| Yet... we do our best to aim for the heart, the mind, the soul... whatever you'd like to call that intangible "thing" that seems to spend so much energy keeping us apart and away from one another. And yet, we know the difference. We all know what's wrong. We don't blame society because we are "poor", because we're "down and out", "on the skids" or whatever anyone would like to call it these daze... We've heard of corporate welfare; we're acquainted with our own private lives, our own grief, the grief of others, the hatred, the love, the caring and uncaring... the way it is. Same as you,same as you - we all went to different schools together. Right? Well, we did, believe it or not. And at ALIAS, we can gather and stretch, let LIVE AND LET LIVE be our peacemaker, our motto, our creed, our belief... Hey, we may be down, but don't count us out, y'know? Next week, it might be you, your neighbour, mother, father, daughter, son, friend... we all go through changes. Changes. Changes. And more changes. Coming together, expressing, being allowed in a world that doesn't like at times, to allow much of anything... to be ourselves. That's it. Simple. Our selves. You. Me. Him. Her. All of us. Here. Writing. Drawing. Typing. Speaking. Listening. Interacting. Doing our thing, whatever it may be. This is why ALIAS. What ALIAS. Who ALIAS. When...? Alias is now into its seventh year, its 30-somethingth issue. Because it was needed. Someone out there, or down there, or over there on the street corner or in the bar or up on the ledge or... well, you get the drift - NEEDED Alias. A place to be themselves. Well, here we are. From the downtown streets of The Big City - to you, whoever you may be, wherever you are, whatever it is you're up to. Hello. And hello. G'day, and all that jazz... But, we're for real, and an always changing group. Hopefully, we can put together an always changing web site. Well, with your particular insight and help, maybe we can. We're all in this together, right? Well, you may not think so (yet); but - this is one thing we've learned out there on the cruel streets (and brother, sister - you KNOW they can be cruel!): we really ARE all in it together. THE QUEEN of the FLEA MARKET by A. Maki As soon as the sun begins to shine above the grey towers of St. Jamestown, the concrete wall above the Toronto Dominion store becomes the centre piece of the flea market. Welfare mothers and their children, seniors and unemployed artists flee their homes, T.V. sets, dirty kitchens and leaky bathrooms and transform the concrete fence into a collage of clothing and furniture, utensils and furniture and the drama of the spring sale begins. Pots and pictures, sun-dresses and fur hats, lamps and jewelry, hooks and boots cover the concrete wailing wall and begins to sing, "Buy me, buy me, a quarter, a dime, a dollar, a nickel; buy me, buy me, in the spring, a quarter, a dime by suppertime; a nickel, a nickel, if you're so fickle; a dollar, a dollar, if you're a scholar." The director of this ragged choir is old Vickie, a retired cleaner who cleaned all the cup-boards of the Wellesley apartment dwellers. She is the queen of the flea market. Her royalty appears in the morning in a red ski jacket, blue jeans, green dress and green earrings in her small noble ears. Her real name is V******, and she reveals it only to the special colleagues of Slavic extraction. Otherwise she is Vickie, who tells everybody what to sell and when, what to say and where, what to donate to the Salvation Army and what to dispose into the garbage bags. She has a long experience of ruling the St. Jamestown flea market. She boasts that she really does not need the money but does it for fun or therapy. Therapy not for her but for her neighbours. Vickie knows them all - the drunk lame Eddie, the Russian red-head looking for a Canadian husband, a polish grandmother on a guest visa, two lesbians and an Indian couple. During the last past six hours she has not sold a single item, yet she is happy and busy giving therapy. "I told you," she began, "you should have married the old fart. You remember, the one I introduced you to. He just died in a nursing home. You would have had status by now and his pension!" "I know, Vickie," relpied the distressed refugee. "See you can't even sell old junk. What can you do? You have to marry an old ass. He is harmless anyway." "Me, I've married one already. He used to beat me black and blue for years, plus I have my own pension. I've been cleaning the men at the Queen Street mental hospital for forty years. I don't need a husband. I have three pensions, his and two of mine. Canada is a good country if you survive to see your pension. I'm a survivor. I'm lucky." EVER SEEN A FLOWER SMILE? Have you ever seen a flower smile? They do, you know -- once in a while Or heard, perchance, dark clouds roar When down and down the rain doth pour? Wild nature I've both seen, and heard And pondered long upon its word Until, relating all to me Found -- I sooner would the flower be -----Fido Dogstoevski------ |
| Toronto | Ontario | M5A 1S1 |
 towndown2@hotmail.com |
||
|
. |
| Visitors: 02599 |