Girlfriend In A Comma

I, am terrible, at grammar. Terrible is, an understatement. I, am an abomination, when it comes to grammar. Ask me, what a pronoun is, and I will have a difficult time, coming up with an answer. The irony, is that my day job is as a high school English Teacher (now don’t get me wrong- I am good at my job, I just am incapable of grasping grammar). Most, of my students know more about grammar than I do. They, laugh at all my grammatical errors, like when I wrote, were are you going on the board. Sometimes, I have to ask them for answers, to questions that other students raise. I, am bored by grammar. Whenever, I say the word, noun or verb, I immediately begin to fall, asleep. I avoid grammar like a holly man/woman avoids sin. I, am constantly looking for clever ways, to keep hidden my disdain, for the institution of grammar. Sometimes, I will blurt out, “grammar is the death of the soul” or “grammar inhibits creativity,” but, all in all, I have done a good job at keeping the truth about my relationship with grammar, from my students and the administration (granted I am putting my job in jeopardy by writing this-but hey- I am just another fool with radical views) . A student once asked me, “what am I supposed to do with a comma,” and I said, “just think of it as a girlfriend.” I, have no idea what I meant by this.

I, have been listening to The Smiths, a lot lately. When I was in high school, many years ago, I had an English Teacher, who also despised grammar. Like myself, he was able to make studying grammar interesting, for all of his students, because he was just as bored by it as his students were. I, in particular was beyond bored with grammar- I despised it. I, would listen to my Walkman all through out the class, and I, would often get stoned before English, so I did not have to feel the pain. I hated grammar so much, that I refused to talk about it. “Just think of a comma as a girlfriend,” he once said to my reticent English class, who were incapable of grasping the concept, of the comma. I had no idea what he meant by this- but, ever since that day, I have always thought of the comma, as my girlfriend.

Girl Friend In a Coma, is one of my favorite Smiths songs. This particular song, puts me to sleep at night. It just so happened, that when I told my student to think of the comma, as his girlfriend, that I had been thinking about The Smiths, instead of sentence structure, and correct comma placement. He, looked at me, like I was talking nonsense. I was. How does one explain nonsense? “Just trust me,” I told him. After all, it has worked for me. Now, I am an English Teacher, and I still have no idea, what to do, with all these, dam commas.

The Booky.

There are more books that I want to read than I can stand to think about. A mass graveyard of books waiting for me to resurrect them. I am so over whelmed by the amount of books that I want and need to read-that I have difficulty reading through one book from cover to cover. Half way through a book, I suffer such anticipatory anxiety by the thought of what book I will read next- that I loose interest in the book I am reading. Occasionally a work of fiction (which is all I read) will take a hold of me and I will complete the book (below I will cite the twenty books that have done this to me). In these rare and holly circumstances the book becomes an altar, a ritual and a prayer that I carry with me through out the day. I take the book with me wherever I go, like a doctor carrying his medicine bag. When I am finished reading the book a sadness comes over me because I know have to leave a part of me behind. There is a small death, a short grieving process and then like a true Booky I set off to the bookstore in search of another book.

I resent work because it keeps me away from my true work- which is reading. I have always said that the worst job to have in a capitalist society is that of a reader (this is why some of the most unhappy people are those who think that their happiness depends upon time that they get to spend reading). You spend a lot of time working/reading but are not payed for the work you do (this is why most Bookies are well educated and poor). And make no mistake, reading good literature is work- it requires complete attention, dedication and time.

As a Booky I also resent anything that resembles responsibility because it swallows up time that could be spent between the pages of a book (this is why a lot of Bookies avoid having children and friends). A true Booky shares an apartment, where the rent is to high (I say apartment because a true bookie could not afford a house), filled with half read and unread books and a stack of books by a reading chair that they are currently attempting to read (but will most likely never finish). As a Booky I spend a lot of time wishing that checks made out to me, would just show up in my mailbox. This way I could avoid the dreaded thing often referred to as “the job.” I also spend a good amount of time in bookstores but I do not always walk out with a book in hand. The book that I buy must be thought about, contemplated- because it has to be intriguing enough to take me away from the book that I am currently reading. Being a Booky is not without its downsides, life is hard for a Booky- but a true Booky spends the majority of their time lost within the pages of a book so that they do not have to think about the downsides.

