody that they knew who the real chicken shits were. I don’t know what made me think about that tonight… Maybe I’m just bored… Maybe I was just missing my bro tonight. (God rest his Soul.) maybe It's just because it's dark outside…

Reaching For The Brass Ring.

 

I don't always explain what I am thinking as clear as I would like, but here I go again, trying is still free. see the thing is, lately I have noticed that some of the most interesting things happen right after I wake up, and they usually happen at Walmart or some other such place where people of all walks of life seem to congregate. I have learned a lot by simply watching people, How they interact with strangers in public. And there are a lot of unhappy people around here. Wait a minute. Back up, let me pour myself a cup of morning brew and chew on this for a minute. Ok, that’s enough chewing. I have reached the conclusion that most people in the population at large wouldn’t know happiness if it walked up and bit them on the butt. Wait, let me tell you how I got there. Strictly for the sake of argument, let's leave the poor people out of this picture, for the moment at least, and concentrate on the other two types of people that I noticed. One Being, the people who seem to have everything and constantly find themselves wanting, craving and or demanding more. The other being, the people who have enough, but can never seem to have enough.

See, before anyone starts to think that I’m just spouting off, let me just say that I know, first hand, people in the very positions of which I speak. Let's take Joe Blow Jones. He has the perfect house, the fancy cars, the high paying job. Etc… Etc… Etc… so what’s his beef? Joe is so caught up in his material possessions that he’s forgotten how to just relax and enjoy life. His greed for more and more material wealth, has become all encompassing, and misery has become his life. He worries about losing what he has, so he is constantly looking for the bigger and better deal. And it doesn’t matter to Joe, who he has to step all over to get the brass ring that he believes so defines his life. Ok Now move down the food chain for a minute and right below Joe is John Blow Smith. Now, John doesn’t have quite as much as Joe does, but he still has much more than the average American who is busting their hump to scrape by every day. He has a nice house, He has a nice car and a beautiful wife but can’t seem to enjoy any of it. More. More. More. The common thread that will tie Joe and John together forever is their misery. They seem to have everything and yet have nothing. Both unknowing victims of the perception that the more you have, the more you need. Greed is good.

See now Let me get away from those guys. It could be contagious, and I don’t want to become infected. See? I never had much. I always worked hard enough to earn enough money to maybe not get Everything that I ever wanted, but I think that I have everything that I really need. Most importantly, a good perspective. Ok Joe. John. Lay off of your obsessions with material wealth for a minute and let me take you on a little trip, if you will. It won’t cost either of you a single penny, and it will only take a moment of your precious time. Close your eyes and listen to my voice. It's in the middle of July, you're baking in the summer heat, and when you open your eyes you're standing on the beach at Lake Tahoe, Nevada. And as you slowly approach the water you can almost taste its cold refreshing waves as they lap at your feet. Slowly now, wade in and let it consume you, until you are totally lost underwater. And when you finally resurface, you can feel the suns' warmth reflecting off of your skin.

Catch your breath… Ready? Close your eyes again. You hear that sound? Do you smell that? Damn. My favorite time of year. Fall. Leaves shedding from the trees. everything is golden brown. There are a bunch of kids piling up leaves on old man Nestor's front lawn, while he sits on the front porch watching them like a proud Grandpa. You can hear them all giggling and laughing, as they line up single file to take the plunge. You ever do that when you were a kid? Have You ever done Anything that didn’t involve money? Roast marshmallows or hotdogs over an open flame? Have you ever told ghost stories around a campfire and end up scaring yourself and everyone else silly? have you ever been camping or fishing in the woods and woke up in the morning in a sleeping bag covered in dew? I could go on with this forever, but I won’t, but see there is an old saying that I recall hearing as a child that stuck with me that says “one man's curse is another man's blessing” the world is full of blessings that don’t involve having that competitive edge that you think you need, it doesn’t involve material wealth or money, see, it isn’t difficult to be truly blessed in this life, all you need to do is to learn to look past what you perceive to be important, and embrace what truly is…

~Scratch~

It Rocked Me Like a Hurricane... Beetlejuice? was that you?

August 3rd, 2015...

The outside lights were all burnt out on the outside of my cozy little tomb like habitat, now under normal circumstances that wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest, but it was starting to get dark outside then, and before that I had hearing this strange moaning sound that came waffling through my open front window. So I stepped out the front door and looked both ways and-- nothing… Nothing moving and nary a sound but the haunting silence of nighttime. I walked to the edge of the balcony and peered around the corner, and again, nothing but the sounds of sparse evening traffic traveling up and down Fifth street.

Blaming the incident on an over active imagination- I came back inside, and turned on the television and returned my attention to the internet, only to moments later to hear that same haunting moaning come drifting through my window. “what in the hell WAS that?” a sick dog? And a snarling kitty cat that’s been over doing the catnip? Beetlejuice? is that you? Strange indeed, but I do so love a mystery, so once again I went outside to investigate, this time I turned my attention to the right side of the building. Nothing, not a sound, so what in the blue blazes was that? So I slowly, carefully, crept past my then neighbors, an older lady perhaps in her early 70s, kinda grumpy at times but over all not terribly so, so I went the three doors down and glanced through the open window and inside, the lights in her apartment were all on and there she was, lying on the couch, sound asleep, snoring up a hurricane force wind.

