I arrived in the Bay area nine months ago, with a $9000 bankroll and a dream. Such exorbitance...the first time in my life i'd been anywhere near five digits. Under normal circumstances, it should have floated me job-free for a year and a half, free to save the world.
Thirty days ago, after paying my $680 rent, my fortune stood at $200. I'd been trying (and failing) for two months to find a reliable part-time job that didn't crush my spirit. That had never been a challenge in the past, but all i'd found were a dribble of one-offs. I was thirty days away from being confronted with something i'd never faced - eviction and homelessness (not to mention a blow to my artistic dream of having my voice as a writer be a more significant part of the humyn conversation...plus making an actual living through the products of my creativity).
The four months i'd been in San Francisco had been all i'd hoped for. I'd become a fixture on the open mic scene, with four regular gigs a week, plus irregulars. I'd had some amazing, humbling feedback, and been accepted into a community of wonderful, often brilliant artists. I'd done virtually nothing to try to turn my art into income, for several reasons: the feeling that time was on my side, my non-pushing/non-selling personality which prefers to let things happen organically, and the inertia that comes with mild depression/PTSD.
Almost nothing had happened that might be construed as putting me on any path toward artistic self-sufficiency, so i knew it was time to be more proactive.
I had lost a month or two and a chunk of money to family vacations, both back east and exploring California. I'd lost three months and a bigger chunk of money in a hellish limbo on the other side of the Bay. I'd finally found a home in the heart of Haight-Ashbury, with a rent that would be well-nigh irreplaceable if lost. Of course, that "fantastic" rent was more than i'd ever paid in my life. But not hugely more, and we don't worry about such things in my world. Yet now i was faced with simultaneously trying to kick-start my artistic dream, and find an instant, reliable income. The longer it took to find the latter, the more the former might suffer. To say nothing of having a personal life, and time to write.
Being evicted was probably never a serious concern. Both parents offered to loan me money...a safety net not available to the majority of the residents on planet Earth, who everyday face far more stark material realities than mine, simply as a matter of being alive.
But my thirty-day clock was ticking. My needs were simple - $1000 a month. A decent-paying job for two or three days a week would do it. My scramble was on. In addition to whatever work i found, there would be time burned every day searching ads, making phone calls or e-mails...
WEEK ONE
-Two days on a furniture delivery crew, with one boss and one other worker, and more time spent traveling than lifting. It was the third time i'd worked with them. They were good company, and it felt perfect for me. Something physical and mindlessly zen which i would never have to "take home". The boss liked me, but didn't have the shifts available to be a long-term solution.
-I began the process of becoming a professional dog walker with Rover.com. I'd have preferred arranging my work through independent means as i almost always had, but after two fruitless months...
TOTAL HAUL - $200
WEEK TWO
-Three hours assembling Ikea furniture for a womyn in a fancy home (the last hour for free, because she was stressed and i try to please). I worked while she and a neighbor watched reality TV and read tarot cards and got boozy on white wine. The off-putting aroma of the idle rich didn't sit well with how attractive i found the neighbor's personality (and ass). I had walked into the middle of a job someone else had started, with three huge pieces all the same color. I'm not positive i even had the proper directions, and i apparently put some hinges in the wrong place. She called the next day to tell me my payment had been rescinded (i got a nice TV which had been destined for the curb, though).
-Ninety minutes lugging bags of mulch and stone into a garage. My fellow worker and i also moved a four-hundred pound marble slab (creatively and efficiently, i might add).
-One session helping a theater student prepare for a big audition...canceled at the last minute.
-Ten days of unending hoops and corporate conformity with Rover.com finally kill me, and i abandon that path.
-I turn my daily hour and a half of ukulele practice into busking in Golden Gate Park...and make a buck or two each time! I realize that if i became homeless, i could make all the food money i need by making music. Don't think it isn't tempting...
TOTAL HAUL - $28, a TV, two lemons, and a poem...
"Unemployable"
Did you ever hear that famous author interview -
"What would you be if not a writer?"
"A flophouse bum...
for without writing,
i am utterly unemployable"
Self-deprecating or self-congratulating?
The interviewer doesn't ask...
But the audience smiles and nods
Happy to believe talent
IS rewarded
One more bullshit mythology
But for a writer...
Intolerant of hoops
Disdainful of grindstones
Allergic to paperwork
Crucified by conformity
For a writer with pockets that echo
Two weeks from rent time
Unemployability is a gut punch
Not a fucking punchline
WEEK THREE
-One day on the furniture crew. It really is enjoyable - stefan treats us to yummy lunches.
-Two half-days in a sweat shop, assembling magnetized wooden all-purpose remotes. If you have to be in a sweat shop, this is the one - a cap on shift length, and $25 an hour. Plus pretzels!
-Fifteen minutes in a sound studio, recording my voice for a study on accents. $50!
-One session teaching improv to a couple theater amateurs...cancelled at the last minute.