I am fortunate to live in the San Fransisco Bay Area because there are a plethora of independent bookstores that I can meander around in. For me, the act of entering a bookstore is what I imagine entering a Church or a Mosque would be like for some. It is like entering a realm of endless possibilities. What I may stumble upon could forever change my perception of life- and this possibility is the high that keeps me in a kind of dedicated, hyper aroused pursuit.

My two favorite bookstores- City Lights in San Fransisco (stomping ground of Beat Writers and Poets which is owned by Lawrence Ferlinghetti) and Moe’s in Berkeley are universes unto themselves (that have swallowed the large majority of my income). Every time I enter these bookstores I am carried away into a different time and space. I am possessed by a holly ghost. My worries and fears leave me. The burdens of my life let me go. I am at one with myself and as excited to find a new book as a beggar is to find God. I sometimes catch myself drooling over my chin as I search the isles of books looking for a title that will change my life. I spend hours in the endless, solitary investigations (this is why no one who knows me will go into a bookstore with me) until my back and neck hurts and it is time to go home.

Most often I walk out of the bookstore empty handed, dismayed by my inability to find a book worth reading. In these situations a small depression comes over me and I usually end up drinking too much booze to wash away the despair. But every once in a small while I will find the book. On these rare life affirming occasions it is a customary ritual for me to leave the bookstore with a new book in hand and go to the nearest liquor store where I purchase a cigar. I then find a comfortable lit spot to sit someplace along the street and smoke my cigar like a man who just been given second shot at life.

Twenty Books That Have Taken Hold Of Me From Cover To Cover (in no special order):

1- The Trial/Franz Kafka

2- The Looser/Thomas Bernhard

3- Ulysses/James Joyce

4- Women/Charles Burkowski

5- The Stranger/ Albert Camus

6- The Dharma Bums/Jack Kerouac

7- The Noodle Maker/ Ma Jian

8- Hard Boiled Wonder Land And The End Of The World/ Haruki Murakami

9- Crime And Punishment/Brothers Karamazov/ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

1o- To The Light House/ Virginia Wolf

11- The Key/ Junichiro Tanizaki

12- The Satanic Versus/ Salman Rushdie

13- The Diving Bell And The Butterfly/ Jean- Dominique Bauby

14- Dance, Dance, Dance/ Haruki Murakami

15- Siddhartha/ Herman Hesse

16- Too Loud A Solitude/ Bohumil Hrabal

17- Journey To The End Of Night/ Louis-Ferdinand Celine

18- The Death Of Ivan Illiych/ Leo Tolstoy

19- The New York Trilogy/ Paul Auster

20- The Woodcutters/ Thomas Bernhard

oh and

21) Three Novels- Malloy/ Malone Dies/ The Unnamable/ Samuel Beckett

Miracle Man.

My wife is in bed crying. I can hear her tears running across the hard wood floors.

We fought so hard this evening that I thought the house was going to come down.

I became so infuriated that I threw paintings off the wall.

I killed the sunflowers we bought together yesterday.

She threw violent words at my spirit.

I am a madman whose worries and fears are breaking her down.

My lack of motivation is making her insane.

I worry about my heart.

I worry about ending up a failed artist like my grandfather.

I worry about everything, even the toxins in the paint on the bedroom wall.

She tells me that I am always so negative about the world, the environment, my health, my job, my future, my cat, my home, my art and my wife.

It breaks her heart to see me so sad. She is afraid that I will stop going outside.

That I will stop trying to live my dreams. That I will die.

Her tears are beginning to flood our small apartment. She is wailing in bed.

What in your life or about yourself is no longer serving you and causing your unhappiness? What do you need to let go of?

I keep asking myself this but I do not know the answers.

I am no miracle man.

No More Awards, Please!!!!

