i wrote this after working and spending a lot of time in vancouver's downtown eastside.  there is this strange  draw that i used to have to that area which is hard to describe and i intentionally moved from vancouver to get away from it and the ghosts that haunt me in that neighbourhood after so many friends from there have perished. 

i walk down

these putrid streets

littered with used needles

condoms the works

strewn with garbage debris

blood and feces

i see addicts shooting up

chasing the dragon

 smoking rock

tweeking nodding

and passing out

on the sidewalk

in doorways

and by dumpsters

in the alleys

they can be

high on down

like a sleepy kitten

or antsy hyper psycho-like

crazy for a fix

or ranting on a coc rampage

dancing like a crack chicken

or flailing their arms

like the wings of

a beheaded rooster

depending on

their drug of use

they get tweeking

poking at dirt and cracks

in the cement incessantly

looking for bits

of delusional drugs

that someone didn't hide

and they will never find

they pick at their skin

obsessively

hallucinatory bugs

crawling underneath

till they have gaping sores

sometimes down to the bone

sometimes they shoot their fix

into these infectious wounds

they get debilitated

can barely stand

barely open their eyes

or function

sometimes they od

and sometimes they die

some get clean

fresh from detox

but back in the hood

back on the beat

they return

like creatures of habit

and i pray that their habit

doesn't turn them

back into creatures

i see beautiful faces

hollowed out skeletal like

haunting looks

from vacant eyes

often their teeth

are rotten or missing

from lack of calcium

side effects

of methadone and heroin

and a sweet junkie diet

and no dental care

they tell me

of uncles dads

and foster fathers

or friends of the family

violating their youth

a childhood of physical

emotional and sexual abuse

being conned

raped and robbed

by exboyfriends

dealers pimps

coc and crack heads

junkies and johns

they tell of friends

disappearing dying od'ing

their faces are gracing

billboards on posters

of missing women

whose lives should

not be disposable

but the list just keeps

growing longer and longer

till finally a pig farmer

is incarcerated

after the list

gets past fifty

drugs are a

means of escape

to camouflage

decades of abuse

scars broken bones hearts

and emotional wounds

drug dealing  panhandling

prostituting and stealing

keep their habits maintained

they tell me of life

before the streets

of their families

and their dreams

to finish school

get a degree a career

maybe be a counselor

so they can help someone else

out of this abysmal hell

be a mother to their daughter

get married have a family

some just dream to stay alive

some wish for good health

and some want to die

mothers sisters

grandmothers daughters nieces

cousins friends and lovers

these women are not faceless

these women are us

they deserve our love

our respect and our trust

these women

still have their dreams

how can we help them

. . . hang onto these

by kat kosiancic

this portrait of  angel
by martin hatfield

the song
'everybody hurts' by rem
goes well with this

................................
....................................

be my junkie shadow

i did a series of interviews with seven women who were addicted to heroin and crack and live in vancouver's downtown eastside .  i had never held a camera before and was coerced by my good friend and editor bob basil to conduct these interviews. he was aware that the women were telling me their stories and he thot i shud capture it on film.  he felt their stories must be heard. 

i decided to have the footage edited to make into a short documentary. without a  budget, i enlisted the help of stephanie alyward, a student at cdis, to edit (she did a wicked job).  josh handley of cdis helped with post audio and i borrowed beautiful music from local composer and musician rick maddocks and jon wood .  i lived in my purple van at the time and rented a shack from my friend in order to work on it.

i have screened my doc in vancouver and on the sunshine coast and it has been distributed by moving images across canada to schools and libraries. the last few years i have presented it to classrooms as an educational tool for drug awareness for teens.  excerpts and photos were published in issue 32 of sub terrain magazine and to view other excerpts from my doc visit the ezine ellavon.

here is a bit of a blurb about it:

Friendly, revealing, honest conversation with women living in Vancouver's downtown eastside.  These women are addicted to heroin or cocaine and some are sex trade workers, but these labels have often hidden their remarkable charm, strength, and intelligence from us.

