Sperm as Snack

Well I went for bagels.

I went for bagels and SPAM. I don't know what's up with this bagels and SPAM kick that I'm on but something is wrong. It's just that for the first time in my life that damned meat is tasty. And on an everything bagel, it kicks ass.

And what is SPAM made from anyway. Is there a little SPAM animal out there that the kill to get this stuff from? Is it a part on a pig. The SPAM area? Is it the compressed assholes of pigs, ground up and filled with some filler? Is the filler pig sperm? Is that why it sticks together so well? Why do I ask about sperm? Because SPAM always looks to me like two words, 'sperm' and 'ham'.

Now I don't want to get too graphic here, but I know that women don't mind eating sperm, but as for me, I'll pass. So I should pass up on my SpermHam? I don't know, I'm hoping that the filler is made from something else. I have to look it up on one of the packages the next time that I see it and check that shit out. No wait, I have one of the packages here. Hold on!

Do you want to know the fucking scary thing about it? It doesn't say. It just gives you a phone number to call if you have any 'product questions'. What the fuck? I don't know about that shit, but I know that I'm not the only person on this planet that would like to know what SPAM is made out of. You know what that means. Check the Internet.

Ahhh, SPAM is made up of: chopped pork shoulder meat with ham meat added, salt (for binding, flavor, and firmness), water (to help in mixing), sugar (for flavor), sodium Nitrite (for color and as a preservative). That's not as terrible as I thought for a second there. Just to make sure, I looked up the ingredients of sperm, and got: Sperm consists of at least 2 vitamins: C and B12. It also contains important minerals, including such elements like calcium, magnesium, potassium, zinc, and phosphor. 2 sweet substances are included in sperm's composition. They are the fructose and the sorbitol. Besides the other obvious ingredients the sperm has, it contains also proteins. They make the sperm to be an exceptional nutritional supplement but will never substitute a balanced diet. It is worthy to mention about the existence of a significant amount of cholesterol and sodium in sperm.

A balanced diet? Who the fuck are they kidding? A snack maybe..... Funny, those same ingredients are in SPAM. Makes you wonder. Well, I researched some more and got where the fucking name came from - Spam was originally a type of canned luncheon meat which dates back to the Second World War. The name "SPAM" is derived from "Spiced Ham".

How in the fuck did I get on sperm and ham? I dunno. That's how my sick brain works when it has nothing to do. Make these crazy assed observations that have no connection to the real flipping world. I'm sick I tell you, I'm sick. If you think that I'm kidding you, you need to live out in the streets for two fucking years.

But I love the shit out of SPAM! What's to be made of that? Well, needless to say I have a SPAM and bagel sandwich for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I work on my novel. My novel, which is my dream right now. I dream of it being published. I dream of this damn book being printed in several languages and making the best seller lists. I dream of money pouring in all of a sudden and I can buy a house out in the suburbs of some city and live a good life, with good food, maybe some pets, a den filled with books and a beautiful wife. That would be a good dream for a homeless man who is sitting in a small room like a jail cell, afraid to leave it because I have no money. I have no capability to support myself, and if the powers that be choose to, they can send my ass right on out into the streets.

Now you want to talk about dreams or a feeling or eating sperm, or anything, I'll tell you right now, that there is no other overbearing feeling or issue like that of being turned out into the streets. Oh, you can survive it. You can live out there indefinitely, but it's a tough motherfucking life, and I have grown increasingly soft in this room, with a bed and temperature controlled conditions and freedom from thieving skeksies. Tell me that that's not going soft.

Hell no, I don't want to hit the streets again. I don't know if I could find my way back up to this position that I'm in right now. I know that this is transitional housing, and this is only to be my circumstances for a year or a couple of months, but fuck if I want to wait for my new apartment in the streets. This place is pretty good in that respects. They take care of all your paperwork for your Section 8 voucher. Once you get your voucher, you can get your apartment anywhere in the continental United States. Which is damned good.

"I already was approved for section 8," Paula tells me at the elevator. I'm going down for my bagels and SPAM. Paula is always one up on me. "I'm just waiting for my fucking voucher." She waves her hand at me, the one with the big assed ring. "And then I'm getting the fuck out of here." So, where are you going? "Anywhere, but I'm getting my apartment." Yeah, and you're getting married too on top of it. Yeah Paula, you've got everything going there for you sweetheart. Good luck.

I wonder if she has sperm as a snack? I'm sorry, that's just how my mind thinks.