-I begin the paperwork to join Varsitytutors.com.
TOTAL HAUL - $300
WEEK FOUR
-One day on the furniture crew. Stefan wants to move me onto the payroll (even though the job isn't a permanent solution, and might become a casualty of said solution).
-Two days at the sweat shop. Not a long-term solution (and i don't think i'd want it to be, even with the great pay), as the business is moving to Boston in a few weeks.
-The tutor thing is proceeding well - i'm cleared to teach! But the way things are going elsewhere, i don't need to be a go-getter on this, and i'm not sure i want to. It might be enjoyable, or just another pain in the ass.
TOTAL HAUL - $300
MONTHLY HAUL - $828
Going into that last week, making rent was still iffy. But i do, and then some. And not to imply that the universe has a sense of humor, but after a month of soul-crushing stress, i'm already booked the first seven workdays in May, which would cover all of June's rent. Yeah yeah yeah...money money bullshit bullshit. What a fucked-up world. So okay, i get to devote the last few weeks of June to getting performance gigs, and agent-calling, and THAT bullshit.
Anyway, come visit my little slice of heaven in the Haight. It's mine...for at least another thirty days.
I love you all.
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
"Earthlings"
-written and directed by shaun monson
2005
We do not deserve to live.
We do not deserve to live.
We do not deserve to live.
Please be over.
Please be over.
Please be over.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
By and large, these were the only words i was able to think or whisper during my viewing of this documentary. The only other coherent thought i recall is, "If anyone can watch this film and not stop eating other animals, i give them my complete blessing."
I know that any words i might add are pale shadows of this film's impact. Humyns are visual creatures, and this is an unrelenting onslaught. To not provide a single moment of reprieve to catch one's breath is an artistic choice, and one that i cannot begrudge. The viewer's suffering, while profound, can never be anything but a holiday jaunt compared to the incomprehensible horror that uncountable billions, even trillions, of other animals suffer at our hands...which is precisely the artistic point, i suppose. The music feels a bit gratuitously manipulative in the first five minutes, but get over it.
There's nothing in this film i hadn't already known. The only reason i subjected myself to a full viewing, when the sane response would have been to run far away, was so i could assess it for you.
Of course, "full viewing" is an exaggeration. Much of the time i was averting my eyes, or unable to see through my tears...at one point i took to watching the images in the reflection on my window, seeking only escape.
Is it fair to say that all people can be divided into two groups - those who have seen this, and those who haven't?
(with an interesting sub-divide...those who get through it, and those who don't)
The film starts by drawing parallels between slavery/racism, the dehumynization of wimyn, and our treatment of other animals. The questions of sentience and comparable suffering are addressed. The stages of denial (ridicule, violent opposition, and acceptance) are outlined. It finally moves beyond the obvious topics of food animals and the pet industry, into the worlds of fashion and entertainment. Because these last images are unexpected, they are perhaps the most devastating and damning.
This film doesn't (but perhaps ought) raise the question of what the word "desensitization" means. It's a concept that most people with an average education are at least briefly exposed to, but what does it truly mean? I have long fancied that my struggles with the world, and my descent into mild depression and PTSD, simply reflect my own self-directed resensitization. But i'm beginning to suspect that even academia doesn't fully understand this aspect of current humyn socialization. I searched for a comprehensive book on the subject, and found nothing.
Much of the history of our intellectual relationship to other animals has been the search for what makes us "unique". That pursuit, however, could be described as an abuser losing one crutch of denial after another, as we've realized that other animals embody tool-making, self-awareness, humor, death-awareness, language, art, and culture. The one bastion of singularity remaining, the notion that we're the only creature to project our lives into some abstract future, may soon fall as well. Which leaves me wondering whether the only unique facet of humynity is the ability to blind ourselves not simply to the suffering of others (which all animals do in a survival-based, competitive world), but also blind ourselves to OUR OWN suffering. This may ultimately be the only meaningful definition of humynity, and the key to understanding how we could have become the destroyer of all life, including ourselves.
P.S. It was funny to observe my own rush into escapist behavior immediately after my viewing...there was lots of chocolate and Monty Python involved.
2005
We do not deserve to live.
We do not deserve to live.
We do not deserve to live.
Please be over.
Please be over.
Please be over.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
By and large, these were the only words i was able to think or whisper during my viewing of this documentary. The only other coherent thought i recall is, "If anyone can watch this film and not stop eating other animals, i give them my complete blessing."
I know that any words i might add are pale shadows of this film's impact. Humyns are visual creatures, and this is an unrelenting onslaught. To not provide a single moment of reprieve to catch one's breath is an artistic choice, and one that i cannot begrudge. The viewer's suffering, while profound, can never be anything but a holiday jaunt compared to the incomprehensible horror that uncountable billions, even trillions, of other animals suffer at our hands...which is precisely the artistic point, i suppose. The music feels a bit gratuitously manipulative in the first five minutes, but get over it.
