My Work Ethic?

Fuck. I don’t know why this word comes to mind as I stare into the blank screen thinking about what I am about to write. Fuck. Why fuck? Maybe fuck is the word that comes to mind when I think about my work ethic. Fuck. See, right when I think the term work ethic the next word that comes into my mind is fuck. Fuck. I need to think this one through a bit more.

The other day I was listening to the writer, musician and monologist talk about his work ethic. He was discussing how he came from a working class background and always needed to be gainfully employed. Ever since he was young he said that he has had this drive to work for a living. The idea of waking up in the morning and not having at least ten things that he has to do mortifies him. His worst fear is waking up in the morning and having nothing to do. Maybe this is why he has written over thirty books, made more than a dozen albums and still to this day travels around the world, performing his one man show more than 300 hundred days out of the year. The guy is terrified to stop. He would not know how to live without a hard days work.

I on the other hand am that guy who is happiest when he wakes up in the morning and has nothing to do. I am not driven by what Henry Rollins calls, “a deep need to pull your weight in the world.” Instead I seem to want to shed this weight, to be weightless. Henry Rollins seems to love being in fifth gear whereas I often feel stuck in first gear. Recently I have been thinking a lot about this feeling of being stuck in first gear. I have been wondering if it is a choice or just a bad habit. Am I lazy or enlightened? Have I chosen to not work my life away or do I just lack a work ethic?

Henry Rollins said something that really got my attention. He said that he thrives off of obligation. Obligation is the wind that moves him forward. He lives for obligation. I don’t know why but when I heard this the hair on my arms stood up. Obligation? He loves being obligated? I he kidding? Is this the link in my non-working chain that I have been missing? I can’t stand obligation. When I feel obligated to do something I feel pushed into a corner. I don’t want to do it. Obligation creates immense resistance in me. I seem to do everything that I can to avoid obligation. It is as if I have been hiding from obligation for as long as I know. Well maybe this is not true. I do not mind a small amount of obligation but I do know that in the course of a week I need much more time that is not obligated to anything or anyone than I do time that is obligated. Hmmm.

My wife said something to me the other day that made a lot of sense. She said that I love having money, I just don’t like having to work for it. It is true- I do love having money so that I can buy good food, records, clothes, books, treats for my dog, furniture, supplements and whatever else I may want. I enjoy the security that money brings to me. When I have money I no longer live in chronic fear of having to wait tables, bartend or ask my parents for money. I feel at ease. The problem is that I do not like to work for money. I do not enjoy working, never have. I prefer to spend my days floating around. Having the freedom to do what I want to do. The problem with this is that I know that money is not going to just randomly show up in my mailbox. I need to work for a living.

So I ask myself what is my work ethic? Fuck. But when I go deeper I realize that I do not really have a work ethic in the traditional sense. My work ethic is that I do not like work. I avoid work because work has never been pleasurable.  Somehow I have managed to spend considerable time in my adult life in what some workaholics might refer to as retirement. Being free from the terrible and dehumanizing world of managers, bosses, fellow employees and obligations is one of the greatest victories of my life. I intend to keep it this way.

I really do not think that it is fair of me to think that I do not work. As much as it may sound absurd to say, to live the way that I do within a culture that is obsessed with work- is no easy undertaking. It is a kind of work to not get caught up in the proverbial rat race. To maintain a life that is based in being as opposed to doing. When I meditate, read, write, draw and paint it is fair to say that I am working, but the work that I am doing is pleasurable. It does not feel like work. I am doing what I am doing because it is fun and freeing as opposed to motivated by any ambition to make my work about turning a profit. I am as uninterested in making money off of the work that I enjoy doing as I am in watching whatever sports team is playing on television tonight. But I also recognize that this may be a lie that I tell myself so that I can avoid working. So that I can spend more time living.

I suppose I am envious of people like Henry Rollins. He has found a way to do the work he loves and turn a profit from it. His work does not feel to him like work at all- it is just what he does. His strong work ethic pushes him to remain obligated, to get his work out into the world, to pull his weight in the world so to speak. But on the other hand Rollins discussed how he realizes that his need to work all the time is a way that he runs from having to deal with him self. He talks about how sitting still and doing nothing terrifies him because, then what? Then he would have to be with himself.

So maybe this is my work ethic. Fuck. It is a kind of non-work ethic. It is an ethic of being with myself, learning about myself and a desire to experience my life as it unfolds. It is an ethic of learning and growing as opposed to earning and working. I don’t know, this explanation of my work ethic does not fully satisfy me. A part of me feels that I am just rationalizing the fact that I am lazy, that I do what I can to avoid work. It is true- I love being. I love sitting still. I love being free enough to be able to watch the day unfold. I love how I have learned to spend my time. There is a quiet kind of satisfaction that I live with. It is this satisfaction that is my greatest wealth. But there is also this itch to do something more, to live a life that is relevant and accomplished. An itch to pull my weight in the world. A desire to help others. To work with my fellow human beings in a way that helps them to struggle a little bit less. Without this component of helping and interacting with other human beings (as opposed to the desire to make money off of them) something feels incomplete in my life.

In a sense my non-work ethic is a work ethic, it is just not a work ethic that is based in turning a profit and needing to stay busy everyday. I am more than comfortable with not being busy, with having nothing to do, with sitting still (and I am also aware that that in my society these ways of being can land a person in the poor house). And maybe this is ok. Maybe I can stay this way and things will continue to work out. I was in a bookstore the other day and the title of a self-help book caught my eye. It was called “Stay the Course and Keep Doing What You Do.” I liked the title so much that I took a picture of the cover so I could have it as a reminder. Stay the course and keep doing what you do. Things are working out even though I am far from being the hardest worker in the world. Some may say that my non-work ethic is working for me. A part of me agrees and feels that I need to keep riding this thing out and see where it takes me. But I also need to work. I just need a little help getting into second gear.

My Brief Love Affair with a Pool Sweep

I am currently going through a separation from my wife. I moved out from our small home in the country and have moved back into my parent’s large home in the suburbs. I am almost forty years old, living again in the room where I experienced my first erection, my first kiss and my first alcoholic beverage. There is even the first pornography magazine from the eighties that I diligently used as a teenager, still stuck in between the mattress and the box spring. My parent’s home sits on top of a solitary hill and is surrounded by century old oak trees, rolling hills, birds and skittish deer. In the backyard there are palm trees (air lifted from Hawaii), a plethora of native flowers and plants, a lot of stones and a large white-bottomed pool.

For six months out of the year my parent’s home is a ghost house. No one lives here. They pack up and go to live in their second home that is situated somewhere in the Idaho mountains. Other than a caretaker who shows up a few times a week to check on things, no one steps into this house. When I moved back in a little over a month and a half ago, I felt like I was moving into a space devoid of life. The furniture was covered in white sheets. The house creaked constantly. I cleaned up cobwebs, killed numerous mosquitoes and turned on the refrigerator and the freezer, both of which had nothing in them. I felt like a middle aged prodigal son coming home to the cruel tricks that time often seems to play on me. What was once my childhood home, filled with life and fervor had become nothing but a four walled remnant of what once used to be. I also could not help but feel like Thoreau returning to his solitary sixty-two acre pond. Except my pond was not a large pond in Concord, Massachusetts- my pond was the pool in my parent’s backyard.

Every morning I would wake up at eleven and rain or shine, the first thing that I would do is go out into the backyard. When I began this minor ritual a little over a month and a half ago I was an emotional mess. I would pull a chair up besides the pool and in the clothes that I had fallen asleep in I would cry. I would cry and cry and feel gut churning sadness for losing the life that I had with a woman whom I deeply loved. I cried for all the grief and suffering that I had caused her. I cried for days on end and after three or four days of continual grief, my grief began to ebb and flow in unpredictable tides. I would be fine one moment and then a thought or something that I noticed reminded me of my wife and I would fall into grief again. I felt like (and still do to a lesser extent) my heart strings were being played by a careless, manic musician.

In my parents backyard the silence is so palpable that I often could not help but to talk to myself. I would console myself out loud, talk to my disappearing wife and push slightly beyond the borders of sanity. Then one afternoon while I was lamenting my fate, a stream of cold chlorinated water sprayed directly into my face. Up until that point I had not noticed the small, amphibious pool sweep that spent its days rummaging around in the pool. With its four wheels, and two long hoses that danced around the pool floor, the pool sweep selflessly had been keeping my parents pool clean for years and I had barley noticed it. With chlorinated pool water stinging my eyes I watched the pool sweep makes its way around the pool, joyfully diving and surfacing, as if my grief meant nothing at all to it. By the end of the day I had forgotten all about the solitary pool sweep and once again was lost in my grief. The following morning while I was sitting besides the pool in what must of looked like a near catatonic state, the pool sweep again sprayed me directly in the face, mixing my tears with chlorine.

I’m not proud of what happened next, but please understand that I was not in my right mind. It is strange how quickly grief can turn into rage and turn a man from sweet to sour. At that moment a rage came over me so strong that I lost all logical reasoning. I was convinced that the pool sweep was mocking me, disrespecting my grief and making a target out of me for its own fun. My rage took over control of my body and caused me to jump head first into the pool, where I proceeded to swim after the pool sweep. But the weeks of grief had weakened and atrophied my muscles and the pool sweep out swam me into the deep end where I was unable to reach. I cursed the pool sweep and told it to stop fucking with me or else I would break its hoses and wheels. I then waded my way out of the water, short of breath and cold. I dried off in the sun- a man defeated by love and the world. A middle-aged man who could not even catch a pool sweep.