Hobobob

The Finishing of the Special

So what did I say yesterday about life?

Well, I forgot it too. It must not have been anything of much importance or else you would have remembered. I would have remembered it. But no, I'm still prepared to bitch about my life. But no. Yesterday, I had a good day. I reached page 1,152 on my novel. It will be finishing in another ten pages or so. I'm wrapping up all the loose ends now. The Carlyle brothers are finished with so that's just about the end of the story.

Then I'm in editing mode. There's a lot of the story that needs explaining and reinter- preting that I have to get to. It should take me awhile and it should add pages to the story, which may swell it to my desired 1,500 pages. Just maybe.

But enough about that stupid novel. My guru has told me:

"so go on dreaming, even scheming, and go on living, and crunching those leaves under your feet, and go on doing shout out as long as you feel like it ...and go on writing poems, and inventing forms, and being generous to the homeless -- with their haunted eyes and tattered cloaks. go on looking for work and for your niche in society... you will always have the core of who you are, with you, greater than a shadow, because it is your own flesh and blood and breath and bone. no one could ever get closer to you than that."

So well put. I need to go on doing what I'm doing. Not be so concerned with my future. Why do I need a guru you may ask? Why do you quote her in your blog? Are you going to keep it up? Well, I'm at a crossroads in my life, hopefully, where things will change for the better. I'm hoping things will look up for me suddenly and that I will have the opportunity to get out of the hole I'm in. To prepare me for this change, I could use some wisdom in my life. I could use some seasoned help. My guru is much older than me, at sixty five, she has seen much more of the world than I have, has accomplished so much more, and has the wisdom that age gives. I am so glad to have found her. Our meeting was just by chance, and that's why I know that I will be experiencing a change soon, for the better, I hope. So I quote her in the blog, to give you an idea of the direction that I'm about to go in. So that if my actions seem uncharacteristic, it's not because I've gone mad, but instead I have been given a new outlook on it. So I will quote her from time to time, but only from time to time, because I know, dear reader, you do not need the admonitions from a sage, and so I'll keep it to a minimum.

Today I did nothing. Well I shouldn't say that. I did the email thing, and the novel thing, and the poetry and Haiku thing and well, I kept myself busy. I conked out early and woke up early. With nothing in the house, because I didn't do any food shopping last week, I split and headed to the bagel shop at 6:00am and got a few bagels for breakfast, and then sat back down behind my computer and did my thing.

Today is the SHOUT OUT. I still have mixed feelings about it even though I intend to do it every Saturday. It's tough though without help. I'm slipping on the paperwork, not doing too well with the scheduling, not doing to well with everything.

As for the SHOUT OUT, well Well, I only pissed off one group of people today. I really don't know how I did it, but one of the three (there were three of them) called out my name while he was actually reading as if I wasn't listening. I actually was reading who would be coming up next but he no doubt thought that I wasn't listening. Like I can't do two things at once. I'm standing right in front of the damned speaker you know. And then he says: "What we need to do is when we host treat everyone with the respect and honor that they deserve. I've been running a reading for a long fuckin' time and I know what I'm talking about." So, I guess it was about me. But for the life of me, I don't know what I did to offend him. At the intermission they all walked out in a huff and didn't even pay the hobo-fee of $3.00. I said goodbye to the one with the announcement on the stage and he just grumbled at me.

Well, those are the breaks. You can't please everyone. Maybe I can make it up to them at some later date. We'll see, but for the rest of the SHOUT OUT I rocked and rolled. I didn't spend too much time up on the stage trying to entertain everyone, but instead got the poets up on the stage like it's supposed to be. They are the ones that make the show, not the host. All I do is MC. There's nothing special with that.

Afterwards, I got another feature for January which is good. I just need two more to clinch the month. I skipped out of the SHOUT OUT feeling pretty good today, I got through it for another week, and I hope that I can keep the audience attendance up without OBSIDIAN. I know that the audience comes to see TWO of us up there, not just one. Well, maybe he'll be back soon.

I left out and went next door to...well you know who. I just can't help it. It's like it draws me inexplicably into its door. You know what I'm talking about, Kennedy Fried Chicken. I get a dozen fried chicken wings, some for tomorrow (Yeah, right) and take the fucking Way. I go downstairs for the L train and there is none. I just miss one the second I get downstairs, and then there is no more. The platform fills up with people and yet still no train. Typical of the MTA, fucking around with the trains just when I want to go home. I get pissed off, which is really hard to do, and leave the station. Fuck it if it comes, and walk the fifteen or twenty block across town to get to the 1, 2, or 3 uptown.

