Peering into your web I entered an unexpectedly celestial world, untethered by what I think I know...

 
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Peering into your web I entered an unexpectedly celestial world, untethered by what I think I know. And the parking lot disappeared as did that other photographer on the next wharf over and the parked truck and the debris from the welders shop. Poof. A portal. Without all the mystical hubris that chases that word. 

Another excerpt from TRANSIENCE by Kenneth W Beek:

 
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Another excerpt from TRANSIENCE by Kenneth W Beek.

'The meeting with my new caseworker might have lasted an hour, which left three hours to kill before dinner. I sat and read. I was reading Nietzsche’s ​Beyond Good and Evil​ at the time. That’s a heavy book, especially when you’re reading it in a crowd of crazy people.

That may seem like an insensitive thing to say, but it would be far more insensitive to pretend it isn’t so. There were hordes of people yelling, arguing, fighting. This is the perpetual Preble Street scene. About every five minutes someone is robbed and every half hour or so you see somebody assaulted. I’ve seen people hit with bricks, boards, canes, bottles, bags; I’ve seen shootings and stabbings, seizures, suicides, OD’s, heart attacks, bad trips, people lit on fire, people pissing and shitting and fucking right on and around the galvanized benches in the resource center’s courtyard.'

Truth teller. Writer. Witness. Thank you Kenneth W Beek.
Here's a link to his book:

https://mainernews.com/transcience/
A friend of Kenny's. 

And the words that stay in my head are the words of a man I know from the streets...

 
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I go from my kitchen which is heated to my bathroom with running water. I change the sheets on my bed and fluff the comforter. I crack the window a bit to bring in fresh air. I notice the generous pile of books I have bedside that I will devour like candy.
And the words that stay in my head are the words of a man I know from the streets who said recently, huddled over, enveloped beneath his hood, in a quiet broken voice 'I just wanna go home.' 

He's a new Maineworks employee. I knew I recognized him but I had never photographed him.

 
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Dear Anonymous,
He's a new Maineworks employee.
I knew I recognized him but I had never photographed him. He walks over to me before the MaineWorks Circle and reminds me. There it is. I remember. I know him from the streets. My worlds intersect.
He thanks me, and in doing so thanks Dear Anonymous.

'You kept me alive. I was going to kill myself. Had a plan. But you'd give me a coffee card. Say good morning. I'd sit and have coffee and change my plan. Most mornings that's what made the difference...
I knew I was gonna die if I didn't climb out. I called a friend; got connected to a sober house and got some help with the first month rent which I didn't have. Then they recommended employment at MaineWorks and here I am.'

And he is. He looks great. If not tender and aware that he got out by the skin of his teeth and that his path is tremulous and vulnerable. But he did it. Against all odds. I ask him over and over, 'How did you do it?' How did you find the energy and resources to leap off the street with heroin and alcohol snarling like mad dogs at your heels? It's so difficult.

Ever wonder if a coffee card can save a life? Wonder no more.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.