There's nothing in this film i hadn't already known. The only reason i subjected myself to a full viewing, when the sane response would have been to run far away, was so i could assess it for you.
Of course, "full viewing" is an exaggeration. Much of the time i was averting my eyes, or unable to see through my tears...at one point i took to watching the images in the reflection on my window, seeking only escape.
Is it fair to say that all people can be divided into two groups - those who have seen this, and those who haven't?
(with an interesting sub-divide...those who get through it, and those who don't)
The film starts by drawing parallels between slavery/racism, the dehumynization of wimyn, and our treatment of other animals. The questions of sentience and comparable suffering are addressed. The stages of denial (ridicule, violent opposition, and acceptance) are outlined. It finally moves beyond the obvious topics of food animals and the pet industry, into the worlds of fashion and entertainment. Because these last images are unexpected, they are perhaps the most devastating and damning.
This film doesn't (but perhaps ought) raise the question of what the word "desensitization" means. It's a concept that most people with an average education are at least briefly exposed to, but what does it truly mean? I have long fancied that my struggles with the world, and my descent into mild depression and PTSD, simply reflect my own self-directed resensitization. But i'm beginning to suspect that even academia doesn't fully understand this aspect of current humyn socialization. I searched for a comprehensive book on the subject, and found nothing.
Much of the history of our intellectual relationship to other animals has been the search for what makes us "unique". That pursuit, however, could be described as an abuser losing one crutch of denial after another, as we've realized that other animals embody tool-making, self-awareness, humor, death-awareness, language, art, and culture. The one bastion of singularity remaining, the notion that we're the only creature to project our lives into some abstract future, may soon fall as well. Which leaves me wondering whether the only unique facet of humynity is the ability to blind ourselves not simply to the suffering of others (which all animals do in a survival-based, competitive world), but also blind ourselves to OUR OWN suffering. This may ultimately be the only meaningful definition of humynity, and the key to understanding how we could have become the destroyer of all life, including ourselves.
P.S. It was funny to observe my own rush into escapist behavior immediately after my viewing...there was lots of chocolate and Monty Python involved.
Thursday, April 19, 2018
radio WROB 2
An ex-Beatles medley, and a new Earth Day story. The fingerings are still a bit rough, but i was so excited i couldn't resist. My segment comes thirty minutes in...
http://podcasts.pcrcollective.org/CommonThreadCollective/CommonThreadCollective-20180413.mp3
http://podcasts.pcrcollective.org/CommonThreadCollective/CommonThreadCollective-20180413.mp3
Sunday, April 15, 2018
radio WROB
This is me performing songs on Mutiny Radio's Common Thread, with diamond dave and val! Move that blue dot to thirty-seven minutes in...
http://podcasts.pcrcollective.org/CommonThreadCollective/CommonThreadCollective-20180330.mp3
http://podcasts.pcrcollective.org/CommonThreadCollective/CommonThreadCollective-20180330.mp3
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
open mic-rocosm
I've spent the past few months immersing myself in the San Francisco open mic scene, as a storyteller, musician, essayist, and poet.
It's a strange and wonderful world. It's art free of the corruptions of commerce, and at its best fosters a spirit of community that is jarringly absent from most "professional" art. Applause and love rain down, even (and sometimes especially) on failure. Open mics are also a reminder that those who "succeed" in the arts are often not superior to those who don't, just luckier (or more willing to compromise). At almost any open mic, there's usually one act that's as good as anything professional, and in big cities, sometimes even several.
Showing appreciation can be tricky, though. Talking with a performer that same night can lead to obligatory or insincere praise. I try to get around that by saving my compliments for the following week. Any praise someone remembers to say a week later, i know comes from a more sincere place. Yet that solution has a flaw - receiving immediate open mic affirmation of any sort can be such a gift. For the insecure, a single encouraging word can be indescribably healing. I would hazard to guess that few speakers feel no stage fright...and some are no doubt almost overwhelmed. For the first time in my life, i can relate. As an actor, i was able to perform in front of thousands with nary a hint of insecurity, or do one-person shows without any trace of fright. But at open mics...the combination of my emotional walls being so decimated and the nakedness of performing your own words, has given me genuine stage fright. Apparently i cover it well, but it's not easy. Truly, my mild depression and PTSD push my brain into thinking i'm talentless and people loathe me, even when there's ample evidence to the contrary. I'm also vaguely uncomfortable with any flattery or attention, because i want my performances to be about the words, not ME (in this culture of individualism, such hopes are doomed to failure). I've performed long enough that i can laugh at myself as i feel all these things, but most don't have the luxury of my experience. So more and more, i err on the side of giving others immediate affirmation.