This is the hilarious part. I'm standing in the train, riding from stop to stop when I hear, like a whisper: "Attention passengers, attention passengers ....important announcement..." Now realize that this idiot is being drowned out by the roar of the train, but he keeps on talking. The other passengers seem oblivious of him. "The number....train will be operating in the express....to get to stops in between...."

I give up trying to hear this comedian and pray that my stop is not involved in all of this mess. It wasn't. I get out of the train and blast home. There i no place like home. None at all. I open my twelve chicken wings, cover them in hot sauce and chow down. Chicken wings have no natural defenses against me.

I'm going to get to finishing that novel as soon as I finish eating and washing my hands. I really can't believe that I somehow pissed THREE people off. See, you just don't know in this business.

Hobobob

Bottom of The Pile

I was on IRC last night.

And a friend there got me interested in ROCHESTER NEW YORK. She said how great and inexpensive it is to live up there, and that they are always hiring for jobs in the tech field. So what do you think I did, with her help of course, I looked into it, and guess what? She was right. Rochester is hiring aggressively in the tech field, even paying for relocation. Wow. I was astounded. Also to hear that they have a pretty extensive bus system. I can get around everywhere without a license. Which is good for me since New Jersey is still holding my license hostage. Sons of bitches.

I am amazed, so I send out my resume to a half dozen of them and sit back and relax. See if I get a response from any of them. I stay online all night, until three in the morning, working on my novel, still bringing it to a conclusion. I am working on it a lot now, now well past 1,100 pages, another milestone for me. 400 pages from my goal. Its coming together nicely so I don't think I'll make it, but we'll see. It will be close, and I don't want to fill the end of the book with padding just to get to that number. I want it to end logically.

I went of to sleep last night, and had neutral dreams, dreams about nothing. Must be trying to imitate my life. All about nothing.

Another friend of mine, BB, online tells me about how they are close friends with Terri McMillian and wondered if she could help me find a publisher for my new book. I am astounded. I have friends with connections willing to use them for my benefit. And friends in high places too. I thank her for the effort and smile inwardly. What a good break that would mean for me. Maybe, with a publisher, I'll be able to move along with my life. Open up a new chapter, a new avenue, a new adventure.

I'm always bitching about my life lately. Like I need one. Well, if I don't bitch about my life, what do I bitch about? WECARE? Not a problem for the time being. My shrinks? Well I am getting tired. I am depressed today. So I skip Dr. A and Dr. W. I know, bad move. But I want to just stay in my room and listen to some sad music and vegetate. Just do nothing but watch paint peel.

Keeps me out of trouble. I get an email from one of the job prospects from Rochester. It's a job recruiter, not a job. I hate when they do that. They hide behind jobs to get your information so that they can find a job for you, and unless you have some sterling skills, they are the ones that put you on the bottom of the pile. Otherwise, known as full of shit. They send me a skills Info-sheet. Basically a questionnaire to see how much you know about the technology, with trick phrases, and dead ends to see if you can tell the difference between a cock and an anus.

I fill it out, but I don't send it in just yet. They say to hurry, but I don't think hurrying will make a difference, especially, like I said, they put me on the bottom of the pile. I know that my references and my skills are wanting, because they are all real work experience, which somehow does not count when these guys have so many paper certifications. Which are full of shit. I've been DOING this shit for years. They've taken a TEST for competency, and they look better on paper. My skills don't really translate to paper well.

Well, what can I say about that? Cry? Whine? I have other things to cry and whine about. Bitchy little things. Like my nonexistent love life. I have none. There is no one on the horizon, no one in the close up. It's like I shut womankind out of my life. It's like I've been avoiding them. Maybe that's what I have been doing, avoiding them for reasons unknown. I'm in love though. With an unattainable vision, an image of a perfect woman that is far beyond my grasp. Why do I do this to myself? Because I want to.

I like building sand castles in the sky. I like to go blue sky mining. I like to dream of red heads, with rosy, freckled skin, floating on the air. A wind sylph. Unattainable, ethereal, magical. Why a red head? I don't know. God made her that way, I'm just going with the flow here. I want to write poetry about her every day, but a man has to draw the line somewhere, right? Not every day. Every other day.