I need your help. I have just learned that I was nominated for yet another demeaning award. Yet again I have been nominated for “Blog Least Commented Upon.” I do not know if this is meant to be an insult or a compliment. I must say it would not be a lie to suggest that readers rarely comment upon my blog- but do they have to rub it in! Who are these people, these award committees? Do they not have better things to do with their time than bug and degrade struggling bloggers? In those rare moments that I do receive a comment I am aroused like a dog at mealtime. I am excited to think that somebody cares. But now…….. now I have been nominated for an award that I wish not to receive. This is where you, my intelligent reader, comes in.

Two months ago my blog was rated as MATURE by the WordPress management. After realizing that my readership was plummeting like a rock in the sea-I fought back telling WordPress that I thought that this was an unjust rating and they made an agreement with me. They said that if I can stop writing about prostitution, strippers, masturbation, erotic massages, pornography, hand jobs, cum/orgasms,, perverted vices, and posting pictures of naked women for three months than they would take away my MATURE rating. This is going to be difficult to do but I need my readers. Now that my blog is rated MATURE I am cut off from various forms of blogging publicity and marketing, including the WordPress Forum- and well this punishment has lead to me having a blog that seems neglected and rarely read. Fine I can live with this….but not another award, please!!!!!!

If I have one reader out there in cyberspace (other than my wife) who enjoys reading my writing on a regular basis- well that is good enough reason for me to write. But like I said, I do not want to receive another demeaning and humiliating award……and it is looking like I am going to get it (I have only had three (intelligent) comments in the past week)! So the favor that I am asking of you is that if you have read gotten anything of value from reading this blog…well would you mind leaving a comment? Actually you do not even need to leave a comment- just write “Hi” or “I don’t give a crap” or “No more awards for Absurdistry!!!” Something to let this award committee (and myself) know that I am not a good candidate to receive their stinking award. I am just asking for a small mark, a foot step stating that- you were here. A small sign of appreciation. It is my hope that if I can garner together at least five or six comments this may…. it just may disqualify me. I will have my dignity intact and continue maintain this blog with not only a clean conscience but a feeling of victory over the powers that be (which is rare for me)!

Thank You.

Fighting Against Gravity

Standing up and sitting down is not supposed to be this difficult. When I stand the pressure against my head makes me feel like falling to the ground. My legs are taut and there is a strange vibration in my shoulders. When I sit down there is a similar pressure exerted upon the bulb of my head. It is as if a divine hand is trying to press me deep into the ground beneath my feet. When I do stand up and the dizziness has passed I am able to walk quite normally however I am often weary that I will trip or fall. In public I am often mistaken as being drunk and or demented because I find it difficult to walk in a straight line and I often trip. When I get to dizzy- I push myself into a corner where I lean my shoulders against a wall for stability. Sometimes standing on my head is helpful- but when I do this in public I notice that I scare people.

I have battled against gravity most of my life. Ever since I was a teenager I have been aware of an impossible weight that has burdened not only my soul but also my physical body. When I was seventeen I lost a beloved girlfriend because she decided that I was a freak. I would stay in bed for weeks afraid of this pressure that was always causing me to dissociate from my environments. When I walked around I would often have to use the stolidity of walls to garner the equilibrium that I needed to carry on. I was much younger then and I did not realize that gravity was the cause of my ennui. I thought that it was some kind of brain tumor that was causing my physiological disturbances and I was certain that death was just around the corner.

For years I have practiced counting each step. I am hypervigilant about each step I take- noticing every degree and angle that I place my feet in. Fighting against gravity involves the utilization of certain mental capabilities that most of us take for granted. I can not walk and talk on a cell phone or listen to an ipod. Instead I have to be alert and exert effort against the gravitational forces that seek to destroy me. For the past few months the pressure of gravity hanging itself upon me has caused me multiple sleepless nights in which I spend the majority of the night doing laps around my refrigerator. When I have the mental acumen I will lean my head against the kitchen wall and while standing, I will read a book. I will spend hours reading in this position until the ringing in my ears grows to loud or the pain in my neck becomes intolerable.