It might also surprise many to know that i feel competitive. There's a part of me that considers ANY night a failure if i'm not clearly the most brilliant act. Perverse self-absorption? Yes...and bear in mind that i've spent my adulthood pursuing spiritual humility - and succeeding. No, really! For years, constantly manifesting the thought that i'm no better or more worthy than anyone, ever shifting attention away from myself (perhaps even embracing those attitudes to a fault). Yet the ego-glorification that plagues our culture is so pervasive, and the insecurity this society pounds into our heads is just hellaciously powerful. The notion that we're forever writing the "story" of our lives, always measuring ourselves against everyone else...in this predatory world, i can't keep those demons entirely at bay (even monastery inmates probably fall short: "I can meditate on one foot WAY longer than you slackers!" - maybe hermits...).
Not that i feel competitive in the front of my mind - just in the back, in those places nobody talks about.
It's also funny to realize how many spoken word artists are at kind of awful at delivering their own words! The truth is that some poetry is better read than heard, plus a lot of poets can be monotone or too rapid, which can lead to audiences showing intent faces, but not actually following a damn thing! The funniest example of this was when a poet in the middle of eight short pieces started reciting one he'd already done...and most people had no idea! I wasn't sure for a few seconds, myself. So yes, i too can be guilty of nodding my head and snapping my fingers, while having no clue what the speaker was talking about.
And sometimes the length of the events gets a little oppressive, because i hate the thought of time lost when i could be creating something new, or just doing something more intensely personal or enjoyable. There are performers who do their bit and then skedaddle, but i've got too much devotion to community to take such a mercenary attitude. It's a fine line...there are occasions when extenuating circumstances can prompt an early exit from me, and those circumstances aren't always urgent, or even anywhere close. But i do my best to support all the other performers any time i ask them to listen to me. That's not always a sacrifice...although there is a level (slightly misanthropic, artistically unimpressed, hyper-aware of my own mortality, sex-starved) on which i'm bored by just about anyone. The social aspect can be nice, though - right now these folk are pretty much the only "family" i have.
Here then, my weekly cycle of mics. There are a handful of once-a-month events too, but this is the heart of it.
SUNDAY - Madrone Bar, a music-only venue, which is where my stage fright is most acute, because i'm adding the element of singing and playing an instrument simultaneously - i had NO idea how stupifyingly hard that is! All i'm aiming for as a ukulele-plucker is "adequate" - i don't kid myself, if i win crowds, it will be because of my words and voice. For now it just feels like i'm hitting auto-pilot, and hoping to not wreck. It's exciting to think of how my songs might one day kill, when i'm totally relaxed...
WEDNESDAY - Sacred Grounds, the oldest poetry open mic in the city. Poetry is probably the least of my writerly talents, at least when measured against its most elaborate intricacies. My stuff can be searing and naked, or just funny and entertaining (which makes it relateable to non-poets)...but some poetry snobs might justifiably poo-poo me. I sometimes wonder why i attend poetry-only events at all, as it's never going to take the lead in my "success" as a writer. But there's something beautiful and pure about poets, they're generally more open and interesting than other artists. I come off as quite young in this crowd, which i've learned to live with. Sacred Grounds has the greatest family feeling of any open mic i know.
THURSDAY - Bazaar Cafe, which is mostly music. I do stories and songs. There's no mic, nor any need for one. The energy combines the youthfulness of International Cafe with the reverence of Sacred Grounds. There is no small satisfaction knowing that my stories have been one of the few spoken acts here to resonate with the musicians as much as their own.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON - Mutiny Radio Common Thread, which features music, interviews, and spoken word of political/social relevance. This is where i do my essays, and the affirmation has been wonderful. I've started to do songs too, because my songs will have more resonance in the world at large. Wasn't leonard cohen just a poet who got tired of poverty?
FRIDAY EVENING - International Cafe, the most unruly (yet sometimes most beautiful) beast of all. The crowd is huge, with many non-performers, some of whom are well-lubricated. I do stories and songs, avoiding all but the most juicy essays or poems. In a venue where spoken word can get its ass kicked, being able to hold an audience spellbound, is so sweet. Having an ADD-prone crowd hang on your every word...there might be no better social feeling in the world.
It's a strange and wonderful world. It's art free of the corruptions of commerce, and at its best fosters a spirit of community that is jarringly absent from most "professional" art. Applause and love rain down, even (and sometimes especially) on failure. Open mics are also a reminder that those who "succeed" in the arts are often not superior to those who don't, just luckier (or more willing to compromise). At almost any open mic, there's usually one act that's as good as anything professional, and in big cities, sometimes even several.