I have to start looking for earthy, fleshly women. Womankind, not the near invisible, the sweet voice from the air, no but a vision of beauty right here on earth. Something that I can lay ahold of, touch, feel, taste. Oh come off it. I'm a homeless bastid. Think about it. I am the WORST husband, boyfriend that a woman would want to meet, much less get all involved with. I am in the worst position to be in. "What do you do for a living?" Nothing. I live off the state essentially, until I can find a real job up in Rochester, New York. Well, they looked like they were hiring aggressively on craigslist. We'll see. "Oh really," she'll reply and then follow a serving tray right away from me. Like I would be at the dinner party in the first place.

Well that's alright. What does anyone expect of me anyway? To split the atom? To find the cure for the common cold? What would you want from me, fresh off the street, just a year from a men's shelter, and two from the streets? I have not made much of a change in my life. I'm still low on the totem pole. And here I go again, talking about my life, or my lack thereof. Bitchin', whinin' and moanin'. What is wrong with me. LIFE is LIFE. It is what you make of it. You can't find it. You can't search it out. You can't put it on autopilot, or even wander down the road of it. Life is inhalation and exhalation. Life is feeling the wind on your face, the smell of good, fresh bread, the velvet touch of a woman's skin, the sight of a glorious sunset, the sharp, salty smell of the sea. Life is for the living, those with beating hearts.

If we enjoy four walls, and the Internet, if we enjoy music all day, and writing, and making characters and putting them through their paces. If we enjoy peace and quiet, and solitude. If we love anything, anyone, anyhow, then we are alive. And if we are alive, we are living a life. I have a life, I need to recognize that. Now I'm beginning to sound like my Guru.

"what if you wanted to become a more desirable man for yourself?? for the world? for the cosmos? for the akashic records? for even your society of poets? for even the streets of new york? for even the man who drinks his morning coffee? who fixes an occasional bachelor meal?"

I am living a life. Excuse me, while I kiss the sky.

Hobobob

Following the Glow of the Street

Excuse me, while I kiss the sky.

Jimi Hendrix. Wow. Where was he? Was he that stoned that he could come up with lyrics like that? That's the aim of a writer. To write so as to touch the mind. I'm constantly trying to learn. I'm constantly looking for new ways to improve. One is a friend of mine in Florida that I met through another friend over the Internet. For a long time we had never seen each other or heard each other's voice, but her wisdom is unmistakable. She guides me along daily, and I am enthralled with her words. Just like Jimi Hendrix.

"its hard to find a balance between the inner life and the outer life, being too busy, being too passive, reaching for what you want, hiding from what you want, taking advantage of opportunities, letting them pass you by. and to think, life is so damn short! that it makes one want to cry to think about the angst, when really we should be counting our f--ing blessings day in and day out: running water, legs that walk, lungs that breathe,"

She is so insightful that I hang on her every word sometimes. It's gotten me through some chop I have to say. I'm calling her my Guru, because, basically that's what she is. I read an email by her today, and I wrote her back and went straight off to work on my Novel. I spent last night, up to three in the morning, sending out my resume to prospective employers for job positions in the telecommunications field. I had my appointment to see my therapist today but I just did not feel like sitting around and operating on my skull. I just wasn't in the mood. Rather I was in the mood to write. I'm strictly in the mood to write and not to worry about my future and where it is headed.

"You might as well just live now, and be cheerful and happy now, and take walks in your flip flops now, and write more poetry now, and dream more dreams now, and to hell with the imagined future, even to hell with the imagined past. now is the only thing, and each breath we take... inhale...ah, is what we take in, and each breath we inhale - ah - is what we give back."

I of course do not get back any responses from my resumes, but it's too soon to tell anyway. I'm busy with the Carlyle brothers and nearing page 1,100. This is another milestone for me. It makes me feel good, because it was my aim all along to reach 1,500. It looks like this book will get close.

Why 1,500 as a goal? Oh I don't know. I just never thought that I could think up a story with a story line so long and intricate so as not to be boring. This happened to be it. Now it's time to tie it all up and I'm kind of taking my time. I just don't know where I want to go with it. A fantastic slam, bam ending, or a more cerebral ending, like the entire book has been.

Whatever.

Otherwise I groused. I wondered about the changing of the season, and how many of us homeless that are still in the streets are wondering about where they are going to go when it gets too cold to be outside. The party is now over. Another winter is rushing upon them. My heart goes out to them. I wonder if I could join the Q somewhere and hand out food and clothes and go looking for them? I wonder if such a thing is possible? That would be a good use of time. Giving back. I'm going to look into it.

