I'm sorry for the delay

I know I haven't been here for the upkeep of my blog but you know, I've been so busy...but now I will try and concentrate on more of my creations. If you want to follow me, go to my facebook page Homeless Haunts and sign up as my friend or go to myspace.com/lavel_thehomelessdrifter. Either place, I'm there. I also have twitter, you can go there to but i don't post much. Or, how you say it--tweet.

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History of Old Time

Dark History has an entrancing note to inspire minds, visiting the past. Pages are open with its dark tunnels, winding back roads, and dark alleyways, can only inspire the most chilling effects for any story, especially poor stories. Stories that may contain a little of poverty, and a little of horror. It’s much of the past that we see the conditions of today. And with it, I have a tendency to read, research books on things that happened long ago, especially when it concerns poverty, the dark poverty, bring it back in today’s realm, calmly, in one piece—to you; so you can understand clearly of what has partaken, if allowed. Allowed to be frightened, cautious with every step, we discover. In its most natural-- mixed with horror; such the case of Jack the Ripper, the great master of deception, and high intrigue. He had the ability of being there and not ... There he escapes through the heavy thick fog which was oh, so easy...Tempting not to miss out on that , right?
But manageable to say the least.
Jack the Ripper.



The trail thickens and night is quiet. There is no one out here, in the dusty midnight, but you and I and ...him. Leather Apron is busy getting his basic need on: the killing phase of his latest victim.
On a foggy street corner a woman lays dying, choking on her own blood, twisted in its most gruesome form, her body sprawled, as her life is spilling away...Tsk, there is no help for her. The bobby is a corner walk away, whistling to a tune enchanting his mind, taking him away from his normal duty while the gurgle of death seeps away. The open flesh whistles the wind from the gash from her throat. A ragged whistle and there a deep fog appears. And Dark Jack escapes into the unknown.
However, the daunting realization that a mad man is loose—on the streets with the wretched poor, the nobody’s, even the homeless.
It was a known fact, during Jack the Ripper hay day of ridiculous crime and murder, even on women, homeless women were subjected to sleep outdoors during that horrific time in history; innocent wasn’t the factor: any woman was vulnerable underneath his maniacal madness, however, his choice were women of the streets; Toothless June, hot Penny Annie, names to remember a face and the reason why of such, women who were thrown a bone once in a while...they couldn’t help it. They took whatever they could get.
Death waited.
A marked curse thwarted the struggle of survival for the small community in the poorest section of England.
Rage grew for a society, at its wits end, to find out who really was Jack the Ripper.
Anxiety overwhelmed those who had no home to ask, who was sleeping on the streets, afraid of a man neither of a home. No one knew of his place of residence. No one could identify his face, only speculation. How he’s described, splotchy. In a sense, with the rage in the streets, among men and women, and how Homeless women were thrown out with this careless murderer. I can see why God gave England a Queen, instead of a King, I guess to show these men you don't do that to women and call yourselves men, when you don’t even have the finger to capture this guy, or, know of his whereabouts.



I ask, was Jack the Ripper Homeless?
Noise of some news said he could be a sailor. On the boundless water you need not an address. You can sail anywhere and not have any regrets, for the sea can wash away any guilty conscious, or any sign of blood...
Blood on hands, blood on clothes; blood on the conscious, could have been a sacrificial rite. A way of releasing pressure, and of course, escape from the law.
Jack the Ripper, with a conscious?
Why, local shelters were sponsored by church organizations, asking the poor unfortunates to change their ways and have the mercy of the Lord to shed a pittance of light upon them. And yes, in letters by Jack the Ripper contains some line of justification for his acts of so-called righteous killings.
Today, ministries still shed their light.
Staying in one location would not suffice him, he would be caught immediately and that was his knack. Moving from one location to the next...constantly. A transient doesn’t stay in one place: they keep moving. Unsettled.
Secret chambers could be anywhere once his feet were on dry ground. Bringing merchandise from his trips, the right stuff to lure the women in, and hook them with, and what woman would turn him down, unless they were desperate?
Therefore, Jack the Ripper, knew his prey. He knew the kind of woman that would fall for it: every time.
You can be rich and know a poor person once you look at them, but you can really know someone when you experience their life. Walk in their shoes. Why were there Homeless? Why were there poor people? How do they act? How do they eat and so on? You’ve got to know someone. If you have an enemy, you’ve got to know them? Their ways, their whereabouts...Revenge is seedy. It comes with heart.
And as black as his heart was, that’s what he showed them: to the street women, to London’s Scotland Yard. Whoever listened, he captured his audience, even without death.

