today I was let go from my job. more later when I’m feeling a little more … balanced.
to get right to the point, I was just fired today.
I am not joking.
Linda came in and told me she hated to do it, but they’d
have to bring me on as a “consultant”
pretty much just what they did with Carol
I kept my cool and asked them what was up
and by this time Glenn was standing there in the doorway
and telling me he basically has felt like
I’m “no longer happy here” and that I’ve probably “outgrown” the place
they promised up and down they’d have me
on as a consultant and would put in a good word or two for me
if I want to use them as a reference for other interviews
to all of this I say good riddance!
but I’m also panicked
and like I said in my last entry… now in a different
state of shock and awe of the moment
I had very little to collect up before I left.
everything was very cordial
because I’m smart enough not to fuck up this shit
I have, after all, a family to support
and if I can get night and weekend work on occasion
I’m going to take it
it goes without saying I feel
completely fucked over by these capitalist motherfuckers
my emotions are all over the place right now
and they could not have picked a more terrible day
with you now gone and everything
a quick thought jumped into my head that I would
have mario watch the cats and I’d up and fly to see you
and find work there and be with you for four months
but I doubt this will reach fruition
I would love more than anything (even on your first day — not even a whole day yet!) to see you, be with you. I’m sure I will do a good bit of crying later, let things settle, and then move onto thinking about practical matters (new job(s), etc.).
and boy could I practically feel this coming! even today, I approached glenn and was like, guess what the new iMac is out, blah blah, and I could sense that he was basically struggling to respond and be nice to me. even last night when I wrote, I wrote something about being in the gas station at the counter: “This will be the last time you buy orange juice here.”
when I chill out a little bit, mentally, I shall celebrate, mentally. it’s true I was tired of the motherfuckers, and it’s good to be out in many ways. I only worry of course about cash, and if I can find something before they even call, so much the better. everything, by the way, will be under the guise of this “small little print shop was having a hard time staying afloat and couldn’t hold onto me.” I will not go into interviews saying anything like I was fired. nor will they, as far as I can tell, say such a thing in referring me.
I hope you are not too upset or disappointed with me. I won’t deny that I’ve butted heads with these people at times under pressure and stress, but for the most part I’ve felt I’ve handled myself well and have done my best. still, even in my own eyes, I’m not satisfied with “best” and am always trying to improve.
I know I’m rambling on at this point from being emotional, and I know by the time you’re reading this you’ve been through a lot traveling and what not, so I shall bring this entry to an end. I am torn in half with sad and happy, hopeful thoughts. I am hopeful for a new future, glad to be away from those cut throat bastards.
on practical terms, I should add: spend very little! my God, I was just ready to order Ali G. on DVD last night, and something told me to wait! next friday a check shall roll in, and tomorrow I will go apply for unemployment.
Wish my well, Casey! and us! and the cats! I shall clean this apartment from top to bottom and make you proud of me once again. new times are ahead of us. we must be brave and embrace change and all that.
hoping this meets you well,
your loving author
I miss you so already
cried immediately out the door leaving you there
cried in the car before I left
dried my eyes, drove off
I am half saddened now and in shock throughout
yet another busy day here at work
curious how your flight is, your longest so far
sent you a phone txt msg – “evthing okay?”
don’t bother answering that… 🙂
turned off AC before leaving the house
ate my cookie and took meds for bad face.
to my surprise the new iMac came out today
and looks beautiful
had doubts about homework so emailed teacher
she said don’t do ANY of the exercises but just read
and we’ll hit them in class… phew. boy was I scrambling for time!
looking fwd to 2nite’s poetry and Big Brother
but not to your absence from the house
still I think everything will go okay
and I have my calendar marked for the 17th like a pipe dream
you started reading my zines
now you’re reading me here…
into this area
in an air conditioned
little songs and jokes
float around the body
some thoughts that are
come and go
in and out like storms
rains all day
it’s probably better
thinking of it like
this world is
full of good people
who are abundant and
to expand the
consciousness of an area
and with my
I play a part
in establishing broadband
I ask those alive and dead
for their blessings
so I can find enough
steam to read
Dostoevsky, Rainer Maria Rilke,
Past Lives, Future Lives Revealed
books for school so I can do my homework
vocab. books (“There’s a Word For It”)
Watchmen and other graphic novels
this is your last day
the drink sweats a
ring at the base
of the bottle so I dip
my finger and draw
invisible racing stripes
on Kalika’s forehead
I can tell she likes this
because it’s almost the
same sensation as
being groomed and
coddled by Rudra
our older kitty
with shark teeth
this is your last time
at the counter
buying orange juice
and your last time
at this traffic light
I will write you more when I see you next.
kiki check my shit out!
the art show this past Friday was incredibly under-whelming. I myself could have done better by hallowing out an old refrigerator and calling the public to take a look at what I tacked up inside it. this town disappoints in many different ways, which probably explains why the rent is so low all over. of course that’s one of the good things. and this is a good place to come and die, if you prefer quiet and don’t want to be disturbed. but I would ward you from my street where they scream at each other and metaphorically slash each other’s tires and claw each other’s eyes out.
when c. left town, the cat box revolt began. that is, after performing my civic duty of emptying the thing out, putting in new litter and all of that, I’m sitting in the living room and watching TV, minding my own business, and little Kalika (lil bun bun) jumps into it and goes bathroom like a good girl, but then proceeds to loose control of herself, swiping the clean crystals in a frenzied state with her little paw, with most of her body propped up on the edge, and manages to tip the entire box out onto the tiled floor (at least I think that’s how she winds up doing it). what a vulgar scene!
with a few choice words I have the floor looking new again. but this morning what do I find? cat box revolt redux! “you cannot deter us!” our poor bathroom is looking like the French Revolution. maybe they are hungry, I think, and check their bowls. yes, empty. a good portion of time is spent on cleaning the bathroom once again, feeding them, and getting ready for work. maybe they need more litter poured in to weigh the thing down. I cannot afford another revolt.