Otherwise, I groused. I blew off my therapist today. Just ran right past my hour with her and didn't even email. I'm a shut in, that's what I do. I wish I could hop up and leave anytime that I want to, but I don't want to. I want to stay within these four walls. They feel like protection. They feel like home. I've told you about this before. From not having to having. It feels good. I'm afraid, sometimes, that they will be taken away, and then where will I be. Back on the streets, worried about the changing seasons.

I am saddened over the fact that I have to live like this though, like I am. In fear all the time. In fear of being turned back out onto the streets, in fear of being outside of these four walls for protection, in fear of the world outside. I would like a better life. I'm hoping on finding one, as soon as I can.

Finding a life. That sounds funny. It's as if life is a lost ring in a field, or a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

Go find a life.

ha ha ha ha

Hobobob

Feeling N0rM4L

I woke up.

That's what I like doing. I like to wake up. Sometimes I like to stay asleep too. My dreams can be so compelling, so captivating, so beautiful. Sometimes my life imitates my dreams and to wake up is a sheer joy. Sometimes, most times, my dream are better than life. And I hate to wake up. But today I Liked waking up. The dream was not one that I remembered well.

I am up and out early in the morning. I've run out of creamer for my coffee, so why not leave out early in the morning to get more? And why not do it without a jacket? Why not act like it's the summertime? So out a go, like a fool wearing nothing but a tee shirt and slacks and sandals, and freeze my ass off. Literally. I go through the Duane Reade and I surprise myself. I'm grabbing at coffee and milk and acting like a normal human being.

Normal.

Does this mean that I'm back in the real world? Am I having a glimpse of the world that was for me? Is this what life was like before I went homeless? I am in awe suddenly. I stop in the middle of the Duane Reade. This is not the first time I will get this revelation today. It is an eerie feeling, to be back in the real world. I can remember going to the Franciscan Friars for their watered down version of coffee, standing on a soup line for a sandwich and a cup of the bean and that was all the coffee that I would be having for the day. That would be it.

And now I'm shopping for coffee, as if I'm a normal human being? Will I ever be normal after tasting the other life? Will that life always mark me? I am not free of it yet, will I ever be? I have to wonder. I have to think about it. The truth is is that it is a portion of my life that will always be a part of me. I find it hard to leave my room I believe, because of having to live for years outside without someplace to go after dark. Staring out the window of a Starbucks, wishing that I had a home to go to when the night became deep. Now I do, and I hate to leave it, for anything in the world.

That's no doubt why I'm a shut in. I'll always fear the outside world. Always fear having to return to it. I look at my surroundings and I say to myself, how did I get here? How did I luck into this room? How did this happen? I have a chance to change things for myself. All I need is for things to work out.

I have been contacted thru Facebook by an old High School Brother. He found me and we queried each other to see if we were who we were....

"Are you Hobobob that went to San Francisco and then to Las Vegas in 1980 with at least 3 other guys?"

Yes, I was that guy. But who was he? Yes I am. Were you with us? Were you the fourth guy???

"Yes it was my friend. I remember that one of us did not have a driver's license yet and became the de facto "navigator" for the whole trip. We wont talk about what happened in Vegas - because what happened in Vegas stays in Vegas. Gosh, that you remember the guys on that trip is very impressive."

It was as if time melted as we caught up. We wrote back and forth, playing catch up, and he told me that he heard my radio show, and just now made the connection. Wow, I'm more famous than I care to think. He is a wonderful connection back to a life that I have long forgotten. I have long lost track of my life. It has been derailed for some four or five years, crashed and rolled over in a mountain of smoke and dust. I am fallen.

When did life get to be so hard to hold on to? When did I fuck up so badly that I ended up here? What star did I follow that led me to this place, and what star did I follow to lead me back out? How DID I get off the streets? It seemed as if things moved in the right direction for me. I did very little. All I did was survive day after day. Just survive and I slowly rose out from the morass of living on the streets.

And there it goes again. That feeling of being N0rM4L. As if I survived to enter back into the real world, where I can shop for food, and eat at a kitchen, and sit on the Internet all day and bitch and moan and write novels and look for a job. I'm feeling that I'm like YOU now. OR a close facsimile. I'm thinking that I feel good. I feel that I am in a dream.