Showing appreciation can be tricky, though. Talking with a performer that same night can lead to obligatory or insincere praise. I try to get around that by saving my compliments for the following week. Any praise someone remembers to say a week later, i know comes from a more sincere place. Yet that solution has a flaw - receiving immediate open mic affirmation of any sort can be such a gift. For the insecure, a single encouraging word can be indescribably healing. I would hazard to guess that few speakers feel no stage fright...and some are no doubt almost overwhelmed. For the first time in my life, i can relate. As an actor, i was able to perform in front of thousands with nary a hint of insecurity, or do one-person shows without any trace of fright. But at open mics...the combination of my emotional walls being so decimated and the nakedness of performing your own words, has given me genuine stage fright. Apparently i cover it well, but it's not easy. Truly, my mild depression and PTSD push my brain into thinking i'm talentless and people loathe me, even when there's ample evidence to the contrary. I'm also vaguely uncomfortable with any flattery or attention, because i want my performances to be about the words, not ME (in this culture of individualism, such hopes are doomed to failure). I've performed long enough that i can laugh at myself as i feel all these things, but most don't have the luxury of my experience. So more and more, i err on the side of giving others immediate affirmation.
It might also surprise many to know that i feel competitive. There's a part of me that considers ANY night a failure if i'm not clearly the most brilliant act. Perverse self-absorption? Yes...and bear in mind that i've spent my adulthood pursuing spiritual humility - and succeeding. No, really! For years, constantly manifesting the thought that i'm no better or more worthy than anyone, ever shifting attention away from myself (perhaps even embracing those attitudes to a fault). Yet the ego-glorification that plagues our culture is so pervasive, and the insecurity this society pounds into our heads is just hellaciously powerful. The notion that we're forever writing the "story" of our lives, always measuring ourselves against everyone else...in this predatory world, i can't keep those demons entirely at bay (even monastery inmates probably fall short: "I can meditate on one foot WAY longer than you slackers!" - maybe hermits...).
Not that i feel competitive in the front of my mind - just in the back, in those places nobody talks about.
It's also funny to realize how many spoken word artists are at kind of awful at delivering their own words! The truth is that some poetry is better read than heard, plus a lot of poets can be monotone or too rapid, which can lead to audiences showing intent faces, but not actually following a damn thing! The funniest example of this was when a poet in the middle of eight short pieces started reciting one he'd already done...and most people had no idea! I wasn't sure for a few seconds, myself. So yes, i too can be guilty of nodding my head and snapping my fingers, while having no clue what the speaker was talking about.
And sometimes the length of the events gets a little oppressive, because i hate the thought of time lost when i could be creating something new, or just doing something more intensely personal or enjoyable. There are performers who do their bit and then skedaddle, but i've got too much devotion to community to take such a mercenary attitude. It's a fine line...there are occasions when extenuating circumstances can prompt an early exit from me, and those circumstances aren't always urgent, or even anywhere close. But i do my best to support all the other performers any time i ask them to listen to me. That's not always a sacrifice...although there is a level (slightly misanthropic, artistically unimpressed, hyper-aware of my own mortality, sex-starved) on which i'm bored by just about anyone. The social aspect can be nice, though - right now these folk are pretty much the only "family" i have.
Here then, my weekly cycle of mics. There are a handful of once-a-month events too, but this is the heart of it.
SUNDAY - Madrone Bar, a music-only venue, which is where my stage fright is most acute, because i'm adding the element of singing and playing an instrument simultaneously - i had NO idea how stupifyingly hard that is! All i'm aiming for as a ukulele-plucker is "adequate" - i don't kid myself, if i win crowds, it will be because of my words and voice. For now it just feels like i'm hitting auto-pilot, and hoping to not wreck. It's exciting to think of how my songs might one day kill, when i'm totally relaxed...
WEDNESDAY - Sacred Grounds, the oldest poetry open mic in the city. Poetry is probably the least of my writerly talents, at least when measured against its most elaborate intricacies. My stuff can be searing and naked, or just funny and entertaining (which makes it relateable to non-poets)...but some poetry snobs might justifiably poo-poo me. I sometimes wonder why i attend poetry-only events at all, as it's never going to take the lead in my "success" as a writer. But there's something beautiful and pure about poets, they're generally more open and interesting than other artists. I come off as quite young in this crowd, which i've learned to live with. Sacred Grounds has the greatest family feeling of any open mic i know.
THURSDAY - Bazaar Cafe, which is mostly music. I do stories and songs. There's no mic, nor any need for one. The energy combines the youthfulness of International Cafe with the reverence of Sacred Grounds. There is no small satisfaction knowing that my stories have been one of the few spoken acts here to resonate with the musicians as much as their own.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON - Mutiny Radio Common Thread, which features music, interviews, and spoken word of political/social relevance. This is where i do my essays, and the affirmation has been wonderful. I've started to do songs too, because my songs will have more resonance in the world at large. Wasn't leonard cohen just a poet who got tired of poverty?
FRIDAY EVENING - International Cafe, the most unruly (yet sometimes most beautiful) beast of all. The crowd is huge, with many non-performers, some of whom are well-lubricated. I do stories and songs, avoiding all but the most juicy essays or poems. In a venue where spoken word can get its ass kicked, being able to hold an audience spellbound, is so sweet. Having an ADD-prone crowd hang on your every word...there might be no better social feeling in the world.
Friday, April 6, 2018
CL farewell!