Vancouver Sun film critic Katherine Monk raved, 'The film is bound to pull you in as one moves from ignorance to enlightenment through Kat's eyes.  Together, we hear the first-hand stories that lead to a life on the street, addiction and often, prostitution.  We also get a chance to see how strong these women are as we hear about their dreams and desires, which seem to grow stronger as their bodies grow weaker.  In the end, we don't see nameless victims at all – but beautifully warm people hoping for redemption.'

very sadly, three of the seven women have died since the filming.  denise, alishia and angel.  i had become good friends with denise and angel and was heart broken big time by their deaths.

i am very grateful to the women for sharing their stories. i try to keep in mind who they wanted to reach with their words.  i am also very thankful to the people who helped me on my 'no budget' project – bob, stephanie, josh, rick and jon and the musicians involved in the songs i used from the 10 hands cd.

since creating my independent documentary i have worked as a producer, director, editor, production coordinator, researcher and location scout on cbc, nfb and other independent documentaries.  i received a gemini award for my research work on a cbc news documentary in 2003 called 'searching for sarah'.  it features sarah devries, one of the missing women in vancouver's downtown eastside whose dna was found on the pickton farm.  be my junkie shadow was chosen best of canadian independent short films at the edges film festival in victoria in 2005.

have a listen
to the song 'be careful'
by the wonderful patty griffin
it is very fitting ....

wud love to use it
if i do a bmjs sequel
u ok w/that patty?

the photo above
is of josey and i
taken by leah wiebe
josey  is featured in bmjs
and has become
a very close friend

for more info + pix click
my profile page

people used to complain, well my mother mainly or only, that all i wrote were sad songs or dark tales.  and i thot 'but things are sad sometimes' and usually i write more when i am down go figure.  i appreciate all emotions and luckily don't get stuck in any one.  that is also why i write fairy tales to escape the dark genre of my writing and the downtown eastside.  i also have fun playmates that i get into trouble with but nothing u wud lose a limb over.  i am not sure yet if i will post any fairytale fodder on this site, haven't made up my mind yet tho i may put up 'princess of darkness' which is just a tale about me growing up on the funny farm.

and speakin of fairytales and playmates, i went to a fun party on saturday in vancouver by an idiosyncratic accident.  it was the 'work less' party  with the mandate of  'work less play more'.  wow - with ethics like that who cud resist.

 so i am at
 my mates house
and she is putting on
a jet black wig
and starts looking
 more like me
as she criss crosses
 two peacock feathers
to make wings
and i safety pin them
 to her back
and she begins to look
like a pixie vamp
as she colors
her face in
the frame
of her new thick
dark mane

lesbians and thespians
mustached nuns
and cleavage nurses
and of course fairies
and one unicorn

there was a naked girl
disguised in body art
and a voluptuous
seductress hoola hooping



near the spank bank
where u had the option
to be paddled with wood
or a rubber chicken



but I am the 's'
not the 'm'
and didn't bother
i opted to voyeur
like a slow winter
fly on the wall
as I stood
on a stool
to watch
the biker boys
doing a strip tease
and then accommodate
miss woo for her
 burlesque number



me and my mate
found ourselves behind
this older italian couple
they looked so out of place
and shocked by the
display of naughtiness
i figured they must have
a son or daughter
who was part
of this festival

the vibe was
so warm and friendly
  i just asked the woman
'so what do u think?'
and she said
'is it always
like this or  is this
a special occasion?'
'oh . . . this is a
special occasion'
i say trying not
to scare her away
but her face lites up
'i love it!'
she said
with a huge grin
then tells me her son
plays the trombone
in the next band
'i come to all his shows
no matter where
they are at'
wow
what a mom

the day glow
balls being juggled
smack dab
in the middle
of the hall



then I felt
the lightest kiss
on the back
of my neck
and turned around
and realized
it was actually
a  dragon fly wing
so who
wud complain

my friend found me
and dragged
my butt home
and i woke up
on a couch
too short for my frame
and i see a
plastic purple lai
that found its way
around my neck
and a black wig
on the coffee table
looking like a
comatose crow and
two peacock feathers
draped on a chair
as i tried to
connect the dots
with little luck

or most things by tom waits
try 'tango till they're sore'

top pics by jordan
www.jordansplace.net
thanks jordan
 
pic of my mate
miss keely by jen

all other pictures by
proff photographer craig mutch
craigmutchphoto.com
thanks craig



if anyone has shots
they wud like to share
of the event please write

....