I wonder if I fall asleep tonight, will my dream be better than this life? OR will this life be better than the dream? Will I like to wake up tomorrow? When things are in wack, does that mean that changes for the better will be made...in spite of me?

Will there be any change for the better?

Hobobob

Nothing of Value

Nothing.

Nothing of value. Nothing of any substance. I did nothing today but whine and cry and bitch over the Internet. It's time for me to get to work on the Novel and draw that to a conclusion that I am now racing down to. I'm wrapping it all up suddenly. It' is like it's imploding with all of the loose ends winding their way up and tie-ing together. That's probably why I don't want to work on it so, because I don't want to see it end. But end it must.

Further, I'm growing rancid here. I am not alive, but living. I need to get out and get to some poetry readings. When I have a day to myself I waste it, pouring it out like some kind of votive offering. I won't have many more like this. I need to buck up and DO SOMETHING. Something constructive. Maybe look for a job online. That could cure a lot of my aches and pains.

I am just growing tired of being here. Of being me. I'm just living in a capsule, shut out from the world. I'm not terribly happy. I'm always alone, always lonely. It appears to me now that I've won my court case, now that I've taken care of all of the shit that I was building up before me, I have exhausted any reason for living. It's as if I have no further goals. Nothing else to live for, other than the Internet, and we all know that this is not true. I have a lot to live for, I just don't have any immediate goals. I need rest, that's what I need. Rest from a very active vacation, and slow down, sort things out and align my newly found goals....right?

Paula is getting married. Now is the entire world upside down or what? If shit isn't crazy enough she has to show up with a rock on her finger the size of a thumb. I mean, I'm not upset because of costume jewelry, I'm just alone. There is no one that I want to put a big rock on, or more importantly, that would accept a big rock from me. I am the worst of all husbands. Or all prospective husbands. I'm a hot mess. That's the truth isn't it. Who wants a homeless man as a husband? Who want's an unemployed man as a husband? All I have is potential. Potential that I have not lived up to yet and I'm damn near 50 years old. What do I say about that? Well. I say nothing. I am the maker of who I am, and if I made a hot mess of my life, then that's what it is. I can find someone that accepts me like I am. I know I can.

Let me stop whining. The truth of the matter is that yesterday children were crying 'trick or treat'. And that's what my life is all about. A big series of Tricks or Treats of monumental proportions. I've just been receiving a whole lot of Tricks lately. But I have an answer to this shit.

The time just changed today. Daylight Savings Time baby. We've turned the clocks back an hour and for some reason, when we are on this side of the clock, this side of the hour, my life seems to fall into place. Whatever I do is one big Treat. Everything is successful, so I reach further at this time of the year and get much more done. It works for me. I call it being 'In Wack.' As opposed to when we turn the clocks forward, when I'm 'Out of Wack'. Everything is a Trick for me at this time of the year. I suck. Nothing I do works out. All the works of my hands turn to sand. I try to do as little as I can during this time simply because of this. This also causes my outlook to be more dismal. I'm fighting depression more. I'm fighting suicidal thoughts more.

Yeah, that's true. I have them. But we all do. Don't lie. You do too. You don't cater to them as much as others maybe, but you've wondered about it. It's called 'Ideation'. You wonder. If you act on it, it's called 'tendency'. I don't have suicidal tendencies. I have suicidal ideation. In this time of the year I have that a lot. I mean...THAT time of the year, when I'm out of wack. But now I'm looking up because things are IN WACK, baby! Already things are going well for me. I've been getting nothing back but good news. I don't expect to get any bad news. It's time to do things.

I think I'm getting out this Friday and go to a reading and see some friends in action, shake some hands, get some fresh air, look for a publisher. Maybe that's what I'll do tomorrow. Actively look for a publisher. Give me something to do to support my writing. Instead of just writing. There's is a business quotient to this equation that I'm forgetting, or not willing to do. I have to find an editor that believes in my work, or a publisher that will take on my work. I have to find a fan base that I can write to. Then all will work for me. Then I think when I'm out of Wack I will have enough things cemented down that everything will be in order and unshakeable.

You think I'm talking a lot of shit don't you. Well, I have all of this time that I've made for myself for a reason, to become a writer. To become a published author. To do so I have got to get busy and use this time effectively BEFORE WESHITCARE comes back with their Roach Motel and have me waste my days in there. And that will be a real waste. More of a waste than what I'm doing when I'm inactive. I hate to be inactive. I like to be productive. I like to build things with my hands and put things together in my life. Maybe I'll find a lover this way. Someone that I can sink some of this heartfelt desire into before I turn 50. Once I turn 50 they say that there is a precipitous drop in the outcome that you will find someone in your life. A lot of people are out there looking but few are finding.