I sat there for a while on one of the pool chairs with my wet clothes sticking to my body and watched the pool sweep dance around the bottom of the pool floor. It looked so happy and carefree. It reminded me of distant times where I had felt a similar way. I thought about some of the more meaningful times that my wife and I had shared. The time that we bought our first dog together, the day I proposed to her by a pond in the graveyard, the time we went to an old bathhouse in Spain, the walk on the beach in Australia that was shortened by my fear of the wild dingoes and all the pleasurable times we spent sun bathing in my parents backyard and swimming in the pool. I remembered our days gardening and drinking coconut water in our backyard, the time that I taught her how to ride a bike and the five-course meal that she made for me on New Years Eve. I cried as these memories filled my mind but as I watched the pool sweep make its way around the pool, I felt the thorny edges of a smile crack the rusted sides of my lips. My tears gradually dried and dissipated and I spent the rest of that afternoon falling in love with a pool sweep.

Something about watching the pool sweep made me suddenly feel less alone. I gave it a name as all people do to things that make them feel less alone. I decided to call the pool sweep R2D2 and I even began to anthropomorphize it by asking the R2D2 questions. I told myself that when R2D2 sprayed one time that meant yes, when it sprayed two times that meant no and any more than two sprays meant stupid question. I would ask simple questions, being sensitive to the fact that R2D2 had not had the same opportunities as I for a good education. I would ask questions such as: “would I ever be free of this tormenting grief?” “In the long run are my wife and I doing the right thing by getting a divorce?” and “will we be better off in the future because of all of this?” I specifically asked questions that required more of a heart than a head but I never received much of a reply. Then one morning a few days later while I was sitting by the pool feeling the heat of the early afternoon sun dry my tear agitated eyes, this realization came into my head: Emotion is an energy. It is right to feel pain. Embrace it. Learn. Life is but a blip and time shows the way. I did not need to think about this very much because it immediately made perfect sense to me. Immediately grief seemed to be blocked from colonizing my soul. I felt a sense of unfamiliar calm come over me and when I looked at R2D2 it was resting in the center of the pool staring straight at me. It was then that I realized that my sudden realization had come directly from a pool sweep.

For the first time in months I was overcome with joy. R2D2 communicated to me a wisdom that seemed to patch the holes that were causing love to leak out from my heart. I stood up, walked to the side of the pool and dove head first into the unheated, over chlorinated water. With a smile on my aging face I swam over to R2D2. I lifted R2D2 and held it in my arms. I thanked it profusely for the insight that it had given to me while kissing it from head to hose. Never underestimate the power of a much-needed insight to unite man and machine. Together we swam around the pool until I was not strong enough to swim any more. For the first time in weeks I felt a sense of relief, I felt the possibilities of a new life and the reassurance that my broken heart was not going to kill me. The idea that I could have a new life, the potential to feel good again imbued my body with a detoxifying energy that was slowly bringing me back from the dead. Now looking back on this paradigm-shifting afternoon, I cannot help but attribute it all to my beloved R2D2.

The following day I felt the motivation to begin re-building my life. For the first time since I had moved back into my parents home I did not get out of bed at eleven and go sit out besides the pool for the rest of the afternoon. Instead I would get out of bed at around eight in the morning, do a thirty-minute meditation and then take a long walk. I would go out and get something to eat and then come home and begin looking for a job. I started listening to music again and took daily showers and shaved for the first time in months. Sadness would still come up in me at unpredictable moments but rather than allowing myself to fall into a near catatonic state I simply followed and embraced the energy that was moving through me. Days went by in this semi productive state. I went on a few job interviews, took some yoga classes and went into San Francisco where I began visiting a few friends. I was slowly getting back into a less grief filled life. I was embracing my heartache and learning from it- but while doing all of this I forgot about R2D2.

A few weeks passed by and the bouts of grief were getting less and less. I was smiling more and crying less. I had found a job working as an after school tutor for inner city junior high students and the solitude of my parents home was no longer as frightening as it once was. One morning I awoke early and after my meditation I decided to go sit out by the pool and check on R2D2. I looked forward to visiting with R2D2 and thanking it for healing wisdom it had imparted to me. When I walked out into the backyard the first thing that I noticed was that R2D2 was not moving. I walked over to the side of the pool where ten feet underneath R2D2 sat lifeless. I got down onto my stomach and looked deeply into the water where I noticed that one of R2D2’s hoses was wrapped around its wheels and net. I did not notice any of the usual bubbles that spewed forth from R2D2’s happy head. Immediately I stood up and dove head first into the pool. I do not know if it was the absence of chronic grief in my life and the healing that was resulting or the adrenaline that is released from a person in crisis situations- but I was suddenly strong enough to swim down ten feet to the bottom of the pool, undue the hose from R2D2’s lifeless body and swim back up to the surface with the R2D2 in my arms. I was not hyperventilating or gasping for air but instead I was begging R2D2 not to die, to hold on and to breathe. I swam over into the shallow end where I placed R2D2 on the side of the pool and cleaned out all the leaves that had collected in its net, blocking its air passages. I used both my hands to move its wheels hoping that I could somehow re-simulate life into R2D2. Minutes passed and I felt a few tears begin to fall down the side of my face. I still remember the rhetorical question that ran through my head at that moment: how could God be so unfair as to so cruelly take the life of the one thing that gave me life? I blamed my grief and guilt on a God that not even I believed in. I tried to do everything I could to bring R2D2 back, I even asked this illusive God for help. But the more time that passed the more I realized that R2D2 was never going to swim again.

For those of you who have never fallen in love with a pool sweep before, the ending of my story may sound a bit ridiculous to you. But how can I expect those of you to understand something that you have never experienced before? I understand that I run the risk here of being perceived and judged as a man who has become mentally ill as a result of the grief caused by getting a divorce. I expect some of you to conclude that I am not fit to be functional member of society. But I have always spoken honestly in my writings and I do not want my fear of how you may think of me to get in the way of being brutally honest here at the end of my story. So despite my concerns, I will proceed. After I realized that R2D2 had passed I sat in one of the pool chairs and held R2D2 in my arms. I cried like a child who has just been abandoned by the only two people he knows in the world. I cried out all the grief that could ever exist in the world. I cried so loud that I scared all the birds out of the trees and all the deer out of the surrounding hills. In losing R2D2 I now realize that I was also deeply mourning the loss of my wife. When my wailing seemed to subside, I put R2D2 down on the pool chair and went inside the house and changed out from my wet clothes. I put on black jeans, a black t-shirt and did not have the energy to put on any shoes or socks. I then grabbed a towel from the closet, a shovel from the garage and went back into the backyard. I covered R2D2 in the towel and then I walked into the hills where I began to dig a deep hole underneath an old oak tree. While I was digging my tears fell onto the ground and seemed to moisten the earth, making it less difficult to dig into.

Once I finished digging a hole that would be large enough for me to place R2D2 into I walked back down to where R2D2 lay covered in a towel. I picked R2D2 up into my arms and walked back up into the hills. I placed R2D2 into the dark hole and then stood there for a moment staring at R2D2. My tears momentarily ceased as I thanked R2D2 for its wisdom and friendship. It has never been easy for me to let go of things and people in my life and burying R2D2 felt to me like I was also burying a very important part of my past. I took a few deep breaths and remembered the times that I would watch R2D2 happily and carelessly swim around in the pool. I remembered the time that I tried to chase R2D2 down but it successfully out swam me. I remembered the time that R2D2 gave me a sudden realization and freed me from the shackles of chronic and crippling grief. I felt very grateful for R2D2’s existence in my life and as I took the shovel in my hand and began to bury the R2D2 into the earth I felt at peace with the truth that nothing lasts forever. Once I had completely covered up the whole, I smoothed out the dirt with the shovel and then stuck a large boulder onto of the spot where R2D2 was buried so that I could return to this spot whenever I needed. A few tears leaked out from my eyes as I looked down at my bare feet and toe nails that were covered in dirt. I then looked up through the branches of the old oak tree and stared into the sun that hung in the sky. I closed my eyes for a minute or two and felt the suns warm breath heat up the skin on my face. I could hear the sounds of wind chimes and dried leaves rustling in the light breeze. It was at that moment that I knew that everything would eventually be okay. My wife and myself, eventually time would show us the way. With the shovel in my hand, I avoided looking at the pool and walked back down the hill towards my house. I imagined that it was mid-afternoon and I needed to get dressed for work.

Nothing Man

Every once in a while I learn something new about myself. Sometimes these learning flashes will come to me while I am sitting at a bar having a drink or while on a mid-afternoon walk. My most recent learning flash came to me while sitting on a park bench underneath an old oak tree. The mid-afternoon sun wallowed in the sky and the heat was so intense that I was reluctant to ever leave the shade of the grand oak. So I sat there. I did not read, I did not listen to music. I just sat there with my eyes and ears open, thinking about my life. And then the flash came to me.

For most of my adult life I have yearned to be an author and a painter- a successful artist of some sort. The past ten years I have painted many paintings, written various things, and produced hundreds of drawings. But I have done nothing more than this. I have had no gallery shows, I have gotten nothing published in print and have done very little to advance my career as an artist. As much as I have wanted to be a working artist I have lacked the ambition needed to be successful in anything in this world (although if reading was a career I could have made a fortune by now). Making money from my art has never been the reason why I paint or write so having to market my work has always been difficult for me. And then on that park bench it came to me- what I really really enjoy doing is nothing at all.

What I mean by this is I enjoy the freedom to be. The freedom to wonder in the mid-afternoon sun. The freedom to sit on a park bench for as many hours as I need without having somewhere to go. I enjoy going for walks and not knowing where I will end up. I enjoy having nothing to do, doing nothing. Some may refer to this passion of mine as “bumming around,” and I would have to say that this is not an unfair judgment. In our current society being a bum has a negative connotation because it opposes the world of work that we have become so addicted to. Capitalism would fall apart if too many people were content doing nothing (sitting on a park bench) so the bum has been demonized as a failure, a lazy and shiftless person who seeks to live solely on the support of others. But a large part of me is a bum who does not want to have my feeling of freedom suffocated by work or a job (even sitting at my desk and writing can feel suffocating at times). The bum part of me just wants to loiter around, grow my hair long, be in a perpetual state of awe, read my books, feel the mid afternoon sun bake my flesh and enjoy the pleasures of being, doing nothing and going nowhere. Yes, this is what I enjoy most in life.

