Monday, February 19, 2007

I work as a dishwasher at the local Art Concern's cafe. I sometimes write in my notebook when there's downtime. The other night I learned that when my manager sees me writing in it he 'wanted to slap it out his fucking hands'. Hmm. (Alot of those bemused hmm's on this blog lately.) He wanted to fire me on the spot, but my more immediate boss vouched for me.

But the writing is on the little notebook of the wall it seems. I'm probably going to get fired from my dishwashing job, if I don't find something soon and quit before that happens. (If you leave anywhere near me and know of anything, babysitting your cat for instance, let me know.)

I don't usually 'blog' about this, but I'm at a point in my life where the possibility of me ending up homeless, due to my chronic unemployability, doesn't seem that far-fetched. I've even thought about the possibility of trying to get myself diagnosed with something, so I can collect some kind of gov't money. In the immediate future, I guess if I ran out of money I'd have to move in with my Dad in the Township of Addison. Which would be ironic considering that the way I moved past the previous period of depression in my life was by moving away from there. But anyway, I owe multiple parties lots of money (there's one law firm that has a garnishment at the ready for me as soon I start making enough). I also owe my university 3300 bucks, and this keeps me from being able to take the single class I have left until I get the bachelor's degree that's ten years in the making.

Its hard for me to see anyway out of this, apart from suddenly marrying a woman who has, or whose family has, alot of money. You can dissect all the mommy-fruedian-bullshit in that sentence if you like. The idea that I would actually see that as a viable option.

So when one finds oneself in such a situation, one begins to really 'take it one day at a time' if one knows what's good for one's psychological well-being. Of course I realize I need to get a job, but if I get fired from my post as a dishwasher, well its gonna start to seem really hopeless.

I get the impression that alot of other 'poetry bloggers' are people who are either in Grad School or have an office job. Or they lose their job, they get another one almost immediately. And in my correspondences with other poets, they seem to complain about how busy they are. I am almost never busy. Maybe I should try to be busy. To make myself busy.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I guess the only people I figure will read it are friends anyway.

What keeps me going? I'm a poet. In the scope of the universe, the cosmos, what I owe to the spector of all things living and non-, my job is to write poems. I might be dead if it weren't for that. So I keep doing my thing which is no big deal. And the weather changes. And so do I.

3 comments:

andy mr. said...

Dude, sounds like a shitty situation. Tell your boss that you will slap the taste out his fucking mouth. (As Dr. Dre says.)

Mike H said...

Andy I'm a pacifist. And he could probably take me...

uncle wiggle said...

Mike, don't let "boss-man" or
or any jerk-off decide what's supposed to be dramatic for you.
I feel you, believe me I do, but it's not something worth using as a way to feel self-rightous.

I have to admit, sometimes,
you talk about being a poet
like it was some rare special condition that you are afflicted with. Like you are interpreting
it's symptoms for the rest of your
friends; like they were vaguely concerned wealthy doctors or something. Many of your friends are poets and artists and relate strongly!

Sure, others (even poets) might not. BUT:
News Flash: chances are: for a very long time there will more than likely be a long succession of shitty awful jobs full of smug, alpha-male assholes. Lined up for many of us!!!!!!!

But sometimes it seems: "well, I'm different than everyone else because I'm an authoritative Poet & the world will never understand..." True, but, well, no, of course it won't. I think you know this.

Please, don't let this
make you feel "singled-out".
What matters is that you have pride in your own spectacularly vital craft. I feel you tho. Sometimes you need to say "I'm a Poet! I'm a Poet!" like Williams exclaimed in the middle of one of his later works.

The World (take your pick)obviously has a lot of what they call assholes.
They'll never get what you are doing because they never have thought about anything other than time, money, pussy, fairness, failure, money and home entertainment. I believe there
might be such things as necessary lost causes. In jobs, what happens
happens. But don't take unperceptive people too seriously.
Trust me. I have been eaten with
rage by it. And it's not worth it.

I don't doubt you realize poets all over are going through & continue to go through the same bullshit you describe; feel socially alienated by the cultural marginality of their craft, feel their propensity
to create, their NEED to create, sometimes makes life harder in specific ways.

But I tell you as a fellow poet
and pal, please, be careful about mentally martyring (sic) yourself; or fetichizing your own vulnerability.
It just secretly satisfies assholes
such as "boss-man" more, and it interferes with the beautiful things Poetry has to say.

Remember: HE'S the one out of step
with what it means to be a "human being", or whatever they're called these days, NOT the fact that YOU happen to write poetry. Whatever his personal dislike of you is,
remains none of your business. And if he fires you he fires you. He'll still be an asshole and eventually you'll be doing a different shitty job and writing amazing poems. Until hopefully someday we are not, and are smoking cigars on the deck of a wealthier person.

Don't mistake what happens to most of us with what you feel like you deserve.


As for being homeless, you've always had that fantasy, and have
told me about it in the past with
slightly embarassed relish. Being destitude makes someone more genuine or some
thing? Unfettered? I know you are genuinly worried, but COME ON!

C'mon, if worse came to worse you know many couches would open. As though anyone, much less YOU, would ever let yourself sleep in a stairwell or something!

If "boss-man" gives you any more trouble
I'll pay him a little visit with these poetry commandos I've hired from Cali now that I've figured out how these
blog things work.

The last part of your entry about the job is great, tho. It sort of says, well, there's always peoms to write, that's enough to stick around for, and put up with a little bullshit for. Amen and amen.


P.S. You left "They Live" off the
movie list. Which might also be on mine if it's still as great as I remember (need to review).