I have been pretty busy at the Peace and Justice Center and my fucking back won't let me sit and write very long. If I take painkillers I get fuzzy, they're not fun anymore, goddamit, and if I don't I'm a bitter angry motherfucker, both of which conditions can be conducive to writing, I've tried, but it's no good. It's important to not just be bitching and complaining any more than necessary about me,me,me.. I'll be back.
New guys own the place we live and have been trying to close up the hives, but that's turning out to be harder than getting gum off your shoe. Fun to watch, though.
I don't know why they're fucking with them really, they aren't really bothering anyone, other than by being here. No civil rights for dope fiends, same as it ever was. Maybe they stopped paying the rent.
I wrote an article for the March/April Peace Press. It's harder to write like that though, I can't bullshit, its all got to be square business, very stressful , me having to not bullshit. Plus, I have to submit to quality control by an editor so a lot of energy is expended arguing and my fucking heating pad keeps turning itself off. If the piece goes in the Peace Press, I'll post it on here if I can figure out how to.
The dogs remain the only constant, all they want from me is a good time and that's what we have, me limping around waving my cane and three leashes while they run circles around me in the dark, laughing their asses off. No matter what, I go out with those dogs, thats my real job.
The good time dogman motherfucker, thats me.
The thought of submitting to somebody else's editorial process might be on a par with back pain. My back is not good. It hasn't troubled me for some time, but I recall not being able to sit, take a bath, lie low or stand up without grabbing onto the window or door frame with the muscles in my neck corded like a statue giving birth.
ReplyDeleteI worked on a free paper for a while. Nothing exciting, just local news. It came to nothing. I did not write a single line for it over the course of several issues. It was my job to put it all together and get it dispatched to the printer.
"Guys," I would complain. "This copy is too long. Can you shave it a bit ?"
Of course, this seldom went down well. One writer, in particular, was very precious with his words. And less than complimentary about my own skills. The paper lacked bite, real teeth, editorially not wishing to offend any potential sponsor. Eventually I tired of the episode and resigned. Shitting in one hand and wishing in the other.
Keep the heat turned up on that pad. And the cane on a leash. Me, I enjoy the bitching and bullshit.
Dogman motherfucker. Has a nice ring to it.