There is a Gravitational Equilibrium Center a few hour drive from my home that my wife wants me to visit. You stay at the facility for a week and spend eight hours a day in a Gravitational Flow Device that is supposed to balance out the bodies electromagnetic field and reverse the negative symptoms of gravitational pull. I had a brief email exchange with a middle aged woman who suffered from a similar ailment as I. Nausea, dizziness, palpitations, tremendous pressure and chest constriction were a daily part of her life. She told me that the Gravitational Flow Device changed her life. Now she lives on earth rather than feeling like she is battling to stay above the earth. I have thought about going but I have become so used to fighting against gravity that I am afraid of what I would become if I did not have to fight this battle. I mean, what would I do with myself if I did not have to count every footstep? How would I remember that I was alive if every time I sat up or sat down I did not have to feel tremendous pressure? In a way fighting against gravity is a blessing- without the struggle I might be normal.

Last night my wife found me at three in the morning standing on my head while reading Tolstoy’s short story “The Death Of Ivan lliych.” She looked at me like the freak that I am and said “I don’t understand how you can live like this?” before she went back to sleep. All day today while I was suffering through various fits of dizziness and dissociation I thought about her rhetorical question. Why do I want to continually struggle against gravity? Why not go and spend a week in the gravitational Flow device and become normal? The only answer that I have been able to come up with that I can fully accept as legitimate is- I have become attached to my “dis-ease.” Fighting against gravity gives me meaning, it defines who I am and it gives me a reason to get up in the morning. I have taken on the weight if the world- and this makes me feel like I have a purpose.

The Bank Teller

Let me tell you somethings. Did you know that every time we inhale, we absorb oxygen expelled into the atmosphere as a waste product by the earths plant life? Every time we exhale, we expel carbon dioxide as a waste product into the atmosphere where it can eventually be absorbed by the same plant life? Did you know this? Let me also tell you that no matter where you live upon our beautiful earth you are breathing in trace amounts of depleted uranium from the bombs that the U.S are using in Iraq. Did you know that over twenty thousand children die a day from starvation? How about the fact that a plane never went into the Pentagon? Did you know that 9-11 and the war in Iraq (which has terminated the lives of over one million Iraqis) are a result of what is called War Games? Let me also tell you that Lao Tzu, the Chinese mystic believed that if we can somehow expand our narrow image of ourselves and live from our wholeness, then many of our problems will simply disappear on their own.

This is why I took the job as a Bank Teller. It allows me the opportunity to tell strangers things that they would otherwise never know. Costumers come into the bank where I work and think that they are only coming in to deposit or withdraw money. They are usually impatient and in a hurry- stuck in what Lao Tzu would call “Narrowness.” Rather than just taking their money or giving them their money I like to tell them things- expand their consciousness. It is one way that I can make an active contribution to my community and to the human race as a whole. Did you know that writing poetry and reading poetry helps you maintain dignity, it will help you to be better suited to defend yourself in the world? I said this to a middle aged women the other day who seemed aggravated and in a hurry. I could tell that her life had become a collection of material pursuits and failed dreams and I could see the frustration in her eyes. “I have always wanted to read poetry but I never have the time,” she said to me with a glimmer of hope between her eyes. “Well, you might want to make time.” Today she returned to the bank with a book of T.S Elliot poems in her hands and she seemed refreshed. “I am making the time,” she said to me with a smile as I withdrew cash for her.

Often times people come into my bank to find out about bank balances, interests rates, mortgage payments, and fees. I give them the information they want but I usually prefice it with information that I want to tell. I have a sense of urgency within me that drives me to say something. Did you know that Spirulina, dried prunes, beef liver and beer are excellent sources of copper? I said to one man who looked to me to be suffering from a copper deficiency. Because of global warming and soil erosion, human beings are no longer getting a proper amount of this valuable mineral in their diets. The lack of copper in our diets may be responsible for the majority of contemporary diseases. The next day this man came back to the bank to show me the bottle of copper supplements he bought. It is by demanding dignity and respect that you gain it, I told another costumer who was being passive aggressive with me and refused to tell me how she was really feeling. Something was triggered in her when I said this and she straightened up her posture and left my bank looking more confident.