Frightening, huh?

Here, at Blogger, I will show you the true grittiness of Horror with Poverty. So stay tuned for more . Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and have a wonderful night.

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fritz haarmann - Google Image Search

Doing a piece on Hitler, which happens to be intriguing to say the least, however, very demanding as for answers on why he did the things he did. His stability is questionable? From the facts found, he was spoiled. He thought more about his own feelings than others, especially less for his siblings, especially his half brother, who just thought the worse of Hitler until he came into power. When he arrived as a leader things changed, his and his brother primarily became close but it’s before the long journey as this Fuehrer, we must look into and their relationship, is worthy of dallying into. Hitler, yes, from information gathered was Homeless. He stayed in a shelter crowded with the Street’s leftovers. The one’s nobody wanted: the vagabonds, the trash, the low-lives, those that Hitler got rid of first when he got the chance to rule.

Reading this, I deal a lot with the Homeless, and to think that such a man as this went through the same route as millions of those displaced of a home, today; digging into history is sort of a passion for me, almost becoming a hobby especially when it deals with Horror as an enclosed shell, poverty. England is a wonderful source when visiting history such as poverty with Horror. We can see the why’s clearly. However, Germany has its own Horror; impoverished in ways that goes beyond imagination.

Such as the unusual character Fritz Haarmann, a German, a pathetic individual; absolute trouble carved from his footsteps; with a trade to carve meat for his patrons, a butcher for a small town, he learned fast to pack up however the meat or where it came from was not detected upfront his loyal customers. His background of how he became this…um, rather skillful merchant is the question. Kicked out of the German army, supposedly, his brunt arrogant behavior began to show a rather erratic concern especially to his father, who may have saw a terrible glimpse of the future with his only son; this same son blames most of his evil ways from the harsh upbringing his father gave him, and therefore, a terrible history has wrought forth; a terrible secret that baffles the mind today.

Increased with resentment, a hunger grew. This time an unusual one. A homosexual, his fetish for young men became everything including his relationship with a young man by the name of Frans Hans, and with his help did the ultimate.

The night thick with fog, cold and merciless, a chill can overtake the most furriest of animal, yet there were people out on the street, on very nights like this. Filled with Homeless children, Street kids, where their utterable excuses would be, if caught “there is nowhere else to go.” Not even families saw fit to bring them in, the platform, is the only place to lay their heads and from there Fritz Haarmann chose his victims.
One by one, homeless boys, now found missing, were picked up, and from there never to be seen again. Friends, family, even though distant wanted to know what happened to there family. One father, hopelessly regretting letting his young son out, as a form of punishment, due to an argument, let him sleep out among the crowded streets, and hearing of news that someone was stealing young boys, with tears searches to know of his own son’s whereabouts, sadly could not get an answer, for his son was no more to be found.

News came there was one who crept among the poor. A man so subtle, who did his work at night, and only at night, probably is the one who took his little boy. No word of who he was but one day, something arose, the selling of particular meat at a market square…




Unknowingly, people were attracted by the reddish meat displayed so neatly, impeccable such as to buy in bulk most of them, wondering what type of meat it was. No one asked; they took, they ate. Hunger can deceive even our mere tendencies. That is why it’s is good to have it under control. Temptation of the flesh was big on Christ. We are to follow His example, if we are to survive. Or, we may just allow the Devil to play on our tongues.

Fritz Haarmann, without a sad reflection sold body parts in the midst of a market square, among the unknowing people. A cannibal himself, he had killed more than two hundred people, young boys mainly; quite an awkward taste, his delicacy for young boys, (homeless children), those who lived on the streets, unwanted by family, were his sick prey. Finally, sent to prison; and from there his death. Beheaded, before his last appeal, he states, it was his marriage to his long time partner Frans Hans who has been with him, through thick and thin. His boasting of such a relationship became his most memorable act in court. Not a sign of regret or remorse was given. Not even to the father who was holding his dead son’s clothing, shaking for an answer “Why?” And this, deplorably, was a sad ending for both men.