Last week, craigslist sailed off into the sunset. After becoming one of the most famous (and infamous) internet sites ever, they finally bowed to commercialism and became just another job site. They eliminated their personals section altogether, and made the rest of their ads pay-only.
Their personal section was one-of-a-kind, because it was free for anyone to post their own ad, entirely responsible for their own content. Which made it both the most awful and most wonderful site out there. The sleaze and dregs and fakes were out in full force...yet alongside that, absent the air of desperation that clings to any paid site, CL was occasionally also the only personal section in the world where one could find integrity and brilliance untainted.
And now it's gone.
Okay, not completely. There are still chat forums, and maybe one or two unpaid relics like the resume and sale/free sections. But the heart of the site, the personals, has been eviscerated. Gone.
Aside from all that, CL provided writers with a fount of material for essays of social commentary, both serious and silly.
So as a final hat-tip, here are the ads i had running, before the purge.
Free Spirit? (M4W, romance)
Anyone ready to go beyond the beauty/status game?
You look at these silly ads, and don't get people who commodify themselves (height, weight, age, number/coloration of moles...), yet you also don't get people who aren't comfy enough in their skin to post a picture.
Greed and glamour leave you cold. You don't "hit the scene", or self-medicate. You don't see skin color. You live for scintillating conversation, or maybe just a pillow fight.
Put "brown barbaloot" in your subject line.
Seeking Literary Patronage (M4W, platonic)
Hello. I'm a writer and public speaker, brand new to the Bay, looking to save the world...and maybe needing a little help. I'd love to devote my time to creating stories, essays, and poems that will help push humynity back to sanity, while we still (maybe) have time. My work ranges from funny to ferocious, all of it brimming with humynist, feminist, non-materialist, non-superstitious values (think of me as the love child of twain, thoreau, lenny bruce, and simone de beauvoir). Nor do i just pull dreams out of the air - i'm always seeking the newest in science and psychology to help me figure out how we got so self-immolatingly exploitative.
If you're well-off, a pittance will keep me afloat. If you're not, maybe you have one little extra room where future classics of literature are waiting to be created (i also could be the extra hands you need around the house to keep your own life afloat). Why am i advertising in M4W? Because wimyn are, on the whole, less idiotic, egotistic, and noxious than men (don't let it go to your head - that's a left-handed compliment if ever there was). I've got honesty, intelligence, and integrity spilling out my ears, and unlike most iconoclastic provocateurs, i'm stable - no drugs or drinking.
Send me a note...i'll share some writing that might make you cry or clap.
Event/Party/After-dinner Speaker (event services)
Storyteller/essayist/poet/musician, for diversion and delight. Think of me as the love child of twain, thoreau, lenny bruce, and simone de beauvoir. The centerpiece of my gift is hip, progressive, occasionally racy new versions of every classic fairy tale. Plus ukulele songs, and volumes of essays and poetry - silly, serious, or anything in between. I can even delight the squares! With an enormous background as an actor, i've no shortage of characters and charisma. No event too big, or too small. References and sample phone readings available.
warmly,
wrob
Editor/Ghost with the Most (editing)
Do you have files that need fixing? A poorly-translated graphic novel lacking literary luster? A manifesto or magnum opus wanting fresh eyes? Whether it's spiffing something you already have, turning raw material into a page-turner, or creating brilliance from whole cloth...send me a hello.
warmly,
wrob
Writing Tutor - creative or otherwise (writing)
Does your poetry need perk? Your essays energizing? Your prose plumping? Do you aspire to greatness, and seek a guru who's braved the beast's belly? Here i am. Rates are unset (we're not in this world to leverage each other like slabs of insensate flesh...unless you're a corporate climber, then all bets are off).
warmly,
wrob
Personal Coach - unconventional (lessons & tutoring)
The key flaw of the psychiatric profession is that it approaches all problems as personal, and measures success by "normalization". But this society's problems aren't personal. We live in a fear-based, greed-based, violent, repressed, touch-deprived culture of alienation...and how well you "normalize" into that, is a measure of how well you can manifest denial, as a growing body of scientific research shows that humans are by nature mostly non-violent, sexy sharers.
I'm no part of the establishment. I've spent part of my life as a free spirit half-off the grid. My education is in philosophy. My reading tastes run toward science and psychology. I can offer perspectives to help you understand why you've never been happy (hint: no one is). I can't make it all better, as that would require transporting you to a world that doesn't yet exist...but big-picture understanding may bring some peace of mind, and make clear what is (and isn't) important. I'm not a motivational cheerleader, unless your motives run deeper than the american dream. But i might be the most friendly, understanding ear you'll ever find.
Their personal section was one-of-a-kind, because it was free for anyone to post their own ad, entirely responsible for their own content. Which made it both the most awful and most wonderful site out there. The sleaze and dregs and fakes were out in full force...yet alongside that, absent the air of desperation that clings to any paid site, CL was occasionally also the only personal section in the world where one could find integrity and brilliance untainted.