today i was

a new york cabbie

taken away from

the type cast

of drug addict dealer

slash whore

my worn leather vest

i found on a ny

east village street

so it was appropo

my brown suede coat

from a bullet holed

section of brooklynn

my leather home boy hat

from some 2^nd hand store

somewhere usa

reading about

junkie jewish jerry stahl

in permanent midnite

from my cab prop

for the nite

yet watching

the real ones walk by

as the rain machine

wets vancouver's streets

to look like

a new york fall

i think about tamara

unrecognizable in her

bleached blonde madness

last time i saw her

wobbling on hastings near main

like a baby colt with new legs

in front of the carnegie

a circus of human wreckage

like a candy drug store

in an insane asylum

'oh sweet pea

i wish you'd stayed away'

she is like a colt

and the umbilical cord

still isn't dry

she plucks

at her eyebrows

in the middle

of the sidewalk

like pulling feathers

from the neck

of a chicken

shard of a mirror in

her pale down hand

i ache in my heart

at just the thot

on the way home

after the gig

busload of nodding

and blithering drunks

a native yelling vowels

forgetting the consonants

quiet asians but loud ones

on cell phones

a gray haired woman

discussing in dull detail

her ailment

to a bucket of people

that could give a shit

and then

main and broadway

hipsters, rockabillys + beats

and a dash of ethnicity

i am home

in mount pleasant

kat copyright 03

This is about Andrew, a sweet friend of mine, who passed away on April 8th two years ago.  There is a shot of  him at the end of this piece.  I was bothered that I did not have any photos of him after he died and last summer when I was going thru a box of photos I ran across a few that I took when I was at his place.  It was one of those beautiful agony moments where you cry because you are happy to find something  precious but  it is incredibly sad to remember.  A weird dichotomy of emotions. 

I am about to run the sun run again in lieu of him but this time I am training others and it will probably be my last run.  It feels I have gone full circle with this and I am ready to let it go.  Running has helped me heaps esp with greiving over him and I plan to continue but more cuz I just feel like it or need it to clear my head, meditate, or get answers.  Andrew did it for the same reasons but also to help kick his addiction.  I really really wish he were still here but I so feel his spirit and he still makes me laugh.  Right after his death I would hear his voice in my head as I ran and he would make me laugh and I realized how I must look running along the beach laughing to myself.

Running with Andrew's Ghost

"A journey of a thousand miles
begins with a single step."
- Gilbert on Greatness

The irony of looking up and seeing Andrew's favorite quote staring back at me from the screen, blew me away.

He died in April; the Sun Run is in April. I am in a theater waiting to hear an Intraining Sun Run presentation. It is January 6th and my birthday is on January 7th and his on the 10th - no wonder it didn't work out with him and I - two goatfish don't stand much of a chance I have surmised after decades of dating them.

He taught me to run and he started a running club in the downtown eastside called 'Run for your Life'. Now I will help others learn to run. Full circle I think to myself.

'What are you running from?' someone asked me once. But perhaps it is more like 'What am I running to?'

As I wait for the Sun Run speaker, I read an article about alcohol abuse in the paper and I come across this:

"A person who is severely intoxicated often has slow or irregular breathing. They may lose the gag reflex that can lead to . . . ." 
. . . "Mixing alcohol with other drugs - prescribed or recreational - can have unpredictable results."

More synchronicity.

I think about running the Sun Run in honor of him last year. It helped me grieve. It helped me heal. Running with his shirt tied to my waist (with his name, birthday and death written on it) felt like him helping me and hugging me the whole way. At his memorial I remember speaking about the article he wrote about running. It was a means of escape for him as it is perhaps for me.

. . . the alarm rings at 7am . . . coffee, shorts, runners . . . the elevator spits me out on hastings street . . . the ninth circle of hell . . .the first person I meet is a dealer . . . "hey man, lookin" . . . I shake my head, "no thanks" . . .they never give up . . . they never stop asking . . . hoping that one day I'll return, back to the shadows, back into the cave . . . I run faster.

I remember almost pleading with Andrew to get out of that neighbourhood. "You have done your time here. You have to move on for your own well being. Get back into the real world." But what is real?

As much as I have my own fixation with the neighbourhood, I know how it can drain you. It did that to me a number of times yet I return for more.

. . . . the community . . . I live in . . . live, life, love . . . everyone deserves a chance . . . a chance of knowing who they are . . . knowledge . . . equality . . . freedom . . . freedom for the soul . . . souls . .