Now, I’ve been told on occasion that I snore a bit at times too. Course, I don’t sound like a 747 being cleared for take off at Reno International Airport. No, now I’m not saying that her snoring was loud mind you, and I’m not saying that the noise I heard was nasal in origin. All I’m saying is that when she got up off of her sofa, came out the door and left in her car a couple of minutes later, I didn’t hear the noise anymore. Could it have been a loud wounded animal? Well it sounded like it, could it have been the wind howling through the trees? Could have been. I’m not saying that it was her, but honestly, though, that is probably the first time I’ve ever heard someone make hurricane noises through their nose. Whatever it was, I’m glad it went away. I was getting ready to call in those guys and gals from Ghost Hunters.

Wrath of The Hive Mind.

 

After looking around at the world, if I may stay on the side of sanity, I see that people are just different, sometimes extremely so, that's cool, you be you, I'll be me, we don't have to agree on anything, as long as we are still allowed to be civil to one another. it's all good, and then there are those, of course, that have to have a cause, They are a hammer and the world is their nail. They wake up in the morning pissed off, they go to bed at night pissed off, and everything in between those times are just varying degrees of outrage. Then there are those fuckers, they try to trick you into saying what THEY want you to say, but they're easy to spot too, aren't they?  they might look like an adult, but the second they don't hear their opinion coming out of your mouth, they become petulant children. waving their little fingers at you. Actually I can live with that, they are kinda funny in a demented, mentally ill sort of way, you don't tell them what they want to hear, their eyes turn red, their little crumpet shaped noses start twitching, their lips wrinkle into a pout, like they're trying to hold in a wet fart. 

You have to laugh. arguing is pointless, you see, I'm not sure how it happened, I suppose it's because I belong to a different generation that was taught to question everything and never to take someone at their word just because they said to. Never follow the flock, think for yourself, be a wolf, not a sheep. You can always tell who the online cowards are, they all have the same play book, accuse everybody who doesn't agree with their fragile opinion of doing the very thing that they themselves are doing, fling shit, retreat back into the shadows to avoid criticism. I've learned not to argue with people about shit that is beyond my reach or control. They don't want to hear anything outside of their own opinion, and I won't deal with the assholes anymore. Life is too short to deal with close-minded people. So in conclusion, I Suppose it would be easier for me to just embrace the insanity, Because I have come to realize, that the whole world is one big raging lunatic, and the rest of us are just here, patiently waiting for that Mount Everest sized meteor to come home to roost, to put this planet out of its fucking misery. I am barely clinging to hope, but the more I witness the blatant disregard for our own sanity, The more I feel it slowly slipping from our grasp.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2024~

Freedom Blvd.

 

It’s always been the same here, for what seems like forever, and it's been here that long, too. Freedom Blvd. Freedom my ass, more like a rat trap. All sides surrounded by a slum lord's wet dream, endless buildings stuffed full of hopeless people, living for the fruits of hopeless dreams, with nowhere to turn but in circles. Living out their lives in an endless maze of sun baked asphalt. they told me, "don’t settle here, man, you’ll never get out alive.” I thought they were joking… Turns out the joke was on me. Now I spend my days working down at the docks, breaking my back, toiling for a thankless wage. And I spend my evenings up here on the fire escape slash balcony of the luxurious hotel Belvedere, throwing back cold Corona’s, dinning on Cheetos and stale beer nuts, watching as life unfolds itself, slowly baking in the afternoon sun.

She came out when the clouds rolled in, gliding through the fresh falling raindrops like an African gazelle, gracefully eluding a lumbering lummox of a predator. Arms stretched out, open wide as if, thankfully, she was trying to hug God almighty himself. Her white wet tee shirt clinging to perfect bra-less skin, long jet black hair all wet and shiny, looking like she just stepped off of a movie screen, Planet Hollywood come to life, and it's the jealous boyfriend to the rescue, covering her young perfect wet body with a blanket, just before he slips and falls on his ass in the middle of the rain soaked street. With a whole plethora of neighborhood children all simultaneously laughing their asses off. All in his honor. Maybe he should have just let her dance.

And the rain keeps falling down, small droplets bouncing off the scalding pavement, forming into small puddles and puddles into ponds. As curious, borderline angry, mothers yell from open kitchen windows for Junior to get his ass home to wash up for dinner. And now as the rain slows to a slow drizzle, the sun sets on another day here on Freedom Blvd, neighborhood kids hurry home promising each other, next time, yeah the next time we play cowboys and Indians YOU get to be Col. Custard. And somewhere in the distance a window breaks, an alarm goes off, and sirens echo down an empty street, and you just have to smile to yourself, because you just know that somebody is going to get busted. Because someone always does. And now, the Corona’s are all but gone, the Cheetos bag is empty, and the beer nuts are still stale. And as the curtain slowly drops, the shows over, and it's time for me to call it a night here on Freedom Blvd.

~Scratch A.B.T. copyright © 2008~