And now it's gone.
Okay, not completely. There are still chat forums, and maybe one or two unpaid relics like the resume and sale/free sections. But the heart of the site, the personals, has been eviscerated. Gone.
Aside from all that, CL provided writers with a fount of material for essays of social commentary, both serious and silly.
So as a final hat-tip, here are the ads i had running, before the purge.
Free Spirit? (M4W, romance)
Anyone ready to go beyond the beauty/status game?
You look at these silly ads, and don't get people who commodify themselves (height, weight, age, number/coloration of moles...), yet you also don't get people who aren't comfy enough in their skin to post a picture.
Greed and glamour leave you cold. You don't "hit the scene", or self-medicate. You don't see skin color. You live for scintillating conversation, or maybe just a pillow fight.
Put "brown barbaloot" in your subject line.
Seeking Literary Patronage (M4W, platonic)
Hello. I'm a writer and public speaker, brand new to the Bay, looking to save the world...and maybe needing a little help. I'd love to devote my time to creating stories, essays, and poems that will help push humynity back to sanity, while we still (maybe) have time. My work ranges from funny to ferocious, all of it brimming with humynist, feminist, non-materialist, non-superstitious values (think of me as the love child of twain, thoreau, lenny bruce, and simone de beauvoir). Nor do i just pull dreams out of the air - i'm always seeking the newest in science and psychology to help me figure out how we got so self-immolatingly exploitative.
If you're well-off, a pittance will keep me afloat. If you're not, maybe you have one little extra room where future classics of literature are waiting to be created (i also could be the extra hands you need around the house to keep your own life afloat). Why am i advertising in M4W? Because wimyn are, on the whole, less idiotic, egotistic, and noxious than men (don't let it go to your head - that's a left-handed compliment if ever there was). I've got honesty, intelligence, and integrity spilling out my ears, and unlike most iconoclastic provocateurs, i'm stable - no drugs or drinking.
Send me a note...i'll share some writing that might make you cry or clap.
Event/Party/After-dinner Speaker (event services)
Storyteller/essayist/poet/musician, for diversion and delight. Think of me as the love child of twain, thoreau, lenny bruce, and simone de beauvoir. The centerpiece of my gift is hip, progressive, occasionally racy new versions of every classic fairy tale. Plus ukulele songs, and volumes of essays and poetry - silly, serious, or anything in between. I can even delight the squares! With an enormous background as an actor, i've no shortage of characters and charisma. No event too big, or too small. References and sample phone readings available.
warmly,
wrob
Editor/Ghost with the Most (editing)
Do you have files that need fixing? A poorly-translated graphic novel lacking literary luster? A manifesto or magnum opus wanting fresh eyes? Whether it's spiffing something you already have, turning raw material into a page-turner, or creating brilliance from whole cloth...send me a hello.
warmly,
wrob
Writing Tutor - creative or otherwise (writing)
Does your poetry need perk? Your essays energizing? Your prose plumping? Do you aspire to greatness, and seek a guru who's braved the beast's belly? Here i am. Rates are unset (we're not in this world to leverage each other like slabs of insensate flesh...unless you're a corporate climber, then all bets are off).
warmly,
wrob
Personal Coach - unconventional (lessons & tutoring)
The key flaw of the psychiatric profession is that it approaches all problems as personal, and measures success by "normalization". But this society's problems aren't personal. We live in a fear-based, greed-based, violent, repressed, touch-deprived culture of alienation...and how well you "normalize" into that, is a measure of how well you can manifest denial, as a growing body of scientific research shows that humans are by nature mostly non-violent, sexy sharers.
I'm no part of the establishment. I've spent part of my life as a free spirit half-off the grid. My education is in philosophy. My reading tastes run toward science and psychology. I can offer perspectives to help you understand why you've never been happy (hint: no one is). I can't make it all better, as that would require transporting you to a world that doesn't yet exist...but big-picture understanding may bring some peace of mind, and make clear what is (and isn't) important. I'm not a motivational cheerleader, unless your motives run deeper than the american dream. But i might be the most friendly, understanding ear you'll ever find.
Monday, April 2, 2018
balance?
I met a person in the park the other day, who couldn't have been more sweet. We got to talking, and i said that i'd been having a rough go of it, because my emotional walls are too low - i lack proper protection from all the fear, aggression, and loneliness that permeate this world.
He didn't quite know what to make of my declaration. As inoffensively as possible, he disagreed with my premise. He opined that being emotionally open cannot be bad, because positivity and negativity exist in equal amounts in the world.
Equal amounts.
It's a good thing i wasn't sipping a beverage, else my spit-take might have alienated him entirely. We chatted amiably a bit longer.
Was i tempted to offer a counter-argument? Something like...
