Friday, August 28, 2020

[858] Thrives In Chaos

 This should be brief, I just wanted to mark the occasion. I left the job at Boston Scientific. I woke up after nearly no sleep at 4:54 AM to hop in my coffee van as my truck is full and acting questionable. I park at the BFE end of the lot, show up a minute late, and take my spot on the line. The next-in-line manager wasn't in the building, but I opened with, “If it's going to be a problem my only 3 days a week schedule, I can just leave now or put in my two weeks.” I was assured things would be fine. After an hour and a half our first break to shit from our morning coffee started. I walked up to the floor supervisor and said, “I've been over there for an hour trying to rehearse a good way to say that simply, this job isn't for me. I'll stay if it's going to fuck up your line or if you anticipated me being here, but I have to be honest with myself.” He said he totally understood and that as far as he's concerned, he sees it as I have the whole rest of the day to find something new.


I'm now home, thinking about how happy I was to be driving back, singing, whistling, and preparing to get my new little shed shell built. I'll get to go to a birthday party on Saturday. I'll get to unload my truck and get it dropped off to be looked at. For lack of a better way to say it, I thrive in a certain kind of “chaos.” I don't know where the next appliance is coming from, but I'm betting I have the time, search habits, and inclination to pick it up before the next guy. I don't know how much my truck is going to cost to fix. I don't know how many houses are going to appreciate verses judge my door-to-door pamphlet regarding my hourly rate or DCS concerns. I do know that I've never been served better than when I acknowledge and work through what's most pressing and frequently on my mind, and I'll make no greater impact nor set a better example than in doing so.

Part of me regards the ability to just step out on a job, any job, as something of a privilege. At the same time, I worked a fuck ton for my floor, both in my physical location and acquired tools and my disposition. Part of me was more concerned with going out respectfully than going out at all because I appreciate the difficulties of being short-handed, constantly training new people, and despair that comes with a lack of investment and appreciation for the different skills and people available. At the same time, every several thousand dollar piece of equipment workers make equals 0% more to their bottom line or next paycheck.

I think both socially and psychologically you have to own your effort and have a sight set on the future, or you destroy significantly more than is often spoken to. You have to build the right kind of pressure to succeed where only you can. I need to have the fire under my ass of not having enough savings to ride it out until I'm 100. I need to be mildly stressed about my next good find. I need to weather the injuries (I burned my thumb yesterday), sound a little precarious in my thought process, and continue to show what I built. There's two modes of being, do or don't. I absolutely need to do me. I need to keep demonstrating that I can make decisions in service to what I want and not what I'm putting up with. You do too.

Thursday, August 27, 2020

[xx-23] Who's Bad

I'm flabbergasted I feel provoked to write this, but here we are. I'm just going to post the whole conversation at the end as it highlights many things at once.

To be brief, if you know nothing about me you should know that “manipulation” is one of my most beaten-to-death topics, and I developed a whole mode of being to ensure I could create relationships that didn't only and always play to what I could get out of them. As a result, I read a ton, became hyper aware of how I constructed my social dynamics, and regularly hit the page to evaluate if I've somehow lost the thread.

What I find is a continued stream of people who not only allow themselves to be perpetually manipulated, but insist it is everywhere that it is not, most notably from me. I take umbridge to this, not least of which because of how often I would get warnings from different family members about how “manipulative” their child was. I could only stare and try not to look confused and condescending. You allow yourself to be manipulated. The second you claim someone is manipulating, you're explicitly denoting that you don't know what manipulation looks like, are powerless to stop it, and built yourself a typical defensive narrative saying the exact opposite of the truth of your situation.

I worried pretty consistently about my capacity and willingness to manipulate people. I'm cute. I'm smart. I know immediately what your soft spots are, how to steer conversations, and what I could do or say to give or drain your confidence. I know this because it's not hidden and we're all animals and our faces, tone, posture, and word choices say things about us. This isn't magic or a special skill. When you feel yourself at the mercy of someone “manipulating” you, you're doing a really bad job of translating what everything about yourself is saying to yourself.

The person below is insecure. They're extremely outgoing, personable, and do a good job at a stressful job. They have a rough Southern affect that toughens up when their feelings get pinched by trying to silence the conversation. The person below is very afraid, and presumably has been swamped by people who have taken advantage of their insecurities.

The conversation depicts a crossroads that I'll say emotionally mature and immature people come to. Difficult topics, like how much responsibility you should take or what if any actions might contribute to solving a big and scary problem, create a stress response. An emotionally mature person recognizes this and goes to work analyzing the feeling. An emotionally immature person attacks the thing that scared them.

For me, I don't need children as “friends” or acquaintances. In a racing heartbeat you become the boogeyman. I have a very large and complicated social, psychological, and emotional problem I would like to address. Wouldn't you know it, that's a perfect analogue for a lot of the families lives we get thrust into as caseworkers. Do you believe anyone is capable of doing a good job when they're teetering at the mercy of their own baggage? They can go through the motions. They can recite the catch-phrases. But they aren't helping. They don't have the tools to build the mechanism to grow into a better place.

I can handle emotional outbursts. I can handle shitty things said in a moment. I have exactly zero patience for taking zero responsibility. Holding no respect for what someone said is it's own hurdle, but as someone who fundamentally or professionally treats everything as maybe true enough kinda, I can at least understand that.

See if your thoughts match mine in the (parenthesis) analysis.

Scared Person: Dude I read your whole post, and I get it, but no way in hell am I gonna speak out against them like that. I can't afford to risk losing my job. (reasonable enough fear)

Me: You don't need to put your name on it (troubleshooting)

Scared Person: But you legit just made a post, calling us all out by name, asking us to do that.

Me: I forget you guys have like other people at work you're friends with

Scared Person: So no, I'm not gonna do that and risk being looked into and potentially losing my job because of it.

Me: see, this facebook stuff, big big reasons I don't add people lol
I deleted it

Scared Person: You should've sent it in a group message instead of posting it like that

Me: Absent mindedly made the post to function as a group chat
I fucking hate social media

Scared Person: Trust I get it! I really do!! But I literally cannot afford to lose my job. (3rd time's the charm)
I'm sorry I can't help.

Me: No one usually can, the families get to pay the price of things shuttered under the veil of fears
you can, like, lol I don't need to out you for your stories (troubleshooting more impatiently)

Scared Person: I just do the best that I can for my families. (Default to cliche)
I try my hardest to make a difference for them, but I can't save them all. (Default to cliche)

Me: The best thing that place needs is a flush on the clogged toilet of shitty leadership lol

Scared Person: You're not wrong. (Seemingly acknowledges the problem)

Me: I won't be able to help alone. (fact)
Me pissed off is just me looking like I can't let go of some petty grievance (no?)
but the things that are wrong are large and systemic (fact, digressing)
and that takes organized collective action and perspectives (fact)

Scared Person: I am sorry, but it's a risk that I can't take. I'm sorry for letting you down. (presumes my feelings)

Me: It's not about me dudette (fact. And extremely important detail)
Not gonna twist your arm lol (pulling back, cliché joke)

Scared Person: Nick, please stop trying to guilt trip me into risking my own wellbeing (What? Derailing happens now) 
I cannot afford to risk my job. (I meant 5th time's the charm.)