That's the problem with living in this world that I'm in. There is very little finding of someone when you are alone. When you don't do anything. Maybe that now that my life is In Wack, I'll find someone when I do something. I don't know. Maybe that shit is just not that important right now. I need to get my life together. Get my act on the road.

I need to do something.
I think I'll get to writing.

Hobobob

Future Imperfect

Aright, I fucked up today.

I had the SHOUT OUT to do on my own, and I did it all. I'm trying to be upbeat in the beginning and it is beginning to work. I had a screwdriver to get over the hump, and then another to get over the second half. This is not good, but it's what I need to get the job done for right now. And getting the job done is what is most important to me.

It's Halloween again. After the SHOUT OUT, I say goodnight to Cyndi Lauper, who's turning into a pretty good friend. D2theL has plans. DLite does to. He's going to the Parade tonight. T-Fuk and Joey are heading to his book release. I wanted to really go, but the SHOUT OUT ends when it begins, and I don't really feel like walking in AFTER T-Fuk reads, and then have to sit through the entire thing just to talk to him. Plus, it cost eight dollars. I won't have that kind of cash until AFTER the SHOUT OUT!

I head home after getting a bag full of fried chicken from the Kennedy's next door. No heading to Starbucks with OBSIDIAN. It's just me. I didn't bring my laptop anyway, so there's no hanging out for me tonight. I head home. Back to my open hole. The capsule. I close the airlock behind me, turn on the control console and the environment systems, and make myself comfortable behind the flight deck. I am back in the place where I am supposed to be. On the Internet.

I live on the Internet. There is a ring on my bell. I just walked in. Who is this? Fuck 'em. The bell rings again. Forget that. It soon stops and I rest. The intercom blares. I sit up. What the fuck?? The intercom blares again. Should I answer it? It blares again. No doubt some stupid security guard thinking that I have a guest in the room and telling me that they have to leave. They are always getting shit like this screwed up. They're not the brightest bunch of keystone kops in town.

I soon drift off to sleep, and in the morning I have to use the bathroom. I look for my keys. And I look for my keys..... and I look for my keys. I'm all over the room, up and down, every square inch, looking for the fucking keys. I have to use the bathroom like a motherfucker now. I leave the door open and run, do the deal, and then get back. Ahead of me is Paula, she turns to look over her shoulder, "OH Hobobob! Did you get your keys?" My what? "Your keys were in the lock last night. I called security and told them to come and get them." That's why the fuckers were on the door and the intercom. I was dumb enough to leave my keys in the door. I ride with Paula down the elevator. "They told me to bring them down. I told them that they can forget that," she informs me. "God forbid something goes missing in your room and they say, well, she brought down the keys that night." I understand the concern. Thanks for calling security. "OH Hobobob! I'm engaged!" She throws up her hand and waves around a silver ring with a big, glass marquis shaped rock in its center. I feel good for you, Paula. Congratulations. "Thank you."

I go downstairs and get my fucking keys. That's another trial. I tell the security guard downstairs that I have keys down here and he looks around not finding anything. He even goes as far as to tell me that no one said anything about having anyone's keys downstairs. Dude. They HAVE my keys down here. I have to search with him and we find them on a peg against the wall. Pray that your life isn't in their hands. That's all I can say.

But of course my life has to have a counterpoint to all of this. The next morning I'm sleeping and the bell rings, so I say....what now? Right? And open the door. And there's a drunk standing on the other side, speaking to the door. He doesn't even register me, he's just staring straight ahead at the door. He says: "Is the old lady here?" I tell him there's no old lady here. "No? No old lady here?" I slam the door in his face, since he was talking to the door anyway.

Severe little world that I live in. Things are tough all over for me. I can't seem to stay up ahead of things, and because of this, I have to admit, it's hard to live my life this way. I could use a change. A friend of mine said that things will not be this way forever. That my circumstances will change and I'll look back at all of this as if it was a nightmare. I look around and it is true. This is a life that is completely opposite from my life before, when I lived in another world, when I lived in another life, in someone else's skin.

I wonder what my future will be.

Do I have a future?
Hobobob