mmdccclvii

I Am Not A Protected Veteran

     ...need house sleep with men
     come after not too bad.
                       —John Ashbery

need? can’t say no to that,
but perhaps more importantly
is strong desire. yes, i’m back

in the isolation tank, and this
week not so much feening but
feening dating/intimacy (none

whatsoever for over a year now).
not obsessing over the why of this
fact, but instead, mulling over what

a reminder it is that my life is
so precisely upside down; so opp-
osite. i’ve had my moments,

but the past five years now
are a new map. one that has
been impossible for me to de-

cipher. a flat earth, but not how
that antiquated notion must mean
to today’s trendy flat-earthers.

absurd. many days the question
is no longer about how to get
that (i.e., a) life back, but

will i ever get a life again?
par for the course, of course,
is that the upsides of living in

this isolation chamber are al-
so the downsides. the freedom
of joblessly setting one’s hours

(alas, the decision whether or not
to utilize this freedom to search
for employment, which, from my

observations, isn’t the most com-
mon choice amongst my neighbors
here in this first-step housing

apartment building). it’s home.
i can say that with a certain pride.
a certain pride. i try (desperately,

especially of late) the optimist’s
approach. which, thankfully, some-
how still seems to exist most often.

nevertheless, this freedom becomes
a prison unto itself. to stay idle is
often too easy. especially after what

got me here in the first place (not to
speak for most folks, but I would most
certainly get it if that were the over-

whelming reason for such lethargy).
but i choose the job of searching for a
job; an oddly, yet sometimes too easy

to understand why, difficult process.
meaning, simply, i never had difficulty
finding a job before. they always tend-

ed to just land in my lap. something i
obviously took for granted and makes
prevailing times even more awkward.

but as for my paid job (you can roll your
eyes if you’d like; many of you would —
even I have, in the past, when one’d make

this distinguishing point), when i am working
unusual amounts of overtime, for example,
or have very mind-numbing projects with

overly early deadlines, when i should be
too exhausted for any real work afterwards,
that’s when i find myself producing more.

art. more poetry. more of this attempt
at engagement. more of this attempt to
understand you. more of this attempt

to find those who might possibly begin
to get a glimpse into my own soul (with
all of its illogical geminic layers); might

possibly be interested in doing so.
more of this attempt to make the
things that have made me make

myself, and have made me love
myself, and have helped me in
my discovery of a stable value

system, as evolving as it is, this
magical sculpting that takes place
right in front of my eyes as i turn

page after page, which has also
gifted me with most of the people
whom i can earnestly call hero, and

many whom i can call friend. my other
job, when i have one, i appreciate very
much. it is a career that has known its

successes, too. of which i am proud.
and one that i do well. but, there
is no way to explain how much

i love my real work. sure, there’s
a problematic need to prove my-
self. to be listened to (even in the

isolation tank i am way too loud, i
know). to be, even if in some small
way, understood. it is also work

that can turn into a means of en-
gagement, or find you a true friend
(that rarity), can give someone the

joy you have in some way—from
what you do—the inspiration,
which is maybe the most imp-

ortant thing, i cannot say that i am
certain that i am not alone in
feeling or desiring these things

from the work which i call my
real job. however, for me, the
ultimate hope is that my words

and their architecture become
a means of engagement; not sim-
ply in one direction, but that there

is rapport: hearts and minds
having a conversation with the
me, even if just the pages of me.

growth, most always in a posit-
tive way, occurs primarily from
engagement. speaking. listening.

passion. adjustment. it’s also a
way to meet people; someone,
anyone, with whom i can connect

on a level that is so rare that it
seems in retrospect impossible to
do. a hope. (oh, i've believed.

i've felt such a connection. but,
as often as i can recall these mo-
ments, in the end, i turned out

to be sadly mistaken, sometimes
tragically so. but life is full of
disappointment. for me. on this

subject. i spend much of my life
living for it, nonetheless. and
haven’t lost that hope. if any-

thing it expands. not logical,
but worth noting. so all one
can do is try to make good out

of whatever you’re given. and
give back in a better way than
you’ve gotten. in the case of

the tough stuff, anyway. i 

try not to be a tragedy.
and have nightmares of

what seems to me would
be the most horrible trag-
edy of all. which, for me,

would be coming to a
horrible end in the midst
of a time such as the one

i have just lived through;
am still living through.
the only way to avoid

it, at best, is to remain
as happy as possible as
much as possible. and

i am generally very lucky
to be able to do just that.
or i hope to get back to

that point. in percent-
ages i certainly have the
wonderful stuff on my side.

anyway, you’ve gotten this
far with my foibles. or you
have arrived here, and let’s

say that you just might be
interested in knowing more
of the same. perhaps i am

too hopeful, but such a thing
could happen. seems to on
occasion. well, if so, even

in a generally slight way,
i say stay tuned here to
find out what happens,

whether tragic or comic.
if you just arrive, feel free
to back and catch up. it is

your decision, and if you
do, it would certainly tick-
le me pink. or at least such

a fantastical notion does al-
ready (as in, i’m pink). and
know this. there’ll not be a

sequel once it is over. so, i bid
you an adieu for today. and plan
to be back again in a day. or two.