. . .
I am reading, performing writing sessions, looking through the window at the beautiful women at the front counter, knocking work back so that there is a summer trickle of activity so that I remain in a nervous state half the time, and August weather is mild for a change, unless you’re in Florida and dead from the recent hurricane. then things would be not so mild.
haven’t written much here in awhile. I blame it all on bad timing. when I don’t have much time to myself and I don’t spend that much time with myself, I start to lose myself. after a short while I really start to feel the effects of it, that I’m practically slipping away, being pulled under, and there’s nothing I can do. believing there’s nothing that can be done only solidifies it. at that point, coming here to form a public journal entry only feels like I’m wasting other people’s time.
art or writing or thoughts silenced or starved, manifest in other areas, taking different shape. a writer, however, wants to hold onto his or her original talent and speak with that voice they could so easily depend on. in other words, no amount of consolation southes a person suffering mental drought. you simply have to get moving again.
with the idea of starting a magazine and at the same time being in the midst of this drought — this has shaken me. I know over the next few months or weeks even, the cob webs will start to fall away. the words and ideas will flow again.
. . .
we hopped over to the poetry reading at the fountain. the gloomy spirits were trash-baggish and limp, getting up, sitting back down. this is my piece, which I didn’t really write, it’s a song actually, and by the way, I’m tone deaf and don’t really know all the words — so I hope you like it . . .
well damn. what an introduction. it was one of those awful truths. getting up in front of the crowd and right off the bat saying you’re gonna blow fumes out your ass from here to the end of church street only gives a cue for anyone who has something better to do with their time to get up and leave.
. . .
I’m having a hell of a time reading Dostoevsky. I just picked up a new, un-tattered copy of the Brothers Karamazov. I read it in bed and Kalika climbs in expecting me to read some of it to her. she is just a cat so I suspect much of the plot she doesn’t understand, especially when the old buffoon, the father, misbehaves in public, bringing shame to the entire family. Alyosha’s servant goes so far to predict a parricidal scandal to take place among them. it shall become a big enjoyable mess that we live for in literature, especially when we sometimes look at the classics with a bored eye. Dostoevsky sometimes hits with the boring stuff himself (maybe this is only my own lacking), but who doesn’t?, and it’s all forgotten when he writes something that has changed your life. his pen reaches through history, translation after translation. I have the new Barnes and Noble print now, made available March 2004. are you proud, Fyodor? if you could only receive royalties lifetimes later! we owe you much.
a good aspect
is to move slow at times
ensure we behave well
a supreme asset
is to work hard and
bring humor to
the things you do
into it by
and kiss the earth
a full day
and setting up
the wireless network
the new magazine
are starting to
has agreed to
distribute it for me
if it gets to be too much
I’ll seek out
to lighten the burden on him
that is if it goes well
and the demand
. . .
typical lounge around attitude
I help C. making the brownies
cats are excluded
I read from Brothers Karamazov
and contemplate reading
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
in bed I listen to
Whitley Strieber’s radio show
. . .
woke up wheezing
once more blazing through
hacking away some more
on the magazine
reminds me of JOT days
but this will
better — I hope
the more I throw effort into it
the more the idea
of what I want it to be
summer radiates a vacation feel, a sense of excitement. the Millennium boxset has come in. the air conditioner has been out for at least three weeks. I blame my madness on that. madness as in writer’s block or writer’s silence.
instead of writing
I think about writing
I guess my
heart is in the right place
again I will return
to note writing
a sort of free hand
Houston was all that
(we went to Galveston
swam in the ocean)
I may even
wind up moving there
what a lovely thought
getting our asses kicked
by blustery winters
still we get
our asses kicked
in other ways, too
. . .
my talk brought the moon down. “Dostoevsky didn’t know a damn thing about PowerPoint, so I’m going to pretend I don’t either.” this came off as bitchy to the front row, but I didn’t mean it to. (crazy, huh, how you say something, comes off bitchy, and it’s hard to retract — you have to pillow fight it off?!) described Dostoevsky as a sufferer who shaped himself into a philosopher through trials, tribulations, and hardcore dedication to writing.
when I got into summarizing a few of his stories, one of the front row girls was confused, started asking strange questions. I think what threw her was that I was presenting him first and foremost as a dark persona, or at least as someone who thought darkly, and she just wasn’t jaded enough in her overall world view to get the picture. this immediately led her to the conclusion that he was a psychopath, a murderer, and so why should I even be up there talking about and glorifying such a person?
I revisited some of his history in more detail, and suddenly it clicked in her head somewhere that when I was talking about certain characters in his stories, these weren’t his own particular feelings and experiences. he was not Raskolnikov with a hatchet, nor Ridiculous Man committing suicide. once we got that out of the way, I continued on telling the story of Dream of a Ridiculous Man.
I was psyched because I could tell I was holding their interest. one lady asked a couple times for me to repeat the name of his books, and she wrote them down. this alone told me I was accomplishing my goal. now they can seek it out on their own time. next time around I can get into concepts from Brothers Karamazov.