I've got these metal mental chains
Holding me down by my wrists.
By my ankles, and throat.
All I can do is stare, watch.
Watching what happens next.
If anything happens at all.
All I can do is look, observe.
While my life burns to ash.
"So stubborn," I thought.
As tomorrow, I'll sleep in the dust
Of my old factory job.
Eviction notice on my door.
3 weeks pay due in 3 days.
No groceries, no gasoline.
Only addiction survives here.
The addiction of money.
For I have not enough
To keep myself alive.
All Cozy Like
Nobahdy knows
where da hobo goes
I live in dah ceilin'
behind 'em drop-in
tiles an' shopliftin'
mirrahs
I's ates like ah King
an' they's takes out
me trash each evenin'
I has me twenty telly
an' ah tub or two uh
Ben n' Jerry in me
Rachel Ray tuppuh wares
I's dressed in Walmart's
best an' look all's smart
an' causal in dah light
Then I's come an' go
as pleases now cuz
Nobahdy knows
just how I's does it ;)
08.31.2023
INSIDE Walmart challenge @Hadrianus
The Press
*My experience in publishing is so limited I hazard to write this essay.
I am writing because I would like to encourage others with the modest comfort that we all have something to contribute... something worthy of publication. This is a particular struggle I recall vividly from my earliest days... the will to create, and the stifling sense of inadequacy to convey meaning, hence a reluctance to share. The first obstacle being to speak at all, the second being what to say so as to not be dismissably trivial.
I felt, early on, failure as a writer because I wanted control over the totality of what I wanted to say; an absurd, but real oppression. I also inherently detested flowery descriptive writing and wanted to cut to the bare essence of ideas. I realized, as an epiphany, that drawing helped me vocalize/ organize my thinking (showing me my subconscious and what it is that I was dwelling on). But because of time and life constraints, illustration became precarious, and the possibility of sketching dissipated to the point that fear and resentment set in, detrimentally.
Back in the day, I self-published 3 zines. My drawings and writings. The first was entirely handmade. I'm a maniac, so the work involved in handmaking multiples was totally normal (in my mind) and prior I had done some handmade flyers, as if in practice. This zine was called High Heels. I think I was 14-15. It didn't last long... not being very sustainable, and I pared down to publishing a year's worth of something I called Words of the Week (yes, like it sounds, etymology). The second zine was called The Citizen and it was digital (I got smarter in college lol) and was designed to format equally well as a printed page and a website. (Later I found that Ralph Nader also had a newsletter under the same name and I felt in good company!) My third zine was called The Observer and was solely intended as an online magazine (I was short on time to ensure multifunctionality).
The content was always social commentary. None of the initiatives lasted more than a year. I'm pretty sure 5-6 people total was the span of my audience, and that's fine. I was speaking my mind, and that is what publishing is about in my opinion: Caring enough to take the time to share with friends and strangers.
Apathy is a most dangerous thing. Publishing by any means is a remedy.
05.05.2023
Publishing Experience challenge @Finder