There is something about the rawness of the human spirit in the hood that is alluring to me. It is similar to going to Jamaica or a Spanish speaking country where emotions are hot and real, not covered up by a North American facade. People behave like kids in that they say what is on their mind and act the emotion that they truly feel. For some people there, they are near the end and they express themselves more genuinely than most people I know. Both the good and the evil comes out and there is often no edit button. To me there is something precious about that.

So many women who I befriended in the hood will tell me in an instant that they love me yet I don't hear that from my own parents. Andrew was still a Capricorn sheltering his emotions yet one time I did make him cry. He told me he ran and ran to try to get the answers as we were going through regular relationship stuff. But how regular was it under the circumstances. He hadn't been with a woman for 6 years. Three of those years he was an addict, three years clean.  Then me.

He was doing angel's work in the hood, even after he died. That was so apparent at his memorial, which was the saddest and most beautiful event I have ever gone to in my life. I am still haunted by the experience. He touched many many people and they spoke about how his kindness and compassion made a big difference in their life. What a beautiful man. I am so blessed he was in my life.

. . . .I run the final stretch as I head towards home . . . dealer still there, waiting . . . patiently waiting . . . I run by and nod my head . . . he smiles . . . I have outrun my demons . . .I get into the elevator, go up to my room, grab a quick shower and head out to work . . . another day . . . someone else's demons to confront . . ..

But he couldn't run fast enough. They caught up to him. He got sucked back into the shadows. He did so much for the neighbourhood that ended up devouring him in the end.

And now, I run with Andrew's ghost.

i still feel his spirit
and hear his voice
but it has become fainter
and comes less often

'lean on me
when you are not strong
and i'll be your friend
i'll help you carry on'

i will never
hear that song
in the same way

rest in peace andrew

the story behind
'still have my dreams'....

I came home after working in the downtown eastside.  After hours of walking up and down the streets and alleys and being exposed to so many gritty raw things in the skids these lyrics oozed out though I borrowed the beginning of 'creatures of habit' (see blog below) to begin the song.....

That day I spoke with a woman about her addiction and at the end of our conversation she said 'I still have my dreams' and she spread her arms out like wings in front of a dumpster in the alley and smiled.   I thought about how dreams give us hope even in the bleakest of times.

The song was recorded rather hastily and I am so not impressed with the quality of my vocals but the song ended up getting used a lot for cool purposes so I am ok with that.  The song was juxtaposed with photos of women from the downtown eastside and was made into a music video that was aired on Much Music along with an interview.  Two lovely nurses who work in the neighbourhood asked if they could use the video at presentations across Canada to help other health care workers treat their HIV and drug addicted patients with more understanding and compassion.  They also use it at AIDS Awareness seminars.  In 2006, the song was also part of a DVD given out free at the World HIV conference in Toronto.

The question I most like asking the women in the dtes is what their dreams are.  Their faces always light up and it is cool to see them excited about something.   It is also great to get beyond the facade of the neighbourhood and the faces and get to the heart of why and how these people ended up in this area.  I realize these are hard hitting lyrics but it is also reality and the words may be what someone else would think like 'she created her own demise' - did she?  If you listen to the stories of their childhood you may think otherwise.  These women are our mothers, daughters, sister, lovers and I am questioning what are we doing to help them.  Where are we in this picture.

still have my dreams....

needles spoons condoms the works....

strewn upon this putrid street....

the scabs the wounds....

the rotting teeth....

if you follow her tracks....

you may find her dream....

....

lines drawn on a sallow face....

she shakes upon skeletal legs....

the haunting look ....

the hollow eyes....

she created

her own demise....

....

she may be your mother ....

your daughter....

your sister ....

your lover....

now she's the druggie....

the street girl ....

the junkie ....

the whore....

....

she turns another trick....

her soul for a fix....

someday she's gonna quit....

someday she's gonna kick....

....

what is your story....

where is the glory....

have you found it ....

on hastings and main....

where is the glory....

she said . . .....

i still have my dreams....

....

where is her mother....

her daughter....

her sister....

her lover....

....

where is her father....

her son....

and the holy ghost....

and where . . . ....

are you....

....

she said . . .....

i still have my dreams....

                                                                        ....

from the song by
kat kosiancic....

....