Me: Here's the thing, this is where it gets difficult. I know you can't. I'm not trying to guilt trip you. I'm saying pretty plainly that a story divorced from who tells it is still powerful and compelling. You disagree. That's cool. (My attempt to acknowledge, affirm, assess, condense, and accept.)

Scared Person: And you're not hearing me when I say that I'm not going to risk them looking into me for other shit. (Starts to spiral into other compounded fears. “Not listening” indicator that all trust has been lost.)

You don't think they would realize what case I was talking about if I said anything? (Condescending flail)
You don't think they would put two and two together and go through all of my work and try to rip me apart? (Condescending flail)
They wouldn't even have to fire me for giving you a story, I'm sure they would find some other reason to do it. (Denoting another layer of just how big the problem is)

Me: The fact that this job makes you this scared, practical concerns or otherwise, is pretty horrifying alone. Denoting their shit behavior is what I'm looking for. If you've got other skeletons that would get rattled, I def get it. (Acknowledging, clarifying with specific goal, cunty speculating knowing there's nothing to be gained)

Scared Person: I would be scared to lose any job. (I've lost count)
I'm not privileged enough to have anyone else supporting me and paying my bills for me if I'm out of work. (I still can't tell if this is insinuating I do)
I'm not scared to lose this job because of this job, I'd be scared to lose any job. (Same reassertion, extra salt)

Me: No one we know or work with is lol

Scared Person: You say you're not trying to twist my arm and that you're not trying to guilt trip me, but you absolutely are. You are absolutely trying to manipulate me right now and I don't appreciate it. (Now we get into the pound down onto the worn pillow of open wounds. Left is right. Up is down. Absolutism, fold arms, pretend the monster is vanquished.)

Me: I'll find another way to contend with the in-built fear associated. I trust you don't want to be a part of it. You have nothing to fear from me even if you found the ask annoying.
It's unfortunate you feel that way. It was not my intention (It doesn't matter what I say at this point)

Scared Person: You're twisting my words. I didn't say I found the ask annoying, what I find annoying is you trying to manipulate me. (If the irony here is lost on you, you may be suffering from the same issue. Nothing can supplement or replace their assertion of the truth. Even if I were to buy in, people often jump into further spurious details while doubting your sincerity.)

Me: I'm gonna peace out. (I didn't realize it would be a lie)

Scared Person: It may not have been your intention, but it's how I have perceived your behavior. (And Lord knows, when you're the one who's afraid, your perception trumps everything)

Scared Person: Again, this is unfortunate.

Scared Person: I do wish you luck with your efforts though.

Just please leave me out of it. (Adults understand they are in it, complicit, and the guilt is only resolved through taking more responsibility. Children want to be left alone to play in their own worlds)

Me: They always do

Fuck it, I gotta say it. I really really dislike being accused of trying to manipulate you. I think your fear response flipped its shit and took where I was coming from well beyond what was required. I feel uncomfortable pretending I'm cool with that, and if it's the kind of thing you believe about me so quickly, I don't know that I can jive with cats like that. It's unfair, emotionally immature, and does overtime in distracting from the proactive approach or topic of how to fix the problem I'm aiming at. I can accept you don't wish to be a part of it, I can't accept all that flood that came with it. My intentions matter and I'm not going to be told I doing something significantly shittier than I was which I pretty actively police because I know how to manipulate perfectly well, and the first rule is the other person doesn't feel manipulated.
It's really the only rule

Scared Person: If that's what you need to tell yourself to feel better about that. You act like I don't know when I'm being manipulated. I've been manipulated my whole life. I tried to ask nicely and you kept pushing it. You kept trying to guilt trip me and that's a form of manipulation. (If you can recognize the dialogue that's be prescribed for you, face the fear instilled in you, and respect the truth when it's presented to you, then you might hint at knowing when you're being manipulated. Demonstrating you haven't even shuffled the demons in your past and doubling down in your fear and insecurity betrays your indignation)

Manipulation 101 dude (From someone super in control)

Me: You experience elevated levels of guilt, presumably because you've been manipulated your whole life (If you look close, you'll see these are their words. Mirroring evokes the blame response.)
It's clearly a soft spot

Scared Person: Still trying to manipulate

Me: so everything looks like a tiger (Mixing metaphors, but you get it)
or explain (tit-for-tatting)
what would explanation of that behavior look like? (Questions will never be answered. They can only exist in an environment open for examination. This is not one of those.)
Or is always and only what you say?

Scared Person: Ok you're rambling at this point and making no sense. (Attack the person, avoid the question)

Me: I'm curious, what would explaining your behavior look like in a form you wouldn't consider manipulation?

Scared Person: No Nick. You're trying to turn it around on me and I'm not playing that game. (Read: Won't become the target of my own disingenuous and dishonest scrutiny)
I asked a question. How do I learn how you perceive things without doing so?
Simply telling you my view registers as manipulation.

Scared Person: What the hell are you even asking? (Several things at this point, but don't expect answers)

Me: Asking you does too

Scared Person: You're literally making no sense. (This is the same panic response when you confront an addict with the consequences of their behavior or abuser or overbearing mother. Nothing makes sense because they don't register the impact of their subverted personal agency.)

Me: What could I say about how you responded to me that wouldn't register to you as manipulation?
This conversation is over Nick. I'm done. Good night.

Me: Exactly
Literally nothing.

Scared Person: You could say ok I get it, have a good night, and leave it at that. Period. (I do get it, but to a degree they don't, and it's not left. It's going to get dragged into the rest of this person's decisions and interactions with families unto the ages of ages, amen.)
Good night.

Me: I think I've learned a great deal tonight. I'm gonna save you the frustration of dealing with me further. (I unfriended. My friends no better than to “let me manipulate them.” If they don't, we aren't friends, by definition. And I certainly can't trust them.)

Wednesday, August 26, 2020

[xx-22] Sent to DCS Leadership, HR, and Ombudsman

 Hello,


This is to ensure you have a written version of my complaint against Natalie, and other disconcerting incidents of a pattern of behavior that rewards targeted bias in my experience with different supervisors and talks with coworkers.