When I had this learning flash I had a realization that I had not had before. I am a nothing man. I did not feel any guilt for being a nothing man. Instead for the first time in my life I felt good about this- I wanted to own it with pride. I accepted this nothing man as a part of who I am and then I thought of ways that I could integrate this into my day-to-day reality. I realize that if a person wants to be successful at anything in life there is a certain amount of “sitting behind a desk and working that one has to do.” But maybe I can find the art in doing nothing (which is really doing something, but just not with the intention to work and generate profit). Maybe I can carry around a camera and a tape recorder and document the things I see, hear, smell and think while doing nothing. Maybe this is a way of making something out of doing nothing? Or maybe I could just let go of my ego and be content with just being, with not being ambitious and simply enjoy my life without the nagging desire to be anything? All of these thoughts and many more rushed into my head as I sat on the park bench, staring out into a large wide open grassy field with dried flowers lingering all around. I sat there for a few more minutes and then got up and continued on doing nothing with my day.

My New Wave Mid-Life Crisis

My wife told me yesterday that I have been wearing too much black. “But it is my favorite color,” I replied. “It is not a color,” she said. “It is. And for me it is a color that is symbolic of something very personal,” I said. My wife has not been able to understand the alteration that I have gone through in the past few months. I have gone from a rather ordinary looking 38-year-old to a full-fledged new waver. I have been sticking my dyed black hair straight up with aqua net and a hair dryer. I have been painting my finger nails with black nail polish everyday and I wear black eye liner. As I already mentioned I only wear all black clothes and I have a silver crucifix that hangs down to the center of my chest. What I am describing to you is a radical transformation for me. It is a look that I once had in my youth but I never imagined that it would return twenty-five years later. “You’re an adult now, and this look just does not work anymore,” my wife explains, but I do not agree with her. I think I look just fine the way I am.

My new wave transition started after I went through a brief obsessive stage listening to the music of Tears For Fears, Jesus And Mary Chain, The Cure, The Psychedelic Furs and others. The music re-connected me with a certain feeling that I had not felt since I was young. My world has become enclosed with the expectations and responsibilities that adult life seems to entail. These expectations and responsibilities create a kind of worried mood that is never satisfied with what is. The new wave music that I began listening to again, a few months back, re-connected me with a feeling the I possessed in my youth- a happiness with the way things are and a desire to never change. Ofcourse change is inevitable and the desire to not change is a naive luxury that youth can afford, but since I have gone back to my new wave ways I have felt this desire to stay the same, to be myself in a way that I have not had a chance to be in a long time.

My wife and my boss do not understand this explanation. They think that I am going through a mid-life crisis. My boss is threatening to fire me if I do not stop coming to work with black eye liner and crucifix on. I try to explain why I look the way that I do and how the way I look is a natural expression of an inner connection with who I really am. I am happier in all black and having my hair hairsprayed straight up gives me s sense of purpose/meaning because I do not look like everybody else. My boss does not understand. He finds all of my “antics” completely unacceptable. “I need you to come to work looking professional and being prepared to work. I am not employing you to be some kind of self absorbed aging new wave flashback. I have hired you because I believe that you are a good employee and you get the job done, but the way you have been looking and acting the past month is unacceptable,” he says with a very cold and corporate demeanor. I try to talk about my feelings, about how I am being true to my inner core but his position is impossible to change.

My wife called my therapist to talk with her about what is going on. My wife is concerned that I am going to lose my job. I try to tell her that if my boss can not accept me for who I am then I do not want to work for him anyways. After all the world of work was and is not really for me. I am more of a dreamer, a free spirit. I should have been a musician or successful artist but instead I have spent most of my life with my head in the clouds and gotten very little work done. “You need to change, you can change,” my wife said. I replied by saying, “hey those are the lyrics from a great Tears For Fears song!” I was hopeful that maybe she was starting to speak my language, to see things my way, but I was wrong. “Look I really need you to stop this nonsense. You have to work because you have no other options. You are not a famous musician like Robert Smith. You do not have the luxury to dress in whatever crazed way you want to. You need to keep a job, to do what your boss says or else you will not be able to afford anything!! You can still listen to new wave music but you need to change the way you look!! A grown man does not wear black eye liner to work!!!”

When I was young I took for granted the way I looked. I thought I would look the way I looked then, forever. I took for granted the wide open future as a space in time in which things would remain the same. I never imagined that my lifestyle, my friends and my passions would grow old, rust and become so out of fashion. I still have many of the hurts, pains and sorrows that I had when I was a young new waver but now as an older man the one thing I no longer have is the freedom to express these hurts, pains and sorrows the way I once did. I am not yet ready to grow old, to grow up and let go of my youth filled dreams. I am not yet ready to become a professional man with a worn out face who lives a certain life because it is the only reasonable option that is open for him. I still want to be new wave, to wear all black and embody the spirit that I was when young.  So I will keep my black headphones around my neck, the black nail polish on my finger nails and try to continue to be me in this mad world where people run around in circles. I find it all kinda of funny and kind of sad………..but now I need to get ready for work.

The Joy Of Being Out Of Work

“I need so much time for doing nothing that I have no time for work.” -Pierre Reverdy

“It pisses me off every time I think about anybody thinking that work will liberate.” -Bell Hooks

“I am presently too prosperous for work.” -me

Please do not tell my wife what I am about to say. She would not be very happy about the sentiments that I am going to express here. You see, I don’t mind being out of work. Most Americans live in fear of this prospect, but I embrace it. Granted, the financial stress and my wife’s condemnations are hard to carry around from day to day, but the otherwise chronic feeling of liberation and freedom makes never having enough money easier to deal with. You see, America is a country based upon the principle of work and the illusion of freedom. Without a full-time job in this country you are screwed or relegated to the periphery. Without job and ensuing money one is unable to enjoy the bountiful materialism and gluttony that America has to offer. To not get to partake in this feast can be taxing on the nerves and self esteem, however since I have been out of work for more than eight months I have been asking myself, could there be another way live?

Now don’t get me wrong. I like nice things as much as the next person. I love going to spas, eating nice meals, taking yoga classes, drinking high end wine and having a luxurious bed to sleep in- but I don’t partake in these things at the moment. Instead what I have gained is time. A plethora of time. By not having a job I have lost money but gained time. Time to sleep in, time to sun bathe in mid afternoon, time to go for long walks everyday, time to read the books that I love to read, time to work on a novel, time to be with my wife, time to watch the sun set, time to contemplate the nature of existence, time to meditate, time to better my relationship with my cat and time to work on my own spiritual and psychological development (in other words I have time to be fully alive). When I think back to the time when I was working a job I remember not having much time for any of these simple pleasures. I was stressed out, tired, discontent and overworked. Sure I had a lot more money in my bank account. I knew the rent was going to be paid. I could afford to go out to dinner every night and see a shrink. I could buy my cat expensive cat food and take him to the vet when he had a chronic itch. But I got to ask- was all this really worth it?

In physics work is defined as the amount of energy transferred by a force. In thermodynamics work is defined as the quantity of energy transferred from one system to another. Work refers to human labor and labor is a measure of work done by human beings. Even though work is a loss of energy for the human being, work is not necessarily a bad thing. I know many people who truly love working (even though I think this is because they have forgotten the simple pleasures of living). If one is transferring their energy into something that is a unique expression of who they are and what they love- then I would say that even though work will be exhausting, it could be worthwhile. Even though it is a generalization, I believe it to be an accurate generalization to say that most people who work in America are transferring energy from themselves into another system, a process, which they do not enjoy or love but do because they need to pay the bills and attempt to live the illusive American dream.

I always saw work as an unfair punishment. Just because Adam fucked up in the Garden of Eden does not mean that my life should be subjected to a life spent working by the sweat of my brow. This does not seem fair to me. Living in America, I cannot help to see the numerous amounts of people who are willingly paying the price for Adam’s sin. The whole edifice of America is based upon people laboring day after day by the sweat of their brow just because Adam had to eat a piece of fruit.

I don’t mind putting effort to accomplish a task. I do this when I write, paint, walk, cook, read and clean out the birdcage. What I do mind is when I feel obligated to transfer energy from one system to another system when I cannot stand the whole process. And this is where the problem of employment comes in. You see, employment is a contract between two parties, one being the employer the other being the employee. An employee may be defined as a person in the service of another under any contract of hire, express or implied, oral or written, where the employer has the power to control and direct the employee in the details of how the work is done. Employees provide labor. I think it is fair to say that most American are employees and I feel like it is also fair to say that this condition has created a country built upon the backs of slaves.

I have always made a terrible employee. I do not appreciate being told what to do- especially by employers who just want to use up all of my energy without any thought about my own personal well-being. In my twenty years of working I have only experienced brief moments of pleasure as an employee and I think it is fair to assume that this true for most of us. No one likes being told what to do, no one likes being used, no one enjoys having energy sucked from them- but this is what it means to be an employee. This is why Americans are so fascinated by celebrities, who are people who have escaped from the human bondage of being an employee. Employee’s look upon these celebrities with envy, in the same way the Greeks once looked upon their Gods. You see, in American the employee is no longer shackled by visible chains- instead they are shackled by car payments, credit cards, cable bills, electric bills, taxes, mortgages and the marketed desire for the American dream. What we Americans end up giving away in exchange for the American dream is free time and freedom.