The managers at my bank are on my back. They have accused me of spending to much time with my costumers and not moving the line at a quick enough speed. Did you know that capitalism is used to exploit workers by making them maximize profits in the quickest amount of time? “I did not,” one of the managers said to me with a look of stupefaction upon his white collard face. Yes, capitalism exhausts the worker for the betterment of the organization that they work for. This is what drives capitalism. Use the worker to maximize profits for the company. When the worker gets worn out or dies- just fill the vacancy with another worker. There will always be workers because in capitalistic societies only the very few get to enjoy the wealth of other peoples labor, I explained. “Look, you are one of our best Bank Tellers but you need to stop spending so much time chatting with your costumers so that we can maintain our banks reputation for giving expedient service.” Then he walked away without waiting for my reply.

Did you know that I am going to get fired from my position as a Bank Teller? I am expecting it any day now. At the staff meeting yesterday the bank handed out a list of strategies for normalizing behavior in bank employees. One of these strategies was to replace words with a smile to speed up the line. “Smile more and speak less.” I am not a very good employee because I do not like bosses. I don’t like being subjected to their expectations. Did you know that a real culture functions to limit greed. Our culture functions to increase it , because we are repeatedly told, it’s profitable to do so, though the majority of profits go only to a few people, I said to every one present at the meeting. People who go to work for corporations essentially abandon their integrity as individuals in order to serve the corporation, I added to the consternation of the managers. “Okay that is enough just keep smiling and maximizing profits and that is all,” the head manager said and then ended our staff meeting. If you have lost the capacity to be outraged by what is outrageous, you’re dead. Somebody ought to come and haul you off, I said on our way out from the meeting. Like I said, I have a sense of urgency- I have to say something.

Did you know that we pity Muslim women for wearing veils, yet almost every face in this country is veiled by suspicion and fear? You can’t walk down a city street an get anybody to look at you. People’s countenances are undercover operations in America. Oh, and let me also tell you the most important thing I tell costumers at my bank. That love is not abstract and cannot lead to abstract action. Love is the catalyst for concrete action, which is taking responsibility for what we do here and now. Love is not just a feeling. It’s an instruction: love one another. That’s hard to do. It does not mean to sit at home and have fond feelings. You’ve got to treat people as if you love them , whether you do or not. I know that I am holding up the line, and that I am going to loose my job as a Bank Teller- but I have to tell these things……….

Meditation Is For Loosers.

I used to meditate every day. In fact now that I do not meditate every day- a certain guilt lingers in my gut. I feel like I am missing something. But I find it difficult to assume the lotus posture from day to day. Instead I get caught up in the silent fury of the day and try to spend as little time as I can erasing my thoughts. The other day a millionaire friend of mine said to me “don’t worry, meditation is for loosers.” I thought about what he said with intense consideration. I wondered if I was looser. “If you need to sit in silence and get all the thoughts out of your head….then you should live with cats and dogs,” he said to me when we were discussing meditation. “We are living in tough times, maybe the end of time as we know it…and as far as I am concerned when the plane is falling out of the sky I want to be around people who are going to work hard, brilliantly to bring the plane back into flight rather than people who are just going to sit there with their backs straight, clear their minds and focus on breathing. Meditation is for people who can’t handle the heat or the stress of their own mind…as far as I am concerned they are loosers,” he said before excusing himself from the room to make a gin and tonic.

Maybe meditation is for loosers. The minds of men and women, which become so compounded by unruly thoughts, needs to be controlled. But do we really need to assume some Asain posture and focus on our breath until the mind stops jabbering back and forth. Can’t we just find some activity that we love doing, some book that we love reading, or some worth while form of activism and pre-occupy ourselves with doing these things rather than turning off and going into a state of vegetation. A meditation teacher of mine once said that in a time of crisis meditation was one of the more pro-active things a human could do. I always thought that this was a nice way to rationalize away his inactivity….his looserness.

The world is in a state of degeneration. Every species is in decline. The human animal is destroying itself quickly. The sea is turning black. It makes sense to think “why not slow down and meditate. If everyone in the world did this we could avoid global warming, wars would end and things would return to a state of balance.” Maybe so, but like my millionaire friend said, “when the plane is going down I want to be around people who are doing something.”

