Put it this way: Nobody likes the crazies. People hate what they see as weakness and fear what they cannot understand. THAT is the human condition. Every book that is written, every sermon given, every enterprising idea or gainful employment excludes the psychos whom they berate for being lazy and, at the same time, whom will not hire, embrace, nor address because psychotics are too dysfunctional to be competent.

So began my wretched descent, unprepared for the depths to which I would plummet, and for the rejection from which I would suffer with the constancy of Paul Simon’s deepest lamentations. In essence, we crazies are invariably lonely.

The criminals figured that out long before the merchants and politicians had. Once in a halfway house, they seek mentally ill females who serve both as moneybags with their dependable disability cheques, and as comfort women who will be sex slaves without being self-aware enough to realize they’re being taken for a ride.

Merchants like to penetrate and push the envelope of this market. Banks are included in this, being the quintessential merchant class. Commercial merchants test the market knowing full well we live below the poverty line. Banks shamelessly push credit cards with $10,000 limits–knowing even better than full well that we live below the poverty line, but have an RDSP.

Pastors usually try to appeal to the masses, and when coming to a conflicting part of their otherwise smooth and harmonious sermon, they make the disclaimer that “of course, this doesn’t apply to those who have a physiological or brain chemistry problem”. And they just carry on addressing their sermon, more distinctly then, only clearly now, to the “well” members of the congregation.

This would be all fine and good, except during refreshments these good religious people come up to you to engage in conversation, inevitably asking you “And what do you do for work?” You decide to be honest as any good religious person would, and say you don’t work because of a disability. They edge away a little bit and say you don’t look disabled. No, it’s a mental disability. Oh. And then, they make an excuse to wash their hands from the sticky bun they had just gorged on, naught to return.

It makes you want to bury your head in the sands of the LoTR trilogy, or rather, if more humorously intense than usual, the HHGttG trilogy in four parts. Nothing beats a new digitial watch than a friendly and comedic social commentary–or is it the other way around?

Even the local crisis line people don’t want to deal with you. Though knowing full well your psychiatrist ditched you and you’re obviously suffering, you’re limited to one 16-minute call a day. Second calls are cut short in the first two minutes with the condescending reminder you have already used up your daily quota.

The more they marginalize you the more they isolate you. The more isolated you are, the weirder you get—only proving their point that you should be shunned in the first place. So, TV is your only faithful friend. It’s almost always friendly (or you change the channel); it can’t reject you; and in the event it is discriminatory, you write in to the omnibus-people. Canada has standards after all, eh?

So as we like to pose in selfies as for.

©️All Rights Reserved 2019-2026 Veekwriter

You could have been

But were instead

A ballade in my heart

That sung its brightness Into being

A sun from stars apart

I loved you with my

Purest love

No greater and no less;

Yet you see

I willed you free

To curse me though I bless.

Shall I mourn

For your lost love,

Your sickened heart to move?

What benefit,

what kindled art

Should I a lover prove?

But lovelessness

Is harder still

And brings on greater ill

So I choose, that should you prick,

My blood an ocean fill.

In that day of poverty

When death to me draws near

I will remember you,

(Oh yes,) In death,with eye and ear

So you will never know the want

That haunts me night and day

Though you may

Another love

My love’s for you always.

©2003-2026 Veek Young All Rights Reserved

©️2023-2026 All Rights Reserved Veekwriter

©️All Rights Reserved 2025 Veekwriter

I quench my thirst with

Hard liquor

To take the edge off my existence

I would have more than that

Un homme qui recherche les trésors

But none being available,

I sit perched upon a high moat

Afraid of the height to which I’ve climbed.

I’ve climbed this way because I was unable to stand

And needed out of my wobbliness

Now I see I’ve climbed too far

Beyond ever coming back

I keep hoping, beyond the silt-swollen river,

That there’d be a rider and horse

To wear my flower into battle

In chivalrous, shielding manner,

Unafraid of heights and moats.

But I think it is a dream I once had when small

Of a Green Rider, bearing the glory of the phoenix

On his shield

He was unafraid of that moat above which I sat

And took on the challenge of heights.

I look for this Green Rider to this day

But do not find him.

He is lost, I think, in a wide world of dissipation

And more harsh liquor

Perhaps, he hopes for someone to challenge his moat

But finds none but the occasional glimpse of a

Far-off, distant and guarded tower.

©2005-2026 Veekwriter All Rights Reserved

When I observe that

mackerel beauty of

stars dancing on a

coal-black night

crystalline and formless

–my old heart breaks.

It used to be that

when young

Beauty expanded my heart to the full

as such elastic young organs are

prone to be.

But

after years of walking upon

hard stone pavements

past strangers with

Trenched foreheads

Open hands

That clearly marked

Pain

(anguish)

That such pure beauty breaks my heart—

It being brittle and ready to crack

Simply imploding from the greatness

of her guileless art.

Beauty leaves her mark on me.

I am one branded with fire

That I might behold her brilliance

For one fractured moment.

©1999-2026 Veekwriter All Rights Reserved

©️Veek Young 2022-2026 All Rights Reserved

It wasn’t always this way, but in today’s world, employers are firing employees and seeking volunteers to do not only girl-friday jobs, but also the high value but usually overlooked jobs which often boost their corporate image. For example, back in the ‘00s, they would not pay you for writing until you resign and they are so desperate they offer minimum wage for the next person. This is a premeditated act dressed up as “You-made-us-desperate” blame-game. I can say after 30 years volunteer work, I’ve had enough. I really don’t care to work for free.

By scrolling through the Go Volunteer site, you can find plenty of previous paid work now rebranded as a volunteer position. They over-glorify your volunteer position. They offer in the subtext that you’ll be doing important and respectable work. Well duh, because previously they used to pay good money to some poor bloke who is now made redundant. The responsibilities you’d pick up are heavy indeed; and you are blindsided enough by its glory to do it for free.

Don’t be fooled. Standards for corporate ethics are morally unethical. I’ve worked in the field of writing and can say after putting my passion into that voluntary work that nobody pays you for your enthusiasm and hard work. They will pay the next gal, contrarily, because, after all, most smart people only see it as a paycheque. Passion and competence do not pay. Plodding and negotiation do.

When it comes to myself, I think those hours of volunteering only proves now that I deserved to be paid since sister organizations of the non-profit kept sending in laudatory letters and to the executive director. He gave me a backhanded compliment and called the newsletter their organization’s “flagship”. But if I mentioned a previous paid writing job, he diminished it by saying , “Well, that was a feather in your cap. Now onto more important things. How do you feel like writing about…” Shameless promoting and selling after negging me.

All volunteer work is premeditated corporate robbery. I don’t care what agreement went on between both parties. There is no excuse for not paying for work done and done well. I don’t care for the over-glorified responsibilities as a boost to self-esteem.

Volunteerism is not a boost to your self-esteem. It’s just that staff are kind to dumb suckers. All work rightfully deserves of remuneration. Using people for free labour is what it is: exploitation.

©️All Rights Reserved 2023-2026 Veekwriter