Since I have been out of work I have had to give up my cable bill, move into a less expensive home, not eat out so often and spend more time reading rather than going out for entertainment. I have had to sleep in rather than get up early and spend a lot more time with myself, nature, fresh air then with bosses and people wanting things from me. I have been redefining success as a way of thinking where I realize that leisure is essential to my mental health rather than a cause for guilt. I have realized that I do not have to spend my life struggling, striving to make ends meet through working a job. I am learning to appreciate what I have instead of endlessly questing for more growth and discovering my passions without worrying about trying to fit them into the form of a job.

It is now eleven am and everyone that I know is at work. My mother just called me and asked if I have found a job yet. My Grandfather told me in my dream how important it is that a man works hard ever day. Outside it is raining and there is traffic in the streets. I am still dressed in what I slept in, my hair is uncombed and I have just finished breakfast. Even though outside the world of maximizing profits is full swing, inside the walls of my home I feel like I am living on an island, outside the system; an unemployed exile in my own country. I wonder if the only way to really save the planet is to have more people out of work, at home and spending more time with themselves. I know this will never happen because I live in a culture addicted to getting stuff done and accumulating wealth in exchange for freedom. Everyone wants to be somebody, to accomplish something and have the social status and economic prosperity that comes along with it. But I think this is faulty logic. The world of work and accumulation has no beginning and no end. It is like the cat chasing its own tail, and for what? I would rather rest, write, breathe, read and be. I would rather keep my energy for myself, my health, my peace of mind rather than laboring it away day after day. But maybe this is an impossible dream, a joy that refuses to hang around because eventually I have to go back to work (if I want to keep my wife).

At The End Of A Rainbow

 

Ever wonder if there is really a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?

It had been raining for a week straight. Streets had become shallow rivers and plants were drowning in excess water. A dusty shade of gray had colored in the sky until yesterday, when the clouds decided to break. I was sitting at my desk trying to keep my mind off the dismal weather outside. A pen drawing of a nude woman sat unfinished on my desk for hours because I was having difficulty staying interested in it. I had the radio on and repeatedly looked up from the drawing and stared out the window. I watched the rainfall and my spirit took delight in the birds that I saw sliding across the wet sky. Then it happened. The sun began cracking through the gray colored sky like an eye that was struggling to perceive the divine when off to my right I noticed something that I was not used to seeing through my window. What was taking shape right before my tired eyes- was the birth of the most resplendent rainbow I had ever seen.

The colors of the rainbow began to form gradually and then grew into bright vibrating hues of red, yellow, blue, green and violet. I sat mesmerized at my desk watching this creation of nature unfold in front of me. For a moment I was reminded of the rainbow flag that was used in the German Peasants war in the 16th century as a sign of a new era, of hope and change. So much awe overcame me that I had to go outside and watch the birth of this rainbow without the obstruction of a window. I noticed other residents of my neighborhood coming outside their homes and observing the same thing that was mesmerizing me. Bicyclists, dog walkers and joggers all stopped to watch the uncanny sight. The luminous rainbow covered the entire length of the city in which I live and owned the sky like a majestic doorway into some unknown place.

After ten minutes or so of staring at the rainbow, I slowly lost interest and decided to come back inside and finish the nude drawing. Even though what I should have been doing was spending my day looking for a job, I am a master procrastinator who will find the most obscure ways to distract myself from what really needs to get done. As I worked on the women’s hips the idea that there is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow, popped into my mind. As a child my mother, my grandmother, a baby sitter and several of my teachers had often told me this but as I grew older other adults told me this idea was just a myth or a superstition. I believed these adults without ever really checking for myself to see if they were right or wrong. Now, however, I was in a different predicament. I was a thirty-eight-year-old man, a victim of the great recession who was out of work and unable to pay next months rent if I did not find some money fast. When the thought occurred to me that I should go check and see if there really was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow– I said to myself “what the hell- I got nothing to lose.”

I am an average, lower middle-class man. I am a dull man with very few friends, who would rather not work be left alone so I can read books. When I found myself putting on warm clothes to go on a long journey in the cold and emptying out my backpack to take with me (just in case I did find gold) the thought did occur to me that maybe I had lost my mind. “Maybe I already lost my sanity months ago and this is the real reason why I am broke and having a hard time finding a job,” I thought to myself. I tried not to listen to this judgmental voice of mine and just focused my attention on what I remember my grandmother saying to me many years ago when she showed me my first rainbow. “The end of the rainbow is further way than you think, but if you keep on walking really far you will be rewarded by finding the most beautiful pot of gold right where all those brilliant colors touch the ground,” she said to me.

It must have been below fifty degrees outside when I began my “end of the rainbow” search. I threw away the naked drawing I had been working on and fed the cat before I left. I had an empty backpack on my back, thick gloves on my hands, a wool hat covering my ears and the anticipation of an excited child inside my rapidly beating heart. As I walked I imagined to myself what my life could really be like if I found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I would be able to not only pay my rent next month but also never again have to spend sleepless nights terrified by what I was going to do if I ran out of money. I would not have to eat beans out of a can anymore or tell my wife that I cannot afford to meet her for lunch or dinner. No more frozen food. No more ripped socks and old underwear. No more jobs and bosses I cannot stand. No more suffocating anxiety every time I spend more than a dollar. If there is a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, I told myself, I will be free.

These thoughts caused me to walk faster. I could feel anticipation in my feet. As I walked I noticed more people stopped in the streets, watching the rainbow in a state of awe. I however did not bother to look up. I had both my eyes set on one place, and one place only- where the colors of the rainbow touched the ground. My grandmother was not wrong when she told me that I would have to walk really far. The closer I thought I was getting to the end of the rainbow the further away that it seemed to be. When I finally felt as if I had reached the end- the rainbow moved a little further from me. After an hour or so of walking frantically I was exhausted but determined not to give up. The thought did not occur to me that the end of the rainbow could be an optical illusion, like a pool of water in the middle of a hot desert. Had that thought come into my mind- I may have given up.

One belief that I have never let go of is that all perseverance is rewarded in the end. It must be! With this belief buried deep in my heart I kept on walking towards the end of the rainbow no matter how many times it seemed to shift. I walked off road and went through horse stables, ravines, cornfields and forest areas with thick overgrown shrubbery. I felt like a warrior on a mission that I would never surrender when in reality I was just a man who really needed money.

As I walked out from a claustrophobic cornfield that threatened to burry me alive, I finally came upon the end of the rainbow. There it was before me touching down in the middle of a dirt field in the middle of nowhere. All around was nothing but miles and miles of wide-open farmland. The end of the rainbow was not more than half a mile away from me and without a moments hesitation I began to run across the field with the slow speed and tight muscles of someone who has not exercised in months. I was willing to die for what could be at the end of that rainbow. I felt terribly out of breath as I ran but I forced myself to run faster because I was afraid that the end of the rainbow would get away. But all my determination paid off, because right when I could run no more I stood directly in front of the radiant colors of refracted light. I had made it to the place where “the brilliant colors touch the ground.” But my grandmother failed to tell me about what would happen next.

It was not until I was finally able to catch my breath that I was able to see what was in front of me. A young woman, no older the twenty-five, was rainbow bathing in the nude in the center of the rainbow. It took me a moment to see whether or not what I was seeing was real or just the result of an exhausted mind. Sure enough, when she sat up and looked at me with a bright smile I could see that what I was seeing was not an illusion. She was lying on a red towel that had the word “Hawaii” all over it. She watched me as I watched her until I finally got the courage to say to her, “excuse me. Ah….I do not mean to bother you…. but did you by chance…. find a pot of gold in there?” I knew that what I was saying must have sounded ridiculous, a little insane but she did not laugh or seem in the slightest bit surprised by my question. She just stood up and said to me “why don’t you get undressed and come in here and see.”

I felt my throat tighten up. I was shocked. The young woman was too beautiful, so perfect in every way that I felt like something had to be wrong. Things like this just do not happen to me. I was much older than her and could not understand why she would want to see me naked. I was slightly embarrassed but again I reminded myself that I had nothing to lose. The young lady stood there in all her nudity, patiently waiting for me to make up my confused mind. I was still thinking about the pot of gold. I so badly wanted the money. “Maybe it is hidden someplace in there, maybe she is hiding it,” I thought to myself. So like any desperate person would do- I said what the hell, got undressed and walked into a rainbow. She reached out her hand for me and I walked in just as naked as the day I was born- except for my wedding ring and the backpack in my hand (just in case I was going to find the pot of gold).

I remember reading someplace that the ultraviolet light put off by rainbows was beneficial for skin cells and blood. The light was filled with vitamins D, K, E, C and numerous antioxidants. I was comforted by the thoughts of these health benefits (since I have been struggling with some health challenges) as the young woman held my hand and escorted me towards her red towel. One of the only things she said to me during our time together was “there is no need to talk. Just feel and allow yourself to let go.” When we sat down side by side on the towel I tried not to stare at her naked body. I could not tell what mesmerized me more- being besides an exquisite naked young lady or being inside a rainbow. I also could not tell if it was the warm rays of a rainbow heating up my body or if it was my nervousness that was making me warm. The young woman started to rub my back with the palm of her warm hand and then whispered into my ear “lay back, let go and feel.” It was at this moment that the thought- “maybe she is an angel,” ran through my mind.

I followed her directions since I was in no condition to argue. I was a little concerned about getting an erection but I took my mind of off any sexual thoughts by visualizing a pound of ground beef. She lay down besides me- so close that I could feel her skin breathing. Together we lied there, not saying anything to one another, just feeling the warmth of the rainbow. Slowly I felt my eyes close and my heart slow. For the first time in months I felt my mind become still and my body felt at ease. I was hovering someplace between bliss and relaxation, feeling the individual colors and mist of the rainbow nurturing my skin. I was not cold and there were no thoughts about needing money frantically swimming around in my mind. I could swear the sun was shinning and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. I did not worry about anything. For the first time in months- I did not think about how I was going to find a job or what I was going to do. Everything seemed to become silent except the exquisite sounds of the vibrating rainbow. The last thing I remember saying was “wow!” before I finally let go, let go, let go, let go.