Yesterday I saw a sign that said “Meditate For Global Warming Inside.” I went into the room which was filled with all different kinds of people meditating. Hundreds of human beings sitting silently together sharing the same silent air. Incense was burning and there was a Tibetan man in Buddhist garb sitting on a throne in the front of the room directing the meditation. A women waved me over towards an empty cushion upon which I sat and assumed the lotus position. After a few moments of settling my restless mind I focused on my breath and began to relax. As I shut my eyes the woman besides me whispered into my ears, “imagine the possibilities.”

After twenty minutes of sitting silently in meditation I could take it no more. I kept hearing my millionaire friends voice saying “meditation is for loosers.” I kept thinking about all the things I could be doing with this time. I could be finishing the book that has taken me weeks to read. I could be making art work, I could be walking in the woods, I could be paying bills, I could be doing all the things I am constantly putting off- but instead I am sitting here doing nothing. The Tibetan in the front of the room said “be mindful of our restless minds. Don’t allow our thoughts to carry us away. Stay here now and be nobody. Emptiness. A vessel of the divine.” I did not want to be a vessel of the divine. I wanted to be a vessel of myself- so with rage in my gut I stood up and said much louder that I expected to “meditation is for loosers.” The whole room of silent, peace loving meditator’s turned around. Some looked shocked others looked enraged. As I turned around and walked out I had heard someone yell at me “you are the looser!”

Maybe I am a looser. I am almost forty years of age and I am yet to have any idea what I am going to do with my life. I still take money from my parents and my credit is horrible. Depression often sneaks up on me like an entity that wants to steal my soul. I spend a lot of time staring and blank walls mystified by the fact that I am in the prime of my life yet I have little ambition. The desire to make money and succeed is as strong in me as it is in a slug. I’d rather spend my days playing my trumpet than working away my life. It is possible that I am a looser. My millionaire friend is always impressed by my ability to do nothing. When I tell him that my strategy to prevent global warming from destroying humanity is to make as little money as possible and to stay at home as much as I can, he sneers at me in disbelief. He like most people does not understand my form of activism. “You should just spend your days in meditation,” he says to me. I know what he really means. He is saying to me, “you are a lost cause, a looser who can not save the world and this is why you should meditate.” We are at the edge of the roof, maybe it is not such a bad idea to just sit down and be still.

The Man Who Fell On Earth.

I must find a certain way out. To open up a sub atomic black hole that will absorb the planet earth and reveal a map for me to find my way back home. If I could create a thinly little pint size device that could bathe the earth in sub atomic particles maybe I could not only reveal the great secrets of your universe- the fabric of your cosmos, but I could also be back in the comforts of my bed by midnight. We live in such an elegant universe, but space and time are constantly trying to take me over- to envelope me in a three dimensional bubble. Newton, Einstein and Theoretical Physics make me feel like my perceptions are constantly changing, imbalanced. I like knowing that there are definite answers to things and my facility for common sense is getting blacked out and all hell is braking loose. There is no longer an absolute space but instead everything is moving at different rates, the universality of space is shattered and a shard of time has been stuck in my side. I feel like I am a trapped animal slowly bleeding to death.

I feel as if I am not moving relative to everyone else in time and space. There are paradoxes every where because the concept of time and space is not absolute. These paradoxes puzzle me. They restrict my breathing and make me anxious. I look at a situation and I am confused by the solutions which are no longer relative. It is like comparing apples and oranges that are separated from one another in space. Where did the symmetry go? Why have I lost my balance? How can I turn time around and create a universe where less time has elapsed? A universe in which I am younger and back in the comforts of my home? I am lost in time and can not comprehend why time moves forward. Dizziness sets in and I become perplexed. My legs grow weak and my mind scrambles to find answers to questions. I am depressed and everything becomes strange. This morning I saw a broken egg jump out of the pan and back into its egg shell! On earth we are familiar with events going one way in time and not the other- but lately I have been watching things happen in reverse order. No longer is there a symmetry in time. Things are not supposed to happen like this on earth and in my head.