In The Past

Visiting the past, oh, what fun. History develops into a colorful puzzle; piecing together the missing joints can develop a surprising ending. Intrinsic details make an equable solution. What happened back then to what’s happening now, the future. Comes together the solution. Though it happened long ago, gladly or sadly, still happens today, especially concerning poverty. It’s Poverty that will be with us till the end of time.

Scary things come to life, in this world. Do you want it? Real or imagined?


Charles Dickens, was the first in my knowledge, the author of the “down and outs”. His stories inspired the world. It provoked a passion derived darkened alleys, crooked corners, beady eyes lurking, scoundrels of people huddled in masses slept on streets. Dirty, filthy streets on ground, underground stair cases from unknown burroughs, there in the deep darkness a people were without homes. A Christmas Carol became a seed to what lingered in the darkness. Scrooge a metaphor for the rich or those who really couldn’t care less how the world ran as long as money kept the world spinning; can’t tell you enough how many people believe in that ideology; caring less about those who are impoverished, it’s growing.


Gustav Dore whose depiction of the squalid life of those who struggled through life in London. We see the world of the poor, through his eyes, in the book Dore's London.



"Nowhere in the streets of London may one escape the sight of abject poverty, while five minutes' walk from almost any point will bring one to a slum; but the East End region my hansom was now penetrating was one unending slum. The streets were filled with a new and different race of people, short of stature, and of wretched beer-sodden appearance. We rode along through miles of bricks and squalor....Here and there lurched a drunken man or woman, and the air was obscene with sounds of jangling and squabbling. At a market, tottery old men and women were searching in the garbage thrown into the mud for rotten potatoes, beans and vegetables, while little children clustered like flies around a festering mass of fruit, thrusting their arms to the shoulders into the liquid corruption, and drawing forth morsels but partially decayed, which they devoured on the spot....Not only was one room deemed sufficient for a poor man his family, but I learned that many families, occupying single rooms, had so much space to spare as to be able to take in a lodger or two. When such rooms can be rented for from three to six shillings per week, it is a fair conclusion that a lodger with references should obtain floor space for, say, from eight pence to a shilling.

...I learned that there were no bath tubs in the thousands of houses I had seen....'A part of a room to let.' This notice was posted a short while ago in a window not five minutes walk from St. Jame's Hall....Beds are let on the three-relay system-that is; three tenants to a bed, each occupying it eight hours, so that it never grows cold."[p. 102]

Eric de Mare: The London Dore Saw

The steps of Scrooge are repeating. And what ghost will appear? Are you ready for them world?
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In Degrees...

In Degrees

It doesn’t take long or much to become a street person. Homeless, as they are known, at any moment, something can come by and wipe out everything from under one’s feet, without a moments notice, including our homes. The recent cases of hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes and cyclones, anything can happen, naturally leaving devastation at one’s door, it’s what unhinges our lives.

Toppling the economy, rising cost of living has sparked a fury among our world, so much that Homelessness is on a rise. Homes are left empty and desolate. Due to foreclosures, a home can become unsettling. Paying bills can be quite frightening. Without the means to pay them, what can one do? Food, the one source for sustaining life? Growing our own can become a necessity. Money is scarce. Jobs are limited. There is nowhere else to go but sit on a ground, in our unwashed clothing and think of a day where our dreams may come true. If we believe hard enough… can you feel the acid burning in our stomachs.

Dream.

I know the taste of acid. It burns. Hunger pangs are growing. Without food we die. You and I.

In a flash our homes are gone. In a flash we are gone. Our lives are gone. One day, we are Homeless.

Yesterday in our kitchen, not long ago, we were eating toast, drinking coffee, watching television, catching up on a bills—we were laughing; only when suddenly the earth quakes, the floor opens and lives are swallowed. I guess the earth was hungry, too. It came along, big and strong, and ferocious; it came along and wiped the sullen looks of the new day from across our faces, into harsh reality.

The cyclone, with high pressured water wiped out people and towns. The earthquake smashed and sunk some. The tornado with strong wind span totaling homes in a matter of seconds. Hurricanes plunge water and wind together causing terrible calamity; spreading rain drops on lost homes, never to be re-entered again.

Yes, Homelessness, I guess, does come in degrees.



You never know what could happen. You just never know?