When I opened my eyes I was lying naked in the middle of dirt field. I did not know if an hour or days had passed. Cold rain was falling on my body and there was no longer any an inch of sun in the sky. I looked around and all I could see was miles and miles of farmland. Besides me was my empty backpack and a few feet from me were all of my clothes neatly folded and placed in a pile The young girl was gone and so was the rainbow. I was shivering from the cold when I got up to put on my wet pants, shirt, sweater, and shoes. I looked around me to see if anyone else had witnessed what had just happened. No one. I put on my wool hat, gloves and backpack and started walking out of the dirt field. I did not feel sad, frustrated or confused. In fact I did not feel any negative emotion at all. I simply felt each step I took and listened to the raindrops as they fell all around me with a deep sense of satisfaction. When I finally made it back to the road I turned around and looked at the field that I had been lying naked in. It was at that point that I thought to myself, “so that is what they mean by a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.” I smiled, took a deep breath and began my long journey home.

“Beat It”

“Do you like to sing in the shower?” one of my students asked me in the middle of class. It was an innocent question and little did I know that my reply might cost me my job. The class was being observed by three education bureaucrats, who sat in the corner of the classroom with laptops on their legs, into which they took notes about my class and my teaching abilities. The school I work at is trying to receive more funding from the state so the bureaucrats came to evaluate the school and see if it was worthy of extra funding.

“Of course I do,” I said. “What song?” she asked. “Beat It,” I innocently replied with out thinking first how my response would be interpreted. It was an honest reply after all- I have been singing “Beat It” in the shower for most of my adult life. I did not realize that I may have made a fatal mistake until I noticed the hanging jaws and the looks of dismay on all three of the state bureaucrat’s faces. They looked like three people who had just seen a ghost.

“The song by Micheal Jackson, you know beat it, beat it…no one wants to be defeated,” I sang as the class laughed and made all kinds of comments like “I’ll bet you beat it it in the shower” and “do you have a thriller after you beat it?” Trying to silence the class while digging myself out of the hole that I had unintentionally dug for myself I continued to explain that it gave me great pleasure to sing Micheal Jackson songs in the shower. ”They are just songs!!!” I said trying to imply that the thought of masturbation in the shower never occurred to me. One of my students, of course had to shout out- “I’ll bet it brings you great pleasure…… Teacher.”

For the rest of the class period I was terribly uncomfortable. The three bureaucrats in the corner did not look at me once and seemed to be no longer writing things in their laptop computers. I tried every which I knew how to prove that I was an exemplary Teacher- rather than some perverted pedophile- but I am afraid that the hole was to deep to dig my way out of. Students continued to heckle me about beating it in the shower while I lectured about the bad luck that seemed to bring about Romeo and Juliet’s death. Little did I know that I was also talking about the bad luck which might just cost me my job.

After school I was called into the Principle’s office where he sat me down with an abrupt and angry gesture of his hand. Immediately he looked into my eyes and said, “the state administrators told me about the sexually suggestive remark you made in class today and the ensuing inappropriate remarks that your comments provoked in the students. The administrators are very concerned about the level of Teachers that I hire at this school because of your suggestive comment. Now we may not receive the money that we need from the state unless you are willing to be subjected to investigation by the state to guarantee that you are suitable to be teaching our children.” I tried to explain to him that Micheal Jackson was one of my favorite performers and that I really did sing Micheal Jackson songs in the shower. I tried to tell him that my reply had nothing to do with masturbation- which was the farthest thing from my mind. He replied, “as a Teacher I expect you to be able to draw the boundaries between appropriate things to say and inappropriate things to say. You are a role model for the students and I trust that you have the skill to think before you speak.” I wanted to say that we should be able to be open and honest about everything rather than walking around on egg shells and deciding what is appropriate or inappropriate for others- instead I put my head down and apologized for my lack of tact.

While walking to my car I could hear students singing “beat it, just beat it,” while they made suggestive sexual motions with their bodies. One of my students yelled at me, “hey Teacher don’t beat it in the shower too much- you might grow hair on your palms.” And then there was a loud sound of group laughter. I got into my car and wanted to get away from the school as soon as possible. In my head were the final words of the principle who said, “Myself and the board of directors are going to re-evaluate whether or not you are going to be kept on as a Teacher or given a suspension until the investigation. I know that you are a good man but I question your ability to be a role model.” As I left the school property and turned onto the main road heading in the direction of my house- I started to cry. “Why was I always the one???” I repeated over and over as if I was seeking an answer from the universe. Then to calm my nerves I turned on the radio, which ironically enough was playing a cover version of Micheal Jackson’s “Beat It.” It was being performed by a high school choir from Nebraska.

Will Write For Food (Organic) Or Money.

What little money I once had seems to have dissolved with a speed that not even entropy could compete with. Now you may all be thinking that entropy is a slow and gradual process, but I would argue that this is true until you have reached the end. Then entropy feels is if it had taken no time at all to move towards an end (it is like how older people say “my life has passed so quick!”). I once had money, plenty of money- but now my bank account is a few dollars away from a negative balance and there is little relief in site. It all happened so quick.

I have never been a terribly ambitious man. I have lived my life with a certain contentment that has always worried my father and made me into a man with little accomplishments- if any. I have taken each day as a thing unto or into itself and worried little for another day which everyone has always told me will follow. I have kept to myself and cultivated my own rose garden but now in my 36th year of life it seems as if this rose garden is in jeopardy of complete destruction. I have not the money to afford the soil that I need to harvest my beautiful roses. Instead I have been using compost- and it is no longer seeming to do the trick.

Money has always been an issue in my life. My parents have always had lots of it and I have seemed to struggle with cents in comparison. I have been waiting for fame to strike like a desperate man who is watching a clock move at a speed, which seems to suggest that the clocks batteries are about to die. My financial woes have been comforted by a perpetual thought of impending fame, which so far has only been a gross delusion of my misguided mind. “Tomorrow,” my mind says- “you will write a novel or be discovered to play a role in a film that will abolish all of your financial burdens, so don’t worry about today- just drink a beer and relax.” It is as if my mind has made me believe that one morning I will wake up and wealth will be waiting for me upon my door step. All I have to do is sit back, relax and wait for it to appear.

Meanwhile my wife is in a state of perpetual frustration with me, my car is not working because of $1,500 dollars worth of work that needs to be done, the price of gas has gone up to $4.00 a gallon, the utilities bill is collecting spiderwebs, my rent check bounced, the minimum balance due on my credit card is $517.00 because of 17 late fees, the price of food is causing me to have to eat cheap processed food which is in turn affecting my health, my cat is eating a cheaper form of cat food which gives him bladder infections, I am depressed and underpaid at a job which I will not be able to keep because it is taking up to much of the time I need to be working at another job making a better income. I am finding it difficult to ask others for help (although I am going to write a letter to the President asking him if he can give me a job writing something for him) and I try to not think about my ailments by spending my time staring at a wall, drinking beer, watching pornography and reading books half way through and then putting them back upon the shelf.

I will write for food (preferably organic) or money. There is nothing that I will not write about nor do I care if my name is used. I will write and then you can use your name and I will not say a word to anyone about it. I have been practicing the craft of writing for years always knowing in the back of my mind that it is a trade that I could use if everything in my life went bad. Of course, at the time I thought that this would never happen because I was young, idealistic, stoned and certain of my greatness. Now I am older, pessimistic and swimming through my own personal recession, which seems to be slowly breaking down the structure of my life. These are desperate times, especially for a man such as myself who has little ambition to do anything and only wants to be able to say at the end of the day (with a copy of Mark Twain or Thoreau’s Walden in my hand) that I did the best I can to live my life as a free man. I am living in America in a time where truth seems to have been turned on its head and all citizens of this country are living inside an irony so great that it is swallowing everyone alive. So please remember- I will write for food or money. I can not spell very well but my hope is that you have enough money to not only afford me but also an editor.

The Outdoor Furniture Salseman.

I want to take a job selling outdoor furniture but my wife is unwilling to compromise. “You are a Teacher, and there is no way I am going to let you sell yourself short by becoming an Outdoor Furniture Salesman,” she told me with determination in her eyes. “Why would you want to do this to yourself,” she asked? ” The only response that I could muzzle together was “I have always wanted to sell outdoor furniture.”

Some of my fondest memories of youth include outdoor furniture. Sundays would be spent sitting out back with my entire family. We would drink lemonade, eat burgers from the grill and swim in the over chlorinated pool until the sun set. When you sat on the furniture dripping wet a certain aroma was given off by the furniture which I can still sometimes smell. When I am around outdoor furniture I feel young again, without any health concerns and without a care in the world. I become relaxed and nostalgic- recalling the days when I was a happy young man.

Now that I am older and all of my childhood is practically buried six feet under- I am desperate to again feel the pleasures of my youth. When I went into Osh Outdoor Furniture Suppliers for the first time I was only looking for an outdoor chair to stick upon my deck. As I browsed around the tables, pool chairs, umbrellas and pillows I immediately felt intoxicated by the smells and memories that were given off. I remembered a past I had all but forgotten. The Sundays spent out back with my family, the evening barbeque’s, my first sexual experience on the pool chair, catching my father and mother kissing beneath the umbrella besides the fire pit- all these memories and more came at me like a fierce wind. I felt a joy in my heart that had not been there when I walked into the outdoor furniture store. Without even purchasing the chair, I went up to the check out stand and asked the older gentleman behind the register if I could have an application for a job. I filled it out in the shop and was called in for an interview the following day. I was hired on the spot when the manager asked me why I wanted to go from teaching high school to working with outdoor furniture. “I want to work with outdoor furniture because it makes me feel young again, ” I said. To which he replied, “I can relate, that is exactly why I work with outdoor furniture as well.” We shook hands like two men united by a common desire- to be young again.