Through Natalie's negligence, I believe she encouraged a course of action that would have resulted in the arrest, death, or some level of foreseeable violence on one of my assessments. I believe the violence was foreseeable because a child, admitted to HARSHA, noted for his size, strength, and several diagnoses related to mood/personality disorders, said he would kill his father if remanded to his care. The child said he was afraid he would kill his father or someone that they lived with, and could be "set off at the slightest thing, anything really." The child reiterated this in different forms several times over the course of a 45 minute conversation.

When I brought this information to Natalie, she shrugged, smirked, and laughed saying, "Dad needs to figure it out" saying we'd swoop in when the police got called and cited Centerstone affirming an inability to work with the father as reason enough that he was not doing enough. She said dad needed to rely on family he stated 3 or more times he did not have, nor friends capable of dealing with the degree of his son's mental health issues.

Father explained to me, in detail, the extent of his serious heart condition which could kill him upon too much exertion. Father detailed the lack of resources or family that could handle the child. Father explained the extent of his Centerstone therapy attempts and reasoning he did not believe they were lending themselves to improving his son's sense of ownership of his behavior, so he stopped playing along.

When HARSHA asked a couple days later for what they were supposed to do, I quoted Natalie, which was later regarded as unprofessional and documented in my mid-year review, and Natalie proceeded to back-track her lack of direction, call the father herself, and explain the efforts she was now willing to engage in, after substantiating the father for neglect, on his behalf. This is a father who called us in advance in an attempt to utilize us for help, to be responsible, and to prevent the inevitable violence that would come from reintroducing his son into his home.

The next incident.

Natalie fabricated things I said, reported them to Amanda Vanleeuwen, and then wrote in my mid-term evaluation that I did not provide evidence for allegations that I did not make. It is unclear if Amanda wrote that I was unable to provide this evidence or Natalie, but Amanda remained silent when I confronted Natalie about her lie and presumably just believed this was appropriate, given her own overhearing of my voiced displeasure at our conduct as my desk is situated outside of her door.

People talk and gossip and relay the unbelievable degrees of negligence, bad advice, and malicious behavior they are witness to. Coincidentally, a person who had recently lied to me on work we had done together, was implicated in lying on a P.I. about a family she did not recuse herself from assessing as she personally knew them. I did not have the P.I., nor read it, nor claimed to have it, nor said I intended to do anything with what I had heard because, you guessed it, I did not have the physical evidence of it.

Natalie also construed that I alleged we target black families for DCS cases. I was supposed to be a member of the data team, and it's clear as day that we open a disproportionate amount of cases as an agency against black families. That was many months ago we were having those discussions, around the same time we were talking around race relations and tensions in the office. I don't even know where she got the idea that I could prove any one supervisor or assessor was targeting black families or what I said about the statistics that she turned into her allegation. She just simply lied in an incredibly weird way.

The third incident.

Natalie coached me on how to construct a narrative to create "evidence" that a family was in more dire circumstances than they were. She highlighted lines of a 310, denoting what she considered "allegations" that had things like "grandma's boyfriend lives in the garage." This is a family that both I, someone on my previous team, and we as a department have assessed several times, as recently as a few weeks prior. The report is a carbon copy of the report the same Community Partners person calls in every few weeks because grandma is practically too old to take care of child, but hasn't provided enough evidence to get the child removed, and the child who's been with the system since she was like 5, now 15, knows how to play it, regularly hiding evidence against her grandma, and construing a way to get moved to her mother and step-father's home in Ohio.

Natalie made nothing of my entire day spent navigating this child's probation officer, Community Partner contact, step-father, father, grandma, Ohio DCS, and even going door to door looking for someone to remotely function as willing to respond to an emergency while grandma was in rehabilitation for a surgery, but regarded my inability to construct her fanciful world about the danger this child was in as "leaving out allegations."

This is a family that, for many months, we've all known grandma is old, we've all talked in circles as the kid discloses something, retracts, or plays in real time how she's going to navigate her living arrangements. This is a family emblematic of our complete inability to take completely foreseeable situations, do more than say "it's not crazy enough" and move on. And when I brought the situation to as good a resolution as possible keeping all parties informed and involved, Natalie found a way to criticize my 311 for not including enough superfluous information. It's not about the job I did, it's about conforming to her narrative.

Moving forward.

As a result of me politely, but firmly, disagreeing with her perspective, explaining the problematic nature of pigeon-holing families and introducing non-essential information, and reminding her that my work has been above reproach for the supervisor who trained her and has been doing the job for 12 or 13 years, Natalie retaliated by marking up my mid-term review to suggest I'm combative, unduly derogatory, and negligent in my ability and willingness to record allegations or on what constitutes a dangerous situation for a child.

Natalie then decided to flag my mileage reimbursement, ensuring I would have to navigate a financial hurdle. When I emailed travel about this, they told me I was emailed on August 3, 2020 by Natalie, 4 full days after I no longer had access to my work email, that the travel did not match Magik and my day sheet. I do not record my travel in Magik (my attempts to reach people often enough), no discrepancies were cited, and with Covid dramatically diminishing how often I traveled, I was able to keep pace with just updating it on the days I went to different locations. Normally, I have a running physical list and input all of the locations towards the end of the month. I submitted my travel before August when I'm told changes were made as to how it was to be recorded.

Most importantly, I did not lie on my travel and stuck to the same direction that had been approved since I got hired as to how to input it. Natalie had my personal email, I emailed her asking for a copy of my evaluation, but chose to ignore sending any notice of this alleged discrepancy ensuring I'd have to deal with it almost a month later.

Natalie is persistently aggressive in her pursuit of families. She will routinely say "This is a case" before we've ever left the building. When I was first hired, a mom, obese with leg issues, did not answer the door for me on two occasions, one not being home, and one because she could not get up. The allegations were something like the child being kinda grungy at school. Natalie's advice? Bring the cops. I didn't do so, mom opened the door for me the next day, and she explained the things going on with her child that lend themselves to her being grungy.

Moving on from Natalie.

I was under the direction of Heather for a month or so. One family had a child get outside from their faulty door. Both parents were polite, forthcoming, showed me the door, and admitted to occasional marijuana smoking. The mom had a previous DCS case with us for a marijuana positive baby. She screened clean for two months, closed the case, and regarded her caseworker as awesome.

Heather said that the child might have gotten out of the house because mom was high. Mom told me she was in the bathroom. Heather told me to go back and ask mom 4 times over the course of a week to drug screen and suggested I do so in increasingly suggestive of consequences or demanding ways. Mom declined each time, and was getting increasingly frustrated that DCS was not respecting her right to decline. To Heather, it's enough that she previously had a case and smoked, regardless of our safety plan, experience of her compliance, and actual good opinion of us in understanding why we would be concerned.