The basic laws of Physics are beginning to puzzle me. For so many years I studied them and was certain that I understood. Now I must look all the way back to the beginning, the big bang- which imprinted a direction on time- a disorder that I can not seem to fix. I have often been told that a drive to disorder is why events always go one direction in time and not in reverse. Now, I and every one else I see and love is being driven crazy by this reverse order. Life on earth is in a state of degeneration and I am desperately searching for a way out.

Our current understanding of the world is a result of misread mathematics. Entropy and disorder always increases into the future- no matter how hard you work, how much money you make or how healthy you are. This is fact…we are all moving towards eventual decay. However, why is it that every time I cup an egg in my hand I feel like I am reflecting upon a feature of the entire universe. Electrons are dancing in my chest, I can feel the uncertainty of everything that humans confuse as matter. I know that there are features of the micro-world that I will never know with absolute certainty. When I am lying in bed I try and see inside of darkness but my attempts are usually futile. I ache with this need to know yet I have to make peace with the knowledge that I may never know where an electron is or how fast it is moving. The definite value of these particles I will always be uncertain about because in this earth bound reality, everything is an illusion. Including a way out.

When I look at my cat I can notice that my cat exists both simultaneously as alive and dead. I am troubled by this because the cat is neither here nor there. I can not find my cat in one stable environment. This is another earth bound paradox without resolution. The subtleties allude humans. Someplace in my motel room there is a wave function in which there are many possible worlds coexisting simultaneously. The cat is both half alive and half dead in each of these spaces. All around me there are these multiple universes in which in one universe the cat is alive and in the other universe the cat is dead!! Such an infinite number of universes inside of a Motel Six room. Sometimes I wonder if I am going to wake up and realize that I never existed in this world, that one quantum event will separate me from a world in which I existed. Instead I will be living in another universe, right beside this universe, in which I, Elvis Presley and my dead cat are still alive.

If I can unite The Theory Of The Very Big with The Theory Of The Very Small than I can determine exactly where things are in all these parallel universes. Maybe I can make electrons jitter and create a liberating hole that will free me from this universe. If the finest ingredient in the universe is a small filament of energy with a non zero size, than maybe I can find this ingredient and create a device that will allow me to measure everything in time and space. But for know I can not measure dimensions beyond length, width and height. I feel as if my consciousness is shrinking. Like I had an erection which is now going limp.

I am always searching for answers. Without these answers I know that I will be trapped here for an eternity. I spend my days in a desperate search. A frantic search. Like an obsessive compulsive searching for particles of dust in the carpet. Is it possible that the extra dimensions are so tiny that there is very little room for me to crawl into them- because I am to big? Or is it because of the way that I see? Is it possible that light is trapped in our third dimension and because it is trapped the light can not access other dimensions? Maybe gravity is my only hope. Maybe I can find a way for gravity to move into these other dimensions and let me know that they are there. The dispersion of gravity will create an inverse cube that will allow me to see into the subatomic level. I will be able to make gravity spread out and disperse. When gravity disperses into other dimensions, it will be like unlocking a door. I will be able to put on my finest suit and walk through this opened door- a free man, no longer confined by my job, time and space.

Nude Heroic Archer Warrior

It is difficult being broke. It seems as if I have been broke for an eternity. A perpetual state of brokenness. It hurts and it takes a toll upon my body and mind. This summer I have experienced nothing but time. Since I am a high school Teacher I have two months off and I am now going into my second month. All of the money I had saved up to get me through the summer is now gone. Parking tickets, car repairs, lavish meals, veterinarian bills and my own habitual inability to save has brought my bank account to a negative stand still.

There is still a month and a half to go until I receive a pay check. What I am going to do for money in the meantime has been my recent preoccupation. I am kept up at nights with worry and I have noticed that I have been drinking more. I have been using drunkenness as a way to silence my frenetic mind into some semblance of peace. It would also not be a lie to mention that I have been using beer as sleeping medication. Anything to silence the thoughts of impending doom and financial woe. It is all more than I can take. Never could I have imagined that being broke in America would be so painful.