“I understand that you want to feel young again, but why do you have to go to such extreme lengths to do so?” my wife asked me in desperation. “Unless you have had the same experience with outdoor furniture as I have, it is to difficult to explain to you. It just feels like something I need to do.” “But what about teaching? Are you just going to quit and tell your students that you are leaving them for outdoor furniture.” My wife had a point, I do not think that my students will be happy about my decision. “They will get over it, besides as we get older we forget everything anyways…do you still remember your high school teachers?” I asked hoping that she would agree with me. “I remember almost every single one, even the ones who could not handle it and quit. Just think- you always will be remembered as that teacher that quit to go sell outdoor furniture.”

I decided that I would sleep on it. My wife was planting doubt in my head and I was afraid that the repercussions of my decision would be greater than I was aware of. I longed to spend my days in the presence of outdoor furniture. To describe pool chairs and umbrellas to costumers seemed much more gratifying than explaining nouns and verbs and the Great Gatsby to high school students who were incapable of listening. To smell the scent of outdoor furniture rather than the sent of fake cologne and dirty lockers, what more could I ask for. As an Outdoor Furniture Salesman I would be able to spend my work days reminiscing about the pleasurable past of my childhood which is now forever gone. I could remember the faces of those that I loved who have now passed on and once again swim in the pool of my childhood. I could be sitting out back with my grandfather one sunny June afternoon and listen to him say to me again and again- “enjoy being young kid, because when you get older and enter the real world, it’s a bitch.”

My wife threatened to separate from me if I took the job. Before I was even awake this morning she rolled over on the side of the bed and said, “I will not be married to a man that is constantly undermining himself and not living up to his fullest potential. I will not sit by and watch you destroy your life because you want to spend your days reminiscing about your childhood. That part of your life is gone and if you take this job as an Outdoor Furniture Salseman, than I will not sit by and watch you fall.” I was half awake but already frustrated by her perspective. Right when I was about to respond to her the phone rang. She answered it and then looked at me and said, “It is Osh Outdoor Furniture, they want to know if you made a decision.” She handed me the phone with a stern look that seemed to say you better not. I looked at the clock and it was almost noon.

Man Of Miracles

I’m a mess. This morning I awake with my left foot swollen to three times its size and my wife crying in the bathroom. Our electricity is going to be shut off in three days because of unpaid bills and our cat is suffering from fierce scrape wounds to the nose and head. Last night at dinner my wife and I spent two hundred dollars because we drank and ate so much so that we could forget about all the difficulties present in our life. It was fun but now we are both hung over and broke. My house is cold and my job is starting to give me chest pains. If only I could jump into a hole and bury my head. I am a mess,

…..my father sent me an article today about debt. I have more debt than a mountain has weeds. Sending me an article on debt is like sending a cat and article on language. A cat has no words to speak and I have no cash to pay off my debts. I wrote him back a letter telling him that if he wants to help me with my debt, send cash, otherwise let me be. My car has two big dents in it and every time you push on the brakes there is a sound of metal. My wife is frustrated with me for the large amounts of stress my way of life brings to her. If I was only able to find a way to have balance and be happy, she keeps telling me. The roof of our home allows rain water to fall on the floor and currently some workers are banging away beneath my desk trying to fix an broken floor beam. I feel as if inside of me there is a boiling pressure cooker than at any moment could pop. I am a mess,

…I have rent due and not nearly enough money to pay it. My refrigerator is filled with aging food and my liver is aching from all the booze I have been consuming. Panic attacks have been a daily occurrence and usually before bed at night I think about death. I am filled with unmanifested dreams and am always feeling like nothing is good enough. My wife cries in the bathroom all through out the day and the only solid pleasure I seem to be able to find is masturbating to porn on the internet. My chest is always tight, my mother is always concerned about my well being and I am three years away from being 40. I am a mess,

…I nap a lot ion the afternoons and have a hard time climbing out from bed. I do not remember my dreams and I often eat burnt toast for breakfast with a boiled egg. I am addicted to email and have been writing people that I do not even know for help. Yesterday, while driving across the bay bridge I had a terrible panic attack which made me feel like death was sitting upon my shoulder. I tried to jump out from the moving vehicle, but once again my wife saved my life. I have experienced very little success already I have been afflicted with two chronic diseases, one which could be fatal. My wife and I seem to fight constantly and I can not stop looking at other women because it is another form of fleeting pleasure for me. I spend all my money on books (that I never read) and food and often dream about prostitutes and flying through the sky. The mattress I sleep upon is old and almost undone and my bedroom collects dust like a garbage can collects trash. I am a mess,

….my sister is an alcoholic who thinks that Arabs are going to take over the country. All around me are signs of affluence but I struggle for every dollar I earn. I am underpaid and overworked and like all lower income people I am taken advantage of time and time again. I am tired of it all and seek out a solution. I think about suicide, killing sprees and self mutilation but none of these answers would I be capable of performing. All day I have been looking for another job, but there is nothing I am interested in doing. My back hurts from writing out my soul so much and I am suffering from chronic diarrhea and palpitations because of my nereves. All I want to do is eat and drink to forget about the pain. I go from meal to meal as if I trying to erase the desperation that I feel in between. There are wars being waged, poverty all around, starvation and injustice walking through the air and I am a mess. Such a big mess that I have no clue as to how to clean it up,

….I have thought about buying guns, mops, towels, and blankets all to clean up the mess that I am. I have thought out self help solutions and consulted with great gurus. I have prayed, meditated and walked on pilgrimages for miles a day. I am out of shape, winded when I walk up stairs, afraid to ride my bike because of various cardiac issues and wondering around my home like a zombie who has been beaten by the struggles of the world. If this was not enough I see ghosts, spirits and can look deep into peoples souls. I know what you are thinking before you think it and I am aware of the truth. I can see through time and I know what the future will bring and so I try to preoccupy myself with various forms of pleasure and sleep so I do not have to think about it. In one more day I will be done, done with this way of living. I will change and do what I have to so that I am not all messed up. I will use a broom or mop and clean myself up so that you will see all that I can be. I will get a haircut and seek out the help of psychologists and chiropractors. I will brush my teeth put on my best face and find a decent job. I will stop complaining about my situation and accept all of this as the way life is. I will stop envying the sucess of Brad Pitt or Johny Depp and try to enjoy my job as a Teacher, my bank account with a small balance and my freezing cold home. I will think positively and learn to identify my good feelings from my bad ones,

….in one more day I will become a man of miracles…. but today just let me be a mess.

Stop Telling Me What To DO!

People are always telling me what to do. Do not do this, do not do that or it would be better if you did this or why not like that? It is getting tiring and I get it from all sides: wife, parents, sister, boss, government, police and in-laws. It seems as if I may be incapable of making decisions on my own without first being told what to do. In fact, I am so habituated to being told what to do that I believe that I have become fearful of thinking for myself, because I am afraid I may fuck up. After a lifetime of being told how and what to do I have reached a point in my adult life where I have no idea what to do anymore. Instead of doing something I have resigned myself to a life filled with doing very little– in the hopes that I can avoid having people tell me what to do. I have become what my mother feared would happen to me- a passive participant in the days of my life.

My father is infamous for his need to control. It is impossible for a person to go to the bathroom without my father telling them how this should be done. My father’s intentions are good but his words have hurt more people than a burning building. Growing up under his tyranny has caused what is a fatal blockage in my own decision making process. All of my life, and still to this very day- I am a grown man who is a little more than a reaction to being told what to do. If you ask me what we should have for dinner, I will reply- “I don’t know. You decide.”

Most lessons in life seem to be hard to learn. We have to err, to mess up, to fail in order to slowly understand how to get it right for ourselves. This is what I call the process of education (far more important than anything we learn in school). When we are always being told what to do (because someone wants to control our behavior) the process of education is stunted- blocked. What you get instead is an individual afraid to think for him/herself, to mess up on her/his own- to find his/her own way. This is what I call conformity, and these sorts of individuals become loyal corporate executives, lawyers, doctors, politicians, employees- you and I.

As a result of a lifetime of being told what to do I have become a stubborn non-conformist. I have fulfilled no ones expectations of me and am afraid of the idea of doing so. I have worked in offices, restaurants, mortuaries, shoe stores, record stores, schools- trying to hide from the shackles of a career and going through jobs quicker than the time it takes most people to eat lunch. I do not pay parking tickets, I do not respond to creditors, I do not listen to the police, I do not pay my taxes (especially when the money is being used to fight a war) nor do I do anything else that I am told to do. Instead I do nothing. I eat, sleep, write, paint, go to work at a job that I am soon to quit (because they will not stop telling me what to do). Even though my wife, father, sister, mother and society all still try to tell me what to do- I have learned how to shake my head, smile, say “okay” and then proceed to do nothing at all.

The Sex Life Of A Man Without One #19

I never imagined that a naked woman behind glass could be so gratifying and theraputic! How had I gone so long without considering this form of sexual interaction? Not only is it considerably cheaper to talk and mutually masturbate with a woman behind glass (than say go to a strip club or massage pallor), but it is a wonderfully safe form of sex. It is amazing that no one had told me about this. Like most interesting things that I have learned about in my life…I had to stumble upon this one on my own.