I've occasionally been passed to Jenna when my primary supervisor is out. I had an assessment with a parent who admitted to having a drug problem in the past, was currently screening, and signed a release for me to get her recent drug screen records, but declined to screen for me. The kids were healthy, she had documented them going to the hospital, the house was clean, I had no evidence. Two weeks or so pass by, I had already submitted it, and Jenna tells me to go back to this mom's house, drug screen her, and question things unrelated to the report.

I spoke with the mom, noticed bruising on her arm, which she had bruises on various parts of her body the first time I met her and pointed them out as something of a frequent occurrence given her very tiny stature. When I mentioned the bruises to Jenna, she was angry I didn't drill down on this mom about them, because it must be drug use. This mom went on to have a drug incident a few days later, which was silently, with that knowing look, regarded as evidence "more" should have been done. It's not that mom lied to me, that I did not have evidence of drug use, or that I was able to maintain my rapport by not treating her like a criminal, it's that an addict relapsed, so it justifies an aggressive posture in the mind's of some supervisors.

Probably the most disconcerting is experiences of things Britt has done or said with regard to our families.

Every third household I walked into remembered Britt for how much he (she, Brittany at the time) scared the living crap out of them. Britt would threaten them, say they already had a DCS case, and generally abuse the fear and power of the position to compel people into the narrative that served our intervention. For the entire 2 years I spent in the office, like clockwork I would get a callback to something Britt did or said that a family felt scarred by.

Britt was then promoted, and one person after another under him would tell me about a level of inappropriate video sending or texts. They would be getting written up for not following directives that weren't given, for not following directions to lie to clients about their rights, and a general disorganized mismanagement of their caseloads resulting in compounded issues that never needed be. I reported Britt's behavior to another supervisor and cited, regularly, when another family mentioned what Britt put them through.

An inability to acknowledge, tame, and work to reduce personal punitive bias destroys our credibility, conception of ethical behavior, and ability to engage in restorative behavior. It constitutes at least half of our ongoing directives.

In regular discussions with nearly the entire office, as I'm actually incredibly personable, and genuinely interested in people, I would hear horror story after horror story about wholly inadequate training, advice, and malicious missteps regarded as "Oopsies! Honest mistake!" when they would inevitably end up in front of our attorneys or a judge who would, hopefully, blow a hole through the smoke.

For the entirety of the time I worked there, I begged for a 311 standard that everyone could follow and everyone could ensure they would be getting the same advice about how to write adequately. Never was the leadership interested in doing so, and an attempt I made to create a shared vision board of what one would look like was regarded as me having a negative or unhelpful view of the agency by a supervisor attempting to have it removed.

I've caught wind of at least 2, likely 3, occasions where we've straight up fabricated the nature of a story in order to remove children. I hate to even mention this one, as I'm positive they would target the people involved with the details, and I can't provide anything more but the urgent insistence that you put people under the microscope when it comes to removals. I would only disclose who to talk to further under sworn and sealed testimony at this point.

We choose, over and over and over again, to regard allegations against familiar characters as more valid than they're worth, even when the caller will admit to using us as a retaliatory tool. When you make the mistake of pointing this out, you're told to "do your job" as though we are meant to remove any remote discernment or tact in the 15th time we've, functionally harassed, a mom surrounded by neighbors willing to keep calling for little to no reason in the span of a few weeks...that we've safety planned with several times over...

We aggressively destroy our reputation and rebuke or exhaust the people who work the hardest to not let the mess of DCS spill onto the families. We cite catch-phrases and rarely if ever actually followed policy as a reason to never improve and never have real conversations. We send people into the field with such a naked disregard for their ability to stick to the facts because that serves the baked in aggressive narrative from the leadership that we're "helping." There's also seemingly ZERO consequences, literally ever, for anyone but the lowest, most-stressed, and earnestly wishing for things to get better.

Here's the thing, because I'm perpetually open, honest, and genuinely attempt to make people's experience with me a positive one, I'm still struggling at the idea of the families being thrown to the wolves. The place is gutted for responsible leadership, and the new people are not going to know better as their habits form around being punitive and accusatory. As such, if the mechanisms within the State have no means or concern for addressing this, it's going to be my responsibility to again bring peace to my mind.

I will speak to any reporter that will listen. I will track down as many former employees as I can find. I will use my very large and trusted network of people who have relied upon me and regarded my work as above and beyond to draw as much attention to the problems with this office as I can. I'll flier our familiar neighborhoods with their rights and tips for not getting stepped on. I'll explore bringing class action civil litigation, because again, my families and coworkers like and trust me to respect what they're going through. I'll make TikTok videos if I have to. You need to get dramatically better, fast, because our families deserve so much more than what you've been offering.

This isn't a joke to me.

Tuesday, August 25, 2020

[857] Slipping Through

 My mind has been very busy lately, and I think this is the 5th time I'm trying to write and get sorted out this past two weeks. I would consider it a privilege to conceive of the layers I'm thinking about as simple “drama” to be handled with a meme or spa day. Instead, I'm idling with much to do, which indicates I haven't settled on a direction that is going to give me peace.


The first-world “problems” are: 1. Mild labor dispute that is in limbo with whether or not I wish to quit immediately, or stick it out for a few weeks/months and build a little nest egg. 2. Being on the look-out for appliances to either repair, break down into parts, or scrap with the guidance of queued Youtube videos. 3. Hit various neighbors with preliminary fliers discussing DCS, rights, and actions I would like to take to hold my former office accountable. 4. Do yard work and shed assembly. 5. Promote myself as “an extra hand” and begin building a network for odd-jobs.

My ideal situation would be to not think about my new job at all, not have it at all, and focus on more self-serving and exploratory things. I don't have the fliers for either the business promotion or the information passing. I have a dryer lined up to be picked up at 5. I haven't found the head space for yard work for some reason. That same sensibility is undermining my enthusiasm for any potential convoluted or time-intensive tasks I may discover as I advertise.

I'm also stressing out about “getting bigger.” I've set a lot of really low bars in my obnoxious behavior, shit I've written about, or very confusing or damning sentiments I've shared that reduce in the minds of those who provide feedback as “no” or “negative” or “not trying to fuck with” or “he doesn't care or can't be trusted.” The first and easiest form of attack when someone starts to get big (or a big head) is to go after their character. I have really cool, important, and rare things about me that I do not see enough of in other people that makes me want to stand tall and demonstrate how we should all be. I also regularly question to what degree I'm a psychopath and feel really good intense things about revenge, power, and influence.

The sympathetic justifiers in you will regard this check and reticence as indicative of a better-natured animal striving to face or overcome his demons. The fellow psychopaths will know part of the magic of being a perfect performer is the ability to convince yourself.

As such, the check I've built into this behavior is to make things about something independent of me. If people who I recognize as having better instincts, proclivities, and habits than me are on board, perhaps I've transcended the innate selfishness into something good or better. If people can dictate their individual reasons for agreeing, disagreeing, or the contributions they feel comfortable making, the narrative shifts from any personal grievance or ego, and becomes about a holistic expression of a commonly regarded problem/opportunity to address in varying systematic ways. I didn’t just manipulate you.