Every morning when I awake I write a short story and then I meditate. When I am done doing this I go on-line and see if I can not find a legal way to make some sort of temporary income. I have considered illegal means, but decided that if I was caught I would destroy my professional reputation and never again find work as a reputable high school Teacher of high standing (literally, because I am 6 foot 5 inches). This morning I found a job listing for a Nude Heroic Archer Warrior. The only thing one needed to get the job was a decent figure and a willingness to pose in the nude with a bow and arrow. For one day of work the pay is $500.

I immediately sent the photographer a picture of myself and a note saying that I would be willing to do this job as long as no one else would be present and that there would be minimum syndication of the photograph. He immediately wrote back telling me that he thought I was decent enough looking to serve as his model and that it would only be himself and his wife in the room and that the photograph would only be for his portfolio. I scheduled a time to work with him for tomorrow and he has requested that I shower and shave before showing up.

When I told my wife about the job as a Nude Heroic Archer Warrior she looked at me in a state of shock. I had never seen her eyes open so wide and speak silent words. I felt awkward by the thick silence between us but then she let out a blistering laugh. She fell to the floor in a seizure of laughter when she realized that I was serious. “I thought I married a Teacher not a nude model?” she asked me when she was done with her laughing fit. “Listen baby, I am broke. My bank account is in a negative balance. I can’t find any temporary work so I need to take what I can get. If it means posing in the nude for 500 bucks so be it.” She stood in deliberation for a moment looking over my body like she could not believe that I had what it took to be a male model. Before walking away in disbelief she said “only in America do Teachers have to stoop so low to survive- you better hope none of your student get a hold of a photo of their Teacher posing in the nude with a bow and arrow.” I thanked her for her understanding and went into our bedroom. I stripped down into the nude and looked at my body in the mirror. All I could think was that I was going to look like a complete fool but man has got to eat.

The Stationary Novelist

It seems like forever that I have been trying to write a novel. For as long as I can remember it seems as if I have been saying “I am working on a novel.” For decades I have wanted to write a novel that would start a revolution of the mind and alter the way a generation thinks. All through out the day I am writing the pages of my novel in my head but very little seems to turn up on paper. I read the literary giants in the hopes that their words will inspire me towards the discipline that I hear that it takes to write a novel. Above my desk I have quotes by Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac and James Joyce about the act of writing a novel. Yet there are hundreds of unfinished novels in my head and for the past year I have spent more time petting my cat than I have spent writing my novel. It is like giving birth to a child that refuses to come out. I have been in labor for decades.

The other day I had a literary agent show some interest in my writing. He had read my blog and sent me an email to inquire if I had written a novel or book of short stories that was yet to be published. When I told him that I had been working on a novel entitled “The Fantastic Life Of Nobody Particular” for many years- he grew excited and asked me to send him the manuscript. When I told him that it was only a ten page manuscript he wrote back saying, “you have been working on a novel for a few years and only have ten pages finished? Maybe you should make more of a disciplined effort to write. You have a gift as I Writer. Very seldom do I find writers of your caliber who are unpublished. Why don’t you send me your manuscript when it is finished, even though I am assuming that by then we will both be very old men.” And that was that- I never heard from him again.

I start writing novels or stories and then I loose interest. As quickly as it came it goes away. Writing becomes like work and I have a tendency to procrastinate when it comes to work. I harbor deep indignation towards work because I feel like it is a punishment for sins that I never comitted. I am more like a cat. I like to drift, sleep and eat. When it comes to work- I almost feel insulted. Writing a novel is tremendous work, it is almost more work than building a city. How one man like me will ever be able to build a city…is an enigma to me. Maybe I just have to accept the fact that I am a stationary novelist. A novelist who will never write a novel. A ghost novelist who dreams up elaborate scenarios that will never be seen by the human eye. Sometimes I think that the sooner I make peace with this reality the sooner the weight of expectation will be lifted from my back and the easier it will be to live my life. The sky is falling anyways- do¬† human beings really need another novelist or novel to distract them from the reality in which they live? I suppose this is a question every stationary novelist has to answer for him or her self.