It was around 9 p.m when I finished writing my previous blog entry (Shakespeare and I). It was one of the better entries that I have written in some time and I felt the need to reward myself for my efforts. My home was lonely and cold, the wife was at work (she picked up a second job waiting tables at a very hip and formal restaurant in Downtown Oakland) and I was in need of entertainment. I took a quick shower and dressed in a black suit with white converse all star tennis shoes and decided to take a drive into San Fransisco- the city of the night. After a quick drive across the Bay Bridge I entered the womb of the city like a man with a great deal of anticipation in his heart. I parked my mumbling car on a small street where many lives were squished together in nineteenth century apartment buildings. I lit another cigarette and decided to walk, to see where my feet may take me.

I spent an hour or so shopping around in my favorite bookstore, City Lights Books. I read the first pages of dozens of novels by African, European and Latin American Authors. Nothing captured my attention. I decided to buy a book of poems by Jack Kerouac and then to go across the street and drink a beer in an Irish pub. The pub was once home to many Bohemians whose pictures still decorate the walls. I sat at the bar where I had once had a drink with Allen Ginsberg and order and stout. It was close to midnight as I drank black beer and waited for the poetry to fill my mind with a reverent awe.

I left the bar and walked down Broadway. I was a man alone with himself and happy to be filled with the sights and sounds of a city at night. I wondered into an establishment with a blinking neon sign that said Naked Girls Behind Glass– Come On In! Inside a few punk rockers greeted me from behind a counter. I wondered around dark hallways filled by glass windows covered by curtains. All kinds of men wondered the hallways searching for an open window. On the doors besides the windows were pictures of the women who sat on the other side of the curtain. I walked around in anticipation waiting to find an open window. I peed in a bathroom that smelled like urine and I watched a fifty cent porno film in a booth that was sticky with semen.

She knocked hard upon the glass and I could make out her lips saying “hey you, come here!” She seemed to be pointing at me so I followed her index finger and entered the closed door which she sat behind. Inside the cubicle was a black telephone. The room was dark and I could hear a voice shouting “pick up the phone.” I did so and was told to place a five dollar bill into the money slot. When I did this a curtain was pulled back and the room was illuminated with a red neon light. A young women dressed in revealing black and pink lingerie was spread out on a mattress that was covered in red silk sheets and surrounded by mirrors. She held the black phone in her hand and said “my name is Silver, what is yours?'” With the black phone up to my ear I scrambled to make up a name “Zoey,” I said. “Hi Zoey, Welcome to Silver’s Temple. Why don’t you whip out your cock and stick twenty dollars into the slot.”

I was slightly nervous. My conscience was playing in the back of my mind. “You degenerate sleaze ball,” it kept saying over and over. “You can’t take out your penis in a room that smells like cum and is filled with various forms of disease,” my conscience told me over and over, but there was a problem- Silver was hot. Her breasts and stomach were filled with a youthfulness that was yet to see the decline of the flesh. Her face looked like an image that could have created been created by Leonardo da Vinci. She had straight long hair and long silken legs with smooth manicured feet which pressed upon the glass window. When she turned over and showed me her sculpted behind with a small tattoo of a butterfly I immediately began to pull money from my wallet. “What would your wife think of you now,” a voice said into my left ear but I told it to be quiet and leave me be, as I stuck a twenty dollar bill into the money slot.

Music began to play and Silver opened up her long legs revealing a treasure chest between. I stared without concern for the look on my face. “You look like you have never seen a pussy before,” she said. “It has been some time since I have seen one like yours,” I replied with a hint of anxiety in my voice. “Well then Zoey, come closer so you can see.” She took out what looked like a long plastic turkey baster, but was a dildo made out of rubber. She stuck it into that sacred spot that was making my heart rapidly beat. I felt the immediate power of the hole that brings forth life, with a reverence that made me want to fall to my knees. My nose pressed against the glass. I was staring directly into her majestic hole which she played with like a child. She made various sexual sounds and continued to ask me to take out my cock and cum with her. But I could not move. With my nose pressed against the glass all I wanted to do was climb into her vagina and return to the womb which I so fondly remember.

I had to hold back my tears. I understood now the reverence that a religious disciple feels for a sacred object. As Silver played with her dildo I slowly unzipped my zipper and let my pulsating penis leap out into the dank air. “Yes, please play with it for me,” Silver said as she watched me watching her. “Stroke it, stroke it,” she demanded. I felt a little uncomfortable about masturbating in front of the sacred object but the more she demanded that I cum the more I became intoxicated by her sirens call. Silver than sat up and brought her perfectly painted face up to the glass so that she could look directly at my cock. With the black phone in her hand she kept repeating “cum on my face…cum on my face dady,” and like all good disciples I eventually did what the idol demanded. I released my sperm onto a glass window.

“Wow!!” Silver said. “Seems like you have not had sex in a long time,” she commented in response to the large amount of semen that came forth from my penis. “It has been some time, yes,” I said recalling that it has been over a year since I had had sex with my wife, or any women for that matter. “Must be difficult being a married man without a sex life,” Silver said to me as she looked at the wedding ring upon my hand. “It is not so bad, I just can’t seem to figure out how to be intimate with a woman that I love,” I said as I pulled my limp penis back into my pants and zipped up my fly. “Yeah, that’s difficult for a lot of men. They seem to be only able to have good sex with women whom they hate,” Silver said as she turned back around onto her back. I was surprised by her statement but I understood what she may have meant. “Once a man loves a woman they get her confused with their mother and then sex goes out the window. It is all because men are afraid to love,” Silver said. “Maybe so,” I replied not really feeling honorable enough to voice a response. Here I was, with my cum splattered all over a glass window which separated me from the object of my desire. Maybe Silver was right, maybe I was afraid of love.

“Have a nice evening and make sure you come back and see me soon,” Silver said as she shut the drape and turned off the light. I walked out of the establishment with my head down and a feeling like I had just done something that I was not allowed. Outside on the cold and quiet midnight streets I lit a cigarette and began to walk back to my car. Garbage men collected trash on both sides of the street and stray dogs wandered into dark corners searching for food. I looked up at the black sky and observed the sky scrappers which surrounded me on all sides. I am a man in love with the city at midnight. I was twenty five dollars poorer now, but for that price not only did I get to have a pleasant orgasm and watch a beautiful woman play with herself- but I also was able to learn a little something about myself.

Eletromagnetic Freak, Part 2.

     My mind is always creating assumptions, but are they true? I am perpetually surrounded and perturbed by a sea of electromagnetic radiation and I feel the effects of it upon my body, mind and spirit. These micro-waves are difficult to avoid when  one is surrounded by creations and emanations of a modern technological society. I do what I can to reduce the exposure to radiation, but my attempts are mostly futile. Day by day the physical symptoms that I experience mutate into a more advanced form and the more I talk about my physical symptoms being the result of  electromagnetic radiation, the more I wonder- is this assumption true?

If I discuss this subject with ordinary people they have a tendency to think I am either loosing my mind or suffering from a form of hypochondria. These judgments and accusations have caused me to questions my own inner truth. Often times I am told to “sit with my discomfort and be willing to be uncomfortable.” “All my life I have tried to avoid discomfort,” my mother said when I complained to her about my illness, “now you have an opportunity to be fully present and comfortable with your discomfort.” It is hard for me to understand how I can be present and comfortable with the zapping sensations that cause me palpitations, tremors, dizziness and nausea. When I am infected by these sensations I become fearful and worried. “Now you can learn to work with your fear,” my mother always responds. She has been taking a mindfulness meditation course once a week and I fear that her spiritual concepts and Buddhist rhetoric may be removing her from the reality in which I am stuck. I have decided to stop consulting with my mother for the time being.

I have also decided that I am suffering from a modern day ailment called EMRSD (Electromagnetic Radiation Sensitivity Disorder). This diagnoses is yet to exist in any medical reference books but I guarantee you that it will some day soon. People like myself are Pioneers, we are on the cutting edge of a whole new era in disease and syndromes. Symptoms and various forms of discomfort and disease that are a result of the growing use of wireless technology- are in the not to distant future going to be one of the main causes for seeking medical attention. We are currently lab rats, subjects in the laboratory which is our world. Subjects (or victims), like myself (and many others who have contacted me) are some of the first pioneers to experience the disturbing side effect of electromagnetic radiation (side effects include- zapping sensations in the brain, dizziness, nausea, palpitation and tachycardia upon falling asleep which causes one to be shocked awake, difficulty getting to sleep, vivid nightmares, hair loss and prolonged erections in men- just to name a few).

This morning while I was sitting in meditation I experienced the unpleasant zapping sensation and rapid heart beat. I cleared my studio of any devices that may be emitting electromagnetic radiation. I removed my cellular phone, laptop, digital clock, radio and cat. I sat in the lotus position and slowly fell off into a feeling of deep relaxation. Right as I reached a point of calm (a state which Buddhists call Samsara) I was zapped (shocked) back into my body with the feeling of a rapid heartbeat causing my mind to grow anxious. After I calmed myself down I tried again to continue my mediation but was again zapped back into reality. In an impulsive act of frustration I threw my meditation cushion out the window and screamed out “what the hell is going on!!!” This unpleasant zapping sensation while in meditation, has been happening to me through out the week. It is a newer symptom of the illness that I am convinced I am suffering from- EMRSD.

Sleeping with my windows open has brought me some relief at night but last evening the unexpected happened. I was awoken by what sounded like a sniffling beast smelling my feet. I was too afraid to open my eyes and lay there like a corpse trying to figure out what the cold and wet sensation was that repeatedly kept touching my bare feet. I new it was not my cat or wife, both of whom were asleep beside me. When I garnered up enough courage to open my eyes and see what it was, my reaction was a surprise to not only myself. I let out a terrible scream and jumped five feet into the air, causing my cat to fly off the bed in a panic and my wife to sit up screaming, “what!! what is it”. My body went into fight or flight mode and I ran for my life into the bathroom where I locked the door. My wife came running after me in a state of shock and concern pounding on the bathroom door telling me that “it is gone!!! it is gone!!! it ran out the window!!!” A raccoon had come in through the window I had left open and decided to scare the shit out of me, my wife and cat. Electromagnetic Radiation Sensitivity Disorder is making me feel “edgy” in more ways than one.