I'm wary of adding people on facebook, as superficially as they may treat the platform with their flood of second-hand thoughts and pictures. I want to protect a certain image of myself as a, blunt, consummate professional who can keep it about the task, mission, or responsibility without all of the extra baggage that comes with being human. Is this a wise thing to do? I suspect not so much given how compelling overlaid narratives compel people to stop thinking and start adopting cliches for their work or behavior. (We care about the children! I love my job! I’m helping save lives!)

I wish to respect where I'm coming from without believing it will always be best suited to define or solve a problem. Maybe all of the things I threatened to do to be a consequence aren't my job. They feel like my job, and I get a certain degree of provocation or encouragement. Can the underlying needs be addressed? Can the principles shine through? In a culture arrested by the psychology of entertainment, is there even an opportunity for people to recognize what should happen and why? It'd be fun to watch The Nick Show for a while, right? I bet you could really believe in the message, but less so if I don't package what may be asked of you in something small, entertaining, and convenient. None of that would excuse my responsibility, but it would be worth respecting in how I shape the messaging.

I perhaps retain a mythical conception of significantly better-than-they-actually-are people I wish could be the face it's hard to tarnish. The irony being the traits I exalt make them considerably less likely to be the kind of persistent dick that provokes the fight. Alone, I can never make an accurate enough assessment of where I fit in on some grand scale of “acceptable human.” The larger the audience, the greater the impulse to perform. It's why I'm desperate for the opportunity to show off the work, highlight the low-key star power of others, and build independent expressions of power and control. The environment otherwise wishes to isolate, subjugate, and contain.

The easiest analogues of my concern are, as I went to type them, seemingly regarded as petty or indicative of a further-removed problem that's not really mine. Do you care if MLK fucked every girl he could? Are you bent out of shape about Michael Jackson being a sexual predator or John Lennon abusing Yoko? I don't consider sex bad or incompatible of marching for human rights. I watched thousands of people dance in unison to Thriller in downtown Lexington last year. Yoko's pretty annoying.

Of course there's no real justifying or excusing bad behavior, and being open sexually isn't the problem as much as any degree of lying or abuse of power that might've accompanied it. No one deserves to get beaten up, especially in a relationship, and I think butt-fucking kids is the last thing on anyone's mind as they march behind zombie Michael Jackson. But this speaks to the psychological scales we employ. How big of an artist do you have to be for all of those things to be just messy details? How great of an orator, in a sense, gets to absolve themselves of their sins? Consider Alex Jones or Trump and his enablers.

I don't want to be let off the hook, but I don't want to get distracted with the fallout we've come to know from “cancel culture.” I worry that when the character attacks come, I won't have built up enough meaningful work to do in lieu of constantly playing PR games or reading comment sections. You watch people routinely get torn down for perfectly innocuous or even fair points, regardless of their impact in areas of considerably more consequence. It simply doesn't register as worth it to go out on a limb, face “scrutiny” better understood as exploitation and drama porn, or risk the mild stability or calm of your life.

As much as I want “my job” or responsibilities to be more clearly defined, I don't think that's ever going to happen. As much as I want to be told what to do, forgiven, or made to feel comfortable about some path over another, I'm who it comes down to. It's my job to be as honest I can be to give us all the best tools for navigating our social and emotional worlds. That's step one in all of my incessant writing. Step two is to act. I can't know what will be of most consequence and don't pretend to be a utilitarian. I don't know if I'll ever be justified or understood. I do know the pains or regrets of not being accountable to an active working ethic that knows how to speak to things which are fucked up. How DCS treats people is fucked up. My yard's incomplete. I need to know more about appliances. Go.

Sunday, August 23, 2020

[856] Charge

 I'm such a pill.


For as frivolous, obscene, or earnestly ridiculous as I may be, I take things seriously. Whether it's a function of my quasi-compulsive thought processes, or some measure of earned wisdom, consequences are not lost on me. I know what can be achieved with the right amount of effort, resources, or perspective. I know something so obvious as the observable circumstances under which I grew up and in my engagement with this, insane, but practically magic form of existence manifested in the modern world.

Something I sincerely dislike is “it could always be worse.” I find this to be immensely abused to let yourself off the hook for behaving badly. Oh, you only drunkenly accosted 2 people instead of burned down the bar and crashed driving home? Use this to contrast your bad behavior in the relationships you keep or how you let yourself be abused at work. There's battered-woman lite at many levels.

To some degree, this makes sense. We're invested in each other. We're ignorant to how bad things can get, or we're perfectly aware of how much worse they were before. We make the very human leap to then assuming what we're currently doing is correct or actually better as opposed to a different kind of bad. Over time, I've had a significantly harder time persuading myself otherwise; damn near everything is life or death. The easy stuff is like picking what flavor ice cream. Everything else reverberates throughout space and time.

As such, even as I find more refined degrees of comfort, I'm still unnerved. My focus is the next battle. My task is to distinguish being a millionaire trying to be a billionaire, from being a peasant with a rod verses a knight with a sword or king with a legion. You can pursue endlessly extravagant gradients of personal satisfaction, or you can wake up to your responsibility to the (sort of) universal task of moving “consciousness” into a direction that is worthwhile, sustainable, and aware - willing to take responsibility.

I've only been a wage slave. That isn't to say I haven't done jobs under the table or opened my own business. It means I've been at the mercy of forces that superseded my economic interests in the direct path of my efforts to capitalize. My rent was exploitative. I've literally lent my body to “science,” code named “your future medical debt and/or addiction.” I've known since I was a teenager that I was never going to get where I truly wanted to be working for someone else. I knew my effort wouldn't even lend itself to a minimum of what society previously agreed upon as a tenable wage.

I'm ready to be disappointed again. I'm ready to go door-to-door. I'm ready to hopefully lose (not that much) money in service to putting myself out there as someone who knows what he's worth, and is going to keep looking until he finds a way to sustain himself. I'm ready to just sit and learn new things until I'm certified in random things so maybe I just work from home. I'm ready to stop pretending there is any iteration of “big corporation” or its analogue that is going to comport with my moral underpinning or sense of futile indignity.

I talk a lot about trying to get a “floor.” I haven't specifically defined that floor, but I've rarely allowed myself to feel as though there is one under me at all. I have a floor though. I have land. I have a house. I have bills that are affordable with even the most transitory of lifestyle and odd-jobery. It is built into my being to read, learn, try, and find what I obsess over. It is my floor to get questions answered, garner attention, retain and promote enthusiasm, and engage with areas of life that people consider “too much.”