"Let me take a stab at dissuading you from your position. Just off the top of my head...in the richest country in the world, a majority of people live under some form of economic deprivation, with one of every five children in outright poverty. Nine of every ten rapes go unreported. 16,000 children starve to death on this planet every day. One of every hundred deaths is self-murder. All ocean life is projected to be dead within a few decades. We keep over two million citizens locked in cages...which is nothing compared to the hundreds of billions of other animals, thinking, feeling creatures, we keep inside cages their entire lives, living and dying in conditions so horrific that the average person would fall down and puke if they came face to face with the reality. Now please tell me where you find a positivity/negativity balance."
I didn't say that.
But for the rest of the day, one of the tracks in my head puzzled over how anyone could look at the world, and conclude what this person had concluded.
Twelve hours later, in the middle of the night, it hit me.
He believes in god.
How do i know?
Faith in a higher power leads to belief in moral absolutes. When one believes in moral absolutes, life becomes about the struggle between good and evil, and for that struggle to make sense, those forces must be more or less balanced.
Ergo, well-intentioned and reasonably intelligent people find themselves concluding that worldly positivity and negativity are equal. And just like that, they've adopted a position which absolutely blinds them to the dire urgency of how bad things are. They've embraced an overall view of life which can take any horror, any crisis, and say "this is part of a plan".
But nothing is more needed at this point in history, than clear big picture thinking.
Religion is not benign.
Forget crusades, jihads, proselytizing, and persecution. Forget the assault against science, and intolerance of tolerance.
Even non-religious, universalist faith in "god" is not benign.
It doesn't matter how pleasant or caring it might make someone on the surface, if it prevents them from seeing the world AS IT IS. Humynity's ills are cataclysmic, and the window of opportunity to do anything about that is shrinking so fast, we simply don't have the luxury of keeping our heads in the sand. Worldly positivity is getting its ass kicked by a stunningly wide margin, and if we prevent ourselves from SEEING that, we will never change what we are doing to others, and to ourselves.
Nor is this only (only??) about the big picture. His blinders prevent him from perceiving or feeling the misery in every person he passes on the street. The only ones not consciously or subconsciously hiding their pain, are the "insane". He's young, and likely doesn't understand that nobody is more skilled at rationalization and denial than the young...
But i didn't say any of that to him.
I'm saying it to you.
Anybody hear me?
He didn't quite know what to make of my declaration. As inoffensively as possible, he disagreed with my premise. He opined that being emotionally open cannot be bad, because positivity and negativity exist in equal amounts in the world.
Equal amounts.
It's a good thing i wasn't sipping a beverage, else my spit-take might have alienated him entirely. We chatted amiably a bit longer.
Was i tempted to offer a counter-argument? Something like...
"Let me take a stab at dissuading you from your position. Just off the top of my head...in the richest country in the world, a majority of people live under some form of economic deprivation, with one of every five children in outright poverty. Nine of every ten rapes go unreported. 16,000 children starve to death on this planet every day. One of every hundred deaths is self-murder. All ocean life is projected to be dead within a few decades. We keep over two million citizens locked in cages...which is nothing compared to the hundreds of billions of other animals, thinking, feeling creatures, we keep inside cages their entire lives, living and dying in conditions so horrific that the average person would fall down and puke if they came face to face with the reality. Now please tell me where you find a positivity/negativity balance."
I didn't say that.
But for the rest of the day, one of the tracks in my head puzzled over how anyone could look at the world, and conclude what this person had concluded.
Twelve hours later, in the middle of the night, it hit me.
He believes in god.
How do i know?
Faith in a higher power leads to belief in moral absolutes. When one believes in moral absolutes, life becomes about the struggle between good and evil, and for that struggle to make sense, those forces must be more or less balanced.
Ergo, well-intentioned and reasonably intelligent people find themselves concluding that worldly positivity and negativity are equal. And just like that, they've adopted a position which absolutely blinds them to the dire urgency of how bad things are. They've embraced an overall view of life which can take any horror, any crisis, and say "this is part of a plan".
But nothing is more needed at this point in history, than clear big picture thinking.
Religion is not benign.
Forget crusades, jihads, proselytizing, and persecution. Forget the assault against science, and intolerance of tolerance.
Even non-religious, universalist faith in "god" is not benign.
It doesn't matter how pleasant or caring it might make someone on the surface, if it prevents them from seeing the world AS IT IS. Humynity's ills are cataclysmic, and the window of opportunity to do anything about that is shrinking so fast, we simply don't have the luxury of keeping our heads in the sand. Worldly positivity is getting its ass kicked by a stunningly wide margin, and if we prevent ourselves from SEEING that, we will never change what we are doing to others, and to ourselves.
Nor is this only (only??) about the big picture. His blinders prevent him from perceiving or feeling the misery in every person he passes on the street. The only ones not consciously or subconsciously hiding their pain, are the "insane". He's young, and likely doesn't understand that nobody is more skilled at rationalization and denial than the young...
But i didn't say any of that to him.
I'm saying it to you.
Anybody hear me?
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