Thursday, July 14, 2011

So far...
no good. It's been two weeks as of yesterday since I left the plantation. Talk about the road less traveled, the career path of independent artist is pure wilderness. I say "independent artist" because "freelancer" is a shitty title.  There's an ever present sense of urgency. It seeps from the outside-- society, spouse, past due notices --skips the bulk of me, and settles in the core of my doubt. Primarily focusing on trying to create a "job", as opposed to looking for one, is a life-stakes gamble. Sill, I roll. I feel like I can always find work. I'm not now & hope to never be above sweeping floors. I'll do what it takes to live in this society until I can buy my way out, but there's no escaping the urge to write. Art is only a luxury to the rich. It's a necessity for the world. Just as Dorothea Lange opened America's eyes to the Great Depression, I'm one of those "we have a responsibility" type of nerds. Love is undocumented throughout the history of the world outside of poetry and song. Same thing goes for hate, justice, and all the things we say makes us human. Histories are always trying to make themselves look good, so the so-called artist has to tell it like it is. The history books never said slavery was wrong, that's why teachers have to use text like Huck Finn, a fictional novel, in  their teachings. The vast majority of us spend the vast majority of our time as pegs in some machine, keeping the profits coming. But we all individually know that there's more to life than profits. The bottom line isn't actually the bottom line. We don't say it aloud, but the plan is to work work work, only living between shifts & towards the latter end of life. What about our lofty goals? The individual ones, of stopping & smelling the roses, or writing a book, playing piano, or whatever? The societal goals of making a more perfect union, & all that jazz? Our individual lives seem to be to big for us. Managing work & daily life take so much, who even has time to think about the big picture, let alone influence it? I can, that's who. For every historical moment documented, there are a large amount of people who could have taken part, but they had to work. Selma, Montgomery buss boycott? "Sorry dog, I need to get to work & I'm late." Tiananmen Square? "Sorry Lee, I would go with you, but finals are week after next." It happened: I went to the mechanic not long ago. He ran some test on my old raggedy truck, and gave me the diagnostic. I asked, "Is that something I can fix myself?" He replied, "Of course you can. You're a man: you can do anything." Can't I? Can't we? Nothing is unlearnable, or undoable. Spell check says both of those words are incorrect. Spell check is wrong. Buck spell check and societal norms, I'm going for the life I want to live. Get your life up.

Monday, July 04, 2011

Sacked....
 Canned. Pink slipped. Downsized. Mark Zuckerberged. Fired. I stopped saying the name, because I refuse to speak ill of the place [as much]. At least, I'm trying to cut down. I didn't deserve it, but shit happens. I'm only a player in a much larger story. Maybe it wasn't the right place for me. Womp womp. Now is always most important. I've been writing (Co-authoring? Editing? Penciling mustaches on?) my story for a while now. Professional writing has loomed in parenthesis for too long. The untrained eye sees dark skin and unemployment, but my vision has never been a strong point. My goal is to "make it" ( Whatever that means. Aren't we all technically making it until we die?) as a writer. If it can be done, I can do it. People write. I'm people. Unfortunate for you, reader, I need a place to write all my crap to get to the good stuff. Everything Picasso put on paper wasn't a masterpiece, take his tissues for example. Not to say I'm Picasso of the pen (have you seen my archives?), or that I wipe my ass with these entries, just that there is a certain amount of honesty over artistry that comes with this format. The low profile offers a certain seclusion, or privacy. Free to act out, here is my mirror to dance in front of alone. Almost. So while may or may not bust a move, I can promise that in my preparation for the big dance, there will be the occasional botched MJ impersonation. I plan on logging my quest, analyzing everything, experimenting, and coming up with better final list items on this b l o g. Filthy word, I don't enjoy saying it. I hope to one day look back at this all and laugh. If not then I'm sorry, future generations and self, but it all seemed hilarious at the time. I write about humanity as seen from my point of view. I have other formats for that lot. This is the view from ground level, my life. My life as a self proclaimed artist. There I said it. Artist.