I've been humbled, I suppose, in getting older, and “breaking” by getting “normal jobs.” I'd had like 15, never longer than my first at like 2 years and 3 months. I've lasted in places where I convinced myself it was about the “culture” or “people like me.” The reality is that they aren't like me. They're, often, going to be either in the same job or one like it the rest of their lives. They, perhaps dream, but don't beat themselves up to the point of fighting with their supervisors, organizing their life beyond paycheck to paycheck, or dreaming they're going to potentially shift the course of history.

This is the rarefied ego and air. For all of the worthwhile, hard-working, sincere, and funny people in the world, overwhelmingly (and who would blame them) they are trying to get by. I'm not. I still want the world, even if I've been camera shy and busied my plate with the perturbations of southern Indiana poverty.

As with pretty much everything, I'm over-complicating things. Just like I learned how useless my “business plan” was when opening the coffee shop. There's thinking about a way to do things, and there's doing them. Did I have a good enough plan or time estimation in going into the shed tear down? Fuck no. Where's the shed? Torn down. Where are 1500 bricks listed for free? Where am I but here getting microscopically indignant and parsing out my plans to make it simple and return to the child that knocked on doors to mow lawns and sell candy?

There's a very disingenuous part of me that doubts my sincerity. I don't know how to explain it. No matter how hard I work. No matter how long it takes me to continually show you what I do with my best and worst ideas, I still think I'm entirely full of shit. At least, part of me does. It says, “Just keep the easy-enough job.” It says, “Hundreds of people are going to look at you like an idiot, and you're going to come home with $0 to $20 for a task that should've cost $100.” It would criticize the font on my flier. It acts like I can't stop, add, change, subtract, or do whatever is most prominently in front of me. It's obsessive runoff.

I find myself so often saying to myself, “If I died tomorrow.” It's like a catch phrase at this point. What was I doing today? A job. Preparing to argue why I won't be working overtime and rehearsing the speech no one is interested in hearing about labor rights and expectations. Is that what I want to be doing with my time? No. On balance, would the time I spent doing that be any more or less wasted knocking on a door or handing out a flier? It's not like my expectations are high or would fall outside of, “You know, for every several hundred people you meet, 1 or 2 are okay.” That's what I'm working with. I can build a budget around that. I have the time to fail that often. I've stated several times how much I want to fail forward.

I just had the thought “nothing's stopping me.” That's a terrifying thing in and of itself. I'm not a perfectly good person. The more I get that sense about me, the more precarious my place in life and relationships become. I need to be able to entertain that thought in a more evolved and responsible way. Will I? I think I must, or I'll just spin and write blogs like this after my next gig-job fails under the same scrutiny.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm ready to “be all I can be.” I don't even know what that means. I see people abuse their reach, money, and every small ounce of power they get to ensure the world around them burns that much hotter. Worse than that, the one's who might or should have more power are often scapegoated, abused, and taken advantage of. I'm wary of power. I'm wary of my attitude once I get it, because I carry an insane amount of resentment and desire for revenge. The argument could be made for me kind of “idling” with my brick projects so I never get the chance to burn down the forest. You'd think my pretension would kick in and save me from myself. I am better than all that, after all...right?

I'll never hate myself more than if I don't try. I need tangible data to depersonalize it. I need to know, “it took me (x) hours to knock on [y] doors, I can cover so many towns over the course of so many weeks. A small investment in this tool expands my potential earnings along these lines and so on. I need to ensure I don't go about it like an obsessed person like I did in the past. I need to pace myself. I love that Allie is gardening, and the pace of what it takes to cultivate soil and an environment in tune with itself is one that has to embed in your expectations. The wheel is still turning, and maybe turning out the means and method in a way that comport with all of the troublesome impulses and pauses.

I really want to be an example. I want to be proof that you actually are as full of shit as I think you are about why you can't or won't do something, and I want to shove the remnants of the parts of me that sound like you so far away I practically forget what they feel or sound like. I can still always count on spite. The trick is not presenting the angry and impatient cunt to potential clients. Somehow, it can be done, and with so much less than I think it requires or at least as little as I've built into my basic mode of being. Wish me very specific luck related to monetary gains, as I pretty much have everything else I need.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

[855] The Game Loser

 I'm in a weird head space. It felt like weeks before I was able to write my last blog, and I used a cliché like starting a new job to find my mildly different words for the same sentiment. It didn't provide me with enough to look at and sort through. It wasn't really showing me anything.

Right now might be better able to grasp. I feel...loose. I don't mean the loose that suggests a freedom of movement or sense of comfort after drinking the edge off. I mean loose in a kind of defiant way. When I feel defiant, I often want to say something inflammatory or imagine a future in which I run into an enemy and deliver a crushing line. Or, I feel mildly panicked about some shit I'm about to pop off on. This feels smoother. This feels like an attitude adjustment. This feels like the resolve you gain from having encountered harsher circumstances a hundred times before, so why not exist psychologically at the end of round 101.

Let's try to ground it. I moved more bricks today. I moved more bricks from a site in which I believed I was done with the task. Of course I wasn't done with the task. There's always more bricks. The guy's son didn't like to drive on the rounded edge of those bricks. The opportunity for more bricks soon followed. There's always more work, never think you're done, when you persist through the task you get more out of it. Eventually, he'll run out of bricks for me to pick-up, so whether I was wise enough to recognize when I should stop amassing bricks or not, I've got 3 more trips to his house before there's physically nothing left.

What am I going to do with these bricks? Why did I decided 1400 red bricks and 200 field drainage bricks need to be stacked in my field? That's as long and complicated a story as you have the imagination for. Didn't you have LEGOs? Didn't you play with blocks? It upped my cardio game. It saved me hundreds, probably thousands, of dollars. I learned a little bit more about a pocket of my area and state. I have little else more meaningful to do with my time than drive back and forth, load and unload. It was a nice day. My arms are looking jacked.

The bricks were free, but the gas was not. Everything has a cost. I got fast food in between runs. The speaker blasting my music so I don't get too far in my head while I work wasn't free. My several pairs of hole-ridden gloves weren't either. The luck in finding a solid, slightly raised, and affordable enough truck was free, but if you're paying with your attention to things speaking to you in earnest, that costs something too.

You're paying at all times. The rich who hide trillions cause people to starve. They're starving for the right to exist at more than the mercy of expenses or as expendables. Major companies don't pay taxes, disguise profits, and roll their influence into policy that instantiates cultural norms where the belief is that one day you'll be rich or powerful enough to not have to pay. This too inverted to trash poor people as lazy or ungrateful for being on welfare or needing to pay the rent. We're paying with our lives as we disregard rules that don't need to debate the depravity of your opinion.