This incident does not diminish the fact that there has been some improvement in my condition. Sleeping with an open window has been helpful. My perpetual erection has gone down and I am currently not suffering from vivid dreams or rapid heartbeats before drifting off to sleep (knock on wood). Electromagnetic Radiation Sensitivity Disorder is a real ailment- one that I am sure thousands of people suffer from. I want to believe that my assumptions about my symptoms and their cause are true, but currently I am living in a world where profit and technological advancement seem to be more important than the health and well being of individuals. If we (consumers) found out that the technology we are dependent upon is slowly killing us or causing us various forms of dis-ease, then these large corporations would go broke or have to find healthier ways of creating products. Unfortunately, it will take decades before this is the case. By then it may be to late for many who suffer from EMRSD and diseases caused by the technology we all use. So it makes sense that information is being pushed under the carpet, supressed and then manipulated so that people such as myself who experience the negative effects of modern technology are caused to question their own assumptions and feel like sickly freaks. It is the nature of the business, a sign of the times.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #18

She called herself the “Divine Back Scratcher.” A whore with this kind of vernacular struck an immediate interest in me. Despite the fact that I had pledged to stay away from prostitutes for a time, the itch was returning. For a man this itch is the equivalent to a nuisance which never seems to go away. For a time there will be some quiet, a respite but like all biological imperatives- it returns with a vengeance. I have learned to accept this eternal return, with the calm acceptance of the Buddhist I feel I may be becoming. I realize that everything is as it should be in life. I try not to get in the way.

Once again I began my day by doing a little meditation and then immediately going on the internet to see who was on the Craig’s List Erotic Adds page. I searched trough numerous pictures with an erection that felt like kundalini rising in my lower spine. I was delighted by various adds that mentioned daily head specials or lunch time hand specials. The photographs were mostly unappealing but the few that struck some interest in my eyes were like shots of ecstasy to my brain. I had been too long without my girls.

I have been meaning to talk to my wife about my sexual expeditions and obsessions. My therapist decided that if I had not done it within the month that she was going to call my wife and tell her. I knew my therapist was only innocently threatening me with her pledge (since it violates patient privacy rights)- but now I fear that she may do it. So I have an allotted time left to indulge my fantasies before I have to face the music (which may turn out to be a rehabilitation center for sex addicts). This morning the sun was out, I had money in my bank account and could foresee no reason why (other than guilt and shame) I should not investigate my curiosity with regards to the Back Scratcher. Cumm Let me Scratch your back and make you purr, the add said and the photograph I could hardly resist.

She was only seeing clients at a hot tub establishment that was not far from my abode. I quickly dressed and decided not to put on underwear since I assumed I would be going into the tub nude. Over the phone she sounded rather unfriendly and belabored. I tried not to take this personally by telling myself that I was not trying to make friends. I just wanted an erotic hand job in a hot tub. My appointment was for 1:15 p.m and when I arrived at the establishment it seemed as if it could be closed. A homeless man stood outside and there were no cars upon the vacated industrial street. Other than a few famished alley cats and a sign that said Health Spa I seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

I rang the buzzer and was greeted by an older Asian man who had a cigar in his mouth. “You here for girl, yes?” I did not know how to answer. What if this was a sting, a trap to catch perverts like myself? This has been going on a lot lately. “You here for girl?” he said again with a frenetic energy that made me feel pressured. I threw caution to the wind and nodded yes. “You sit, she almost through with nother client.” I sat in a yellow chair that smelled like a thrift shop. I looked at desperate fish floating around in a neglected fish tank. One orange fish watched me watch it. I wondered if he understood. There was a picture of the Buddha on the wall and a few oranges and a banana were placed in front of the picture. Food for the Gods.

A very fat man walked down the hallway. His step was heavy enough to rattle the chair in which I sat. He was breathing hard and seemed to be perspiring a great deal. His face was beet red and when he said good bye to the Asain man, I thought I heard him say “what a back scratch!” I was nervous and hesitant when the Asain man said to me, “Okay you go,” and directed me to walk on down the hall to the open door with white light shining out of it. The hallway was dark and lined with straw mats that made me feel like I was visiting a whore house in a third world. If it was not for the smell of chlorine and tobacco, I would of thought I was walking away from the living and towards the light.

The room was dark, and I was greeted by a long legged women dressed in a black corsage. Her hair was long and ruffled and she seemed to be developing dark bags under her eyes. None the less I found her very attractive. She reminded me of a fallen angel. “Welcome,” she told me after she mentioned that I should get undressed and lie on my stomach on the mattress upon the floor. I noticed that in the room there was no hot tub. “Have you had your back scratched lately?” she asked me. “I have not,” I said like a shy school boy. “Well this one you will enjoy,” she said as she ran her long pink nails down the front of my bare chest while making a sexy sound. “Oh look,” she said surprised as I stood naked in front of her, “your cock is ready to go!” I looked down and noticed a pulsating erection hanging off my shaking groin. “This is what happens when I’m nervous,” I said.

I gave her the agreed upon sixty dollars and lied down on my stomach. The mattress smelled like a mixture of semen and perfume. I buried my face deep into the pillow and tried with all my might not to think about how I would tell my wife about this. She would never believe these degenerate journey’s I go out on. Her life is clean, composed, starched and blessed. This kind of experience is not upon her radar screen nor does she think it’s upon mine. While she is hard at work I am at home looking for work, is what she thinks. As I was thinking about what not to think about I felt the Back Scratcher sit upon my bare butt like she was straddling a horse. I took a deep breath as she gently began to run her nails down my spine. She made strange chanting sounds which had the effect of really turning me on. She then ran her nails over my head and into my ears. My anxiety fell away and turned into a relaxation I had never felt before. Even though I wanted to see her naked (and was willing to pay more) I was completely resigned to the moment. I surrendered and turned into a floating cloud. Her fingers ran up and down my spine and shoulders with a motion that felt like the wind. I was hypnotized by her scratches until she placed one of her hands upon my testicles.

I am easily surprised. I live my life trying to avoid surprises because it makes me feel like I have little control in my life ( I am having difficulty accepting the laws of chaos). When she placed her warm and tingling hand upon my testicles, I made what sounded like a pre-pubescent chirp. My body vibrated and she asked me if I was okay. I was more than fine I told her, “I had just had an orgasm.” She laughed and said, “you came already, I did not even do anything!!” “It takes so little,” I said. All she could do was laugh and ask me if I wanted a cookie.

Ever since I was a young man I have suffered from premature ejaculation. Many a women have left me because of it. I have done what I can to develop my locking abilities but the older I get the more I have just learned to live with my disability. I have read books, taken a seminar (“The Multi-Orgasmic Male”) and even saw a counselor for this ailment. To no avail. I have been told that the problem is the result of years spent frequently masturbating, neurological and genetic. I just think I am a very horny man who can not hold back all the intense pressure I keep blocked up during the course of a typical day. When I explained this to the Back Scratcher she told me she understood. “My last boyfriend was like this so I can relate,” she said. “He usually came before he even stuck it in.” This made me feel better, understood. Once I was fully dressed I told her that during the back scratch I had reached a state of relaxation I had never achieved before. “See….. whores are good for some things,” she said as she counted her money and then looked at the clock. I could not have agreed more.

Electromagnetic Freek (EMF).

I love my laptop but it is making me sick! It has turned into a constant struggle. Let me explain before you jump to judgment: I am immensely sensitive to EMF radiation from cell phones, laptops- all wireless technology. I have learned about this new advent in my life lately. Upon moving into the new home in which I live- I developed all kinds of physical symptoms. Besides the regular palpitations, and constant worry, I have developed what feels like a perpetual tingling erection, brain surges and vivid dreams which shock me awake with a racing heartbeat. I have also begun to slur my words on certain heavy electromagnetic days and feel pins and needles tap dancing around in my microwaved brain. The house in which I currently reside is surrounded by a plethora of electromagnetic activity (city buildings, citizens talking on cell phones and endless wireless waves). The women who lives upstairs has several television monitors, which are on all day- along with her very strong wireless internet connection. Some times as I am falling off to sleep I am zapped awake by what feels like an electrical discharge from my brain to the rest of my body. I am not sure if this is the result of electromagnetic radiation or the disturbing sounds of my neighbor doing Yoga for hours past midnight. It is one of the most unpleasant experiences I have felt.

I have seen several Doctors all of whom have not a clue what is going on. Certain holistic practitioners have told me that I may be suffering from Multiple Sensitivity Syndrome or some kind of toxic poisoning. A healer whom I visited the other day convinced me to believe that what I am suffering from is EMF poisoning. “This is a modern syndrome,” he said- “we are all canaries in the coal mine, lab rats being used to test the short term and long term affects of all this new wireless technology.” I must stay away from wireless technology as much as possible, he told me. Each night before bed I am to wrap tin foil around my head and sleep with it on. A modern day wreath of thorns to celebrate my electromagnetic crucifixion.

The perpetual erection which has a nagging tingling component to it has remained unexplained. Neither Doctors nor esoteric healers know what to make of it. Most just see it as a flaw in the machine, but I believe otherwise. It is my belief that the radiation or electric activity is stimulating something in my nervous system which in return is causing the over-stimulation of my penis. It is becoming more than a discomfort in my life- it is now like living with an antenna stuck to my groin. Trying to sleep with a tingling erection verges upon the very difficult. Going through my life with it is a nag. It is affecting my marriage and creating some difficulties for me when I go out on a job search. Masturbation is of no help, nor is over-thinking about my mother in the nude. The only solution that I can come up with is tin foil and to remain as removed from wireless technology as I can, for a time.

The End.