I haven't read the article yet, but I have “Who am I prepared to kill?” by William Davies in my open tabs. It's a question you're not allowed to ask yourself as a “polite” or “normal” person unless presented with harrowing self-defense narratives. Society seems perfectly willing to kill itself time and again. The idea of a “history lesson” presumes a great many things about our capacity to learn, self-actualize, and take responsibility. Indeed we're the consequences of constant examples of people going unpunished, if even recognized for the destruction they wrought. But, seriously, who are you willing to kill?

We're willing to let old and sick people die. Easy enough story to blame their health issues or advanced years on them. Don't wanna catch Covid? Don't go outside, granny! I don't care if you have no one else to pick up your medication. Don't wanna die you high-risk category 5 hurricane of fat and excuses? I don't care if you grew up in a food desert, worked your whole life at grueling jobs to provide, and I unknowingly liked a picture you drew online. You mean nothing to me.

I can't think of a louder and more frequent message I receive from people than that. Whether it is about me personally or not, that's about the king of all messages when distilled down. You don't matter, I don't care about you, you're too much for me, you do you just leave me out of it, subject yourself to my rules or be punished, where do you get off? You're poor? Oh well, I'm rich. You're sad? Take a pill, watch TV. You're too hot? Learn to enjoy swimming, idiot who should blame the sun. No one wants to give you anything but an opportunity to be used by them. I work in service to different megalomaniacal and financial interests, not for myself. I work so I can fight their tolls on top of an expensive life; what with the whole dodging fascist violence and car accidents.

We're not even playing the game. In college I was forced into “the game,” an awareness game where, once you think of it, you lose. That's it. Before I was made aware of the game, I wasn't playing. If someone said out of nowhere “you lose,” which traditionally you say “I lost” given it's you who remembered the game, I could stare blankly and walk away or ask them what I lost. My asking would invite my responsibility to play, even if I had no interest. It's a game you can't win unless you're not thinking about it, and, in theory, you're always thinking about it in some form or another, hence why you'll continue to randomly lose the rest of your life.

I'm fighting pretty viciously for my own kind of game. When I was first told about the game, it frustrated me these idiots were trying to include me. They just smirked. By now, if the analogy hasn't made itself known, you're a bad reader and thinker. I know I'm in the perpetually losing position. I know power, of any sort, does not like to be challenged. I know that I've given written tabloid material to last me the rest of my life for sourcing things to attempt to shame or embarrass me. I'd want to kill myself were I to respect, embody, or recognize that world, that game, as the one that matters.

I try to keep waking up as myself and to myself. I try to keep practicing the skills it takes to master that actual game, because it's something you can win. A game you can't win is any number of things, but they aren't games. It'd be torture. It'd be death. There's nothing to play with, so you become the object moved in arbitrary directions to no end. I can build the board. I can list the rules. I can coach the players. I can define rules and keep it fair. First, I had to recognize what I was or wasn't trying to play.

I know that I don't regularly translate to people. They just speak to me when they're at “low points.” They know, like we all do, all of the things I regularly complain about. They know, like we all do, how to make a list of things they might do or things they might sacrifice to reach a desired end. What I don't think they know is the nature of the game they're being subjected to. You don't grow up in a derelict house thinking about the lead or asbestos when the roof leaks in the rain. As such, I've tried considerably harder to manifest a home that people might see themselves in. I try to get more exacting with my words, so maybe on the tenth pass, it clicks. I try to not excuse away my thoughts that tell me I'm not done writing or working until I'm done, and it won't be as obvious as there being no more bricks left to move.

Everything you do is a brick. Everything you say is a brick. It's a brick you hurl through a window of unduly gilded power or it's a brick you drop on your foot. It's a brick you build a house with to protect you from all the run-off of inadequately managed games happening around you. It's a brick you build a fire pit with so you can bring people together, cook and energize, and stay warm and pliable for the work that lies ahead. We're at the end of hallways built to trap us, then we've retreated into even tighter dwellings built out of bricks of despair, excuses, and memes. We don't see our effort to build anything else rewarded. We don't believe the bricks can be used for anything more than layer after layer of psychological insulation or impossibly heavy mess not worth moving.

I'm about as angry as I've ever been when I think about the choice to remain living like that. There's no reason to believe that just because someone is rich or famous or nice or loved or funny or dark or brilliant that they're anymore aware of what boards or fields they're playing on either. Everyone has a master even if it's as diffuse as “the mob.” We're all lost, but by now, you should know and be working on the playable game. You'll just be tortured to death otherwise.

Monday, August 17, 2020

[854] In The Beginning

 Let's try to get oriented.

That was my day so far after all, to be oriented. I took a “gig” at Boston Scientific assembling medical devices. It was pitched as 3 12 hour shifts, overtime if desired, and with many ways in which you can learn more and climb the ranks. About two hours into orientation, it was clear they are massively understaffed, still bitter about a billion dollar fine from 2006 (as though they don't have the money), and overtime will probably be more mandatory than “convenient extra money.”

Their orientation was similar to the pageantry of the “training” at DCS and Lifeline. Everyone pretend to read 15 pages of excessively detailed descriptions of what bins to throw things in and who to call if you happen upon a hazardous waste spill. Confirm you've read the updated policy! There will be a quiz! ::chuckle chuckle::. If you're big enough, it behooves you to have as much written down to avoid lawsuits and prove to the people giving you money and licenses that you're paying attention. Before I started regularly engaging with this working world, I didn't realize how all-encompassing the grand joke really was.

I'm reassured that there are collections of basically together people willing and capable of consistently following safe practices that allow for the tools that are going to crawl through my body and break-up plaque. Just like I was assured when I met a fairly robust group of people I would trust to oversee the process by which you do or do not lose your parental rights. At the same time, cracks show pretty quickly, and we can mark this as my first radar pings that I'm going to have to construct a context and narrative that keeps me idling at Boston in the same way I have for every job I've had previously.

While that nothing-burger is cooking, the land and our lives are moving at a better pace. We've cleared ¼ acre where 9 different gardening experiments can take place at once. Allie is testing and sampling the soil so we can experiment with brick building and deciding what to plant. I've got the bones of the new shed laid out and rearing to be set and attached. I've got plans for a fire pit installation that will not only serve as a giant display piece, but hopefully pool heater and oven. It will probably be a month or so, but I intend to get a home extension completed by the end of the year. Allie got an incredible job with the opportunity to transform Spencer and parlay or her contacts into things we can develop. We've got plans for years.

The contrast between my experience and what I gather from others' I can rarely find the words for. I reiterate my pace, my values, and my practice, and when enabled, I watch them manifest in a great relationship, the transformation of my environment, and the efficient consumption of my earnestly enjoyed indulgences. I see the “business world” versions of trying to get everyone on the same page of how to “best practice” and ensure the profits continue to roll in. Every single environment has that set of values, delineated in a thousand pages of policy, or signaled in the behavior of the “leadership” and their adherents.

This is when I start to consider how often I hear about Trump being the symptom and not the cause. This is why when I really let myself believe and let it sink in how depraved we must be on the whole, I can access the darkest thoughts about the impending doom or violence. Your values can be what you fight for, or they can be what you cobble together as leftovers from your ideals. They can be the doublespeak that gets you to kill yourself while claiming you've never felt so alive. They can be the simple lockstep to what you've never known otherwise. It's excessively easy to be bad or break things, and it gets exponentially worse when you can't acknowledge that you've been working in a bad or broken system from the start. Cue the racists perpetually curious for what all the fuss is about, or DCS panicked pull-cord dummy phrases about protecting children.

We're barely evolved to cope with our own lives, let alone the needs of billions and infinite permutations of advanced economies and culture clashes. Our heroes are often the most exploitative or poorly understood for their capriciousness and history. The justifying mechanism we use to keep us trapped in a parallel reality that maintains our mood or stress levels is the exact tool stuck crooked and forward creating a spiral begging to crash in service to our hypocrisy. He can't be serious! They surely well know otherwise. It won't get me! As they struggle to breath or hide their zombie bite. Things could always be worse. While they've never known what it is to feel better.

I think the kind of sacrifices I've made in the relationships I used to have are the exact kind people should be making in their own lives. I think you need to cut off and shit on your fascist or emotionally abusive family members. I think you need to compromise creature comforts and collaborate in circles that have better ideals and practical goals which can pragmatically affect or subvert the broken systems. I think when you find a pocket of sanity, you don't get to forget that, if you had to cut it from the cold dead hands of the world around you, the world around you is cold and dead and you have a lot of work so that it doesn't remain that way. I think you need to get into fights and feel your chest swell with the unknown and that it needs to scare you less than what you know already.

We've gotten off so easy being able to pawn our responsibility onto internet versions of words and action. We're still practically begging minority groups to get a touch more violent and organized so we don't otherwise have to dip our feet into generalized horror. It's a shared horror to be sure, but those forced to engage with it have a perspective we can't tolerate. Or, we pretend we can't tolerate it because pick-your-favorite throwaway sentiment about our own mental insufficiency and life stress. I caught a Jordan Peterson quote about there always being a price to pay for anything you do. You can either introduce the cost into your being and build something within you and the world that remains vigilant and prepared, or you'll break under the weight of what went ignored.

Less abstractly, I can draw a direct line from the things I sacrificed to live on this land, and the benefits I've been seeking. I still can't take 20 minute hot showers with water that doesn't often smell like sulfur. But, I don't have a water bill, which adds up, especially if you want to water ¼ acre. I can also transport fresher water or build a filter or conceive of a half dozen other ways to fix the problem that will not only keep me pliable and creative, but better informed. There's bugs and Trump flags and I have to drive 20-45 minutes to remote civilization, but I don't have a homeowners association. I just dug a hole I'm working on how to swim in, satisfying a dream to have a pool since my mom filled ours in. My conversations are now about how to turn-out and take back the country. My property value has doubled since I've been here.

We can all get by. Probably, you'll always have some way to pay the rent or soft enough crash if you're in my socioeconomic circle. We're exactly the ones who need to be making bigger pushes and bigger sacrifices now. What didn't our parents do? I know for most of us it wasn't stay together, find themselves able to comfortably afford our schooling, and they weren't listening to the science. Aren't we playing the same games? I'm 4 years older than my dad when he had me, and I haven't had a single job longer than 2 ½ years. My generation is the one nut-kicked repeatedly with economic crises, pills galore, and debt exhaustion. Why aren't we all in little Hobbit huts around the land, saving, creating, and practicing the life our children will need to normalize in order to survive?

It's not getting better folks. It's getting so bad we're literally begging for The United States to adopt a dictatorship. Parallels to WWII and Rome are all over the place. We're dying, a lot, of preventable things, not just Covid-19, but of being fat and sad and sick as fuck. You don't have a retirement fund, and in the blink of an eye, you can't tell if this is written by philosophizing angst-ridden 16-year-old Nick P. or the “mature and methodical” yet still pretty hard to understand 32-year-old one, Steven Pinker be damned. What's it gonna take? Or are you already dead?

I know that we're always going to need more help, escape plans, and deliberately creative fixes to the problems happening now and how much worse they will manifest in the future. Ask yourself what you have that's going to outlast you. Tell me, at this pace, in this shit storm, are we going to limp each agonizing step until we consider it merciful to drop dead, or are we going to “radically” respond to the forecast and build the requisite shelter? Are we going to approach the world and each other with the spirit of shared sacrifice and long-term goals? Are we going to allow ourselves to believe we don't have to keep playing things by ear because we're demanding things to believe in and trust?

I suspect no. I can't and won't save you anymore than the people's behavior I'm responding to suggests anyone's going to save me. It's got to be a joint effort. It's gonna be more work than you're used to; it was certainly more than I anticipated to even flirt with having a floor. Write about the alternatives. Plot your future. Ask if it's enough, if the excuses are strong enough, if you'll feel “fixed” or confident, or if you'll just be getting by. Then ask what could be if we combined forces. Ask yourself if Nick P. who's meticulously bitched and complained and screamed and fought and engendered all the personal and professional baggage can see the light ahead, in spite of unremitting chaos, why can't I? I found help. We continue to do the actual work to render the chaos mute or manageable in how we organize. I can't do it alone and neither can you.

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

[xx-21] Shoot

 

I think about all the things I need to do
I make a mind map, a post, a bowl of stew
I wonder aloud
If it's ever allowed
To give you more credit than due
 
I drink a beer and then two
I watch my cartoons go boom
I pick off some dirt
I've sullied my shirt
I wonder if I were you
Would you do too?
 
I care not for meter or measures
I indulge in my various pleasures
I rock in my chair
I pluck at my hair
The rain trickles down at its leisure
 
The night is still young though it's creeping
I fight every instinct for sleeping
I'm super keen
To snooze every meme
My tummy regrets what I'm eating
My head starts to pound
My sorrows abound
Though nothing is wrong I am thinking
 
The game is still on and I'm losing
The losers still cooing and choosing
Who lives and who dies
We're all based in lies
So better to stick to the boozing
 
I'd kill 'em if not for the kindness
The one with the powerful blindness
Of all that still comes
When the fun is undone
And we bow to the minted Your Highness
 
I struggle to fight my head pounding
The sentiment always resounding
Just wait for the day
We all get to pay
With blood in the streets no more hounding
 
I pray though in jest
For where to invest
Where do time and foresight
Entice more than a bite
Of spiteful ingrates
Who rue the dates
Their dreadful souls so born of holes
More rotten than eggs on their face.