What to say....what to do...

Hey there!

Just for this posting, I am going to leave the traitor, Karl Rove alone. It's probably a waste of time to concern myself with him anyway. In the end, someone else will take the fall, and his sorry ass will still be dancing in the corridors of power, while mine sits here. We all know he is a shit. I don't have to tell anyone that!

Today, I am more concerned with myself. Most specifically, I am concerned as to whether I will ever find my way out of the morass in which I find myself stuck. You know, try as I might, I can't shake the feeling that I am just a waste of time. I am a nice guy with a good brain. I am trustworthy and reliable. I do good work.

And yet, I am still without a means of support that is constant. I went Friday to a place where I used to do repairs of theatrical equipment to ask for my old bench back. To say I felt like I was as unwelcome as a spider at a meeting of Arachnaphobics Anonymous is to put it mildly. I got a lot of double talk and bullshit.

In a way, I suppose I have no one to blame but myself. I gave up that job so I could have a couple days off a week. I was working at Procare at the time five days a week, and doing theatrical equipment repair for the other two. I made up my mind that if I was going to keep the second job, I wanted to get paid more than I was. When I put this forth to the "boss", it was met with much resistance. It seems the company didn't mind spending money to send some of this stuff off to the manufacturer, and paying shipping back and forth rather than increase my pay to keep all the repair work in house.

But that was then. Now, the only bright possibility I saw on the horizon now looks as nasty as a polluted sunset over Fort Worth, as seen from Geoff's Crow's Nest. So, while I don't really know what the outcome will be, I have a deep suspicion that the answer will be an out and out NO! FUCK! SHIT!

I am not surprised. What made me think that they would want me back? I don't know. All I want is my bench space back. Trying to work on that stuff here, in this cramped no room for anything apartment is just about impossible. The tables I work on have a way of collecting crap. The stuff I work on is big and bulky, and in some cases, pretty dangerous. This just isn't the place to do it. I don't think it's too much to ask, but by the reception I got from the "boss", it seems that it is.

I really need the money! I have lots of things coming up, not the least of which is getting my driver's license renewed, and renewing my car insurance. I learned the hard way that driving without insurance is a bad thing, and can have numerous disastrous results. I don't want to let my policy lapse. It's not a good thing at all!

So, I don't know what I am to do. Mechanic work is out. I am way too gun shy to get back into that ring again! Music is fun, and rewarding, but unless you are the flavor of the month, you are nothing. So music is more or less out, at least in the short term. The equipment repair thing is more or less out, except for that which I can get done here, which isn't much.

Damn it, people, it has gone beyond frustrating! The last interview I had, I crumbled like a cookie under a shoe. I have lost it! I am so deep in the plock-tau of this depression, I can't even get up enough confidence to bullshit my way through a job interview. That's pretty bad! I feel as if I am doomed beyond the point of recall.

I try not to let it get to me. I try to fend it off, keep it at bay, or pluck it away with my harp. Still, it comes to visit, like that one relative you hate that loves you. Comes to visit...if only! That fucker has been sticking around since Mark passed. The harder I try to run from it, the faster it runs. As the picture of me that shows up would prove, I am not one who can run well at all.

When I talk about it, or write about it, or whatever, I feel like I am whining. I feel like I am being lazy. I feel like I am pussying out. I feel like the more I try, the less I get.

I put a lot of effort into The Nurtured Seed! I did everything! I made something wonderful happen, and no one cares. I don't have the money to put into advertising it, or getting it to those who might help get it a little exposure. So, I spent months of my life making something that no one, outside of my immediate and shrinking circle of friends even gives a shit about.

That's not to say I still don't love it. I really do love it. It represents a point in my life that has changed its direction forever. It showed me that I could have an idea, and do the work that it took to make it a reality. I am proud of that. It's about the only thing in the past few months of my life that made me feel proud in some form or fashion. To see it languishing makes me sad.

On the good side, I did actually sell a copy. Oh yes, I have one person who is interested enough to see what I did. I am glad of that. I would like to sell more, but I don't see it as in the cards. Or, if I do sell more, it will be sporadic at best.

I fear for my sanity! It's been a long time since I felt as low as I feel now. Every time I come up with an idea, or really make an effort, nothing comes of it. I feel my world shrinking, and I feel trapped in this bullshit reality.

I am just so fucking angry, I don't know where to turn, or what to do to deal with it. I wake up angry! I spend most of my day angry! I go to bed angry! I see others around me enjoying life, and it makes me angry, and jealous! I see what is happening in the government, and it really, really makes me angry. It's turning me slowly and surely into a grouchy recluse. It's not good. I don't want to be this angry all the time.

I am angry at Mark for dying! I am angry at his god, because it was one of Mark's religious candles that caused the fire that took his life. I am angry at myself for not being the one who died. I am angry at what the fallout from that episode has wrought in my life.

And I miss him terribly. He was, without a doubt, the best spiritual adviser I have ever had in my life. He was my cruising sister. We used to go to bookstores and other cock suckeries and then compare notes on the way home. He was a trusted confidant. He was a funny, warm, loving, caring, giving man. And now, he is not in my life anymore.

I wanted to use his death to put a fire under myself so that I would leave more than a headstone when I die. As of yet, all that fire has done has been to help brew the anger. If I were to die tonight, I would wind up in a potter's field somewhere. That is a sad thought. I won't even have a fucking headstone. My life, such as it is, will be like I never existed in the first place. I won't even rate a footnote in history. I won't rate anything.

So, as always, I am in a place where I am so tied up with this stuff, I feel like I will never see its end. Maybe I am just too grandiose. Maybe I am as nutty as a fruitcake, and I just don't know it. Maybe I am just a ne'er do well. I don't know.

I suppose if I am to see anything like a glimmer of hope in all of this, that glimmer is the fact that I keep trying. I keep hoping, meditating, and trying as best as I can. In all the years I have been around, I have never experienced this level of lack of opportunity. There was a time when I could quit a job on a Wednesday, and be working again the Monday following. There were that many opportunities out there for me.

Now, there's nothing. Added to that is the job I would really like to do, recording, producing, or making music seems like a closed and locked door. I would love to be able to work in a real sound studio, with a real control room, a real vocal dead room, and all the acoustical tiles one can put on a wall or ceiling. I would love to turn other peoples' ideas into reality, and at the same time, turn more of my own into reality as well.

It's the job that has been calling to me all of my life. I have always found myself surrounded with musicians. I usually wound up being the guy who ran the amps, or whatever else they needed me to do. I have volumes of different music styles in my head, and I can hear them playing all the time. I hear them in stereo, and full fidelity. I have proved many times over that I can get the job done. My extensive library of finished works proves it. I can do analog to digital rendering, audio clean up, create theatrical sound cues, voice overs and the like, and finally I can also do full production style sound work.

But, I don't have some fucked up piece of paper from a school that says I can do the work. It's fucking Deja Vu! I went to the University of Toledo's Community and Technical college (comm tech), and got a degree in Electronic Engineering Technology because I wanted to work in that field. I knew as much, if not more than most of my professors, as I had been reading about electronics, and doing experiments with it in my Frankenstein room since I was about seven years old. If I wanted to work in the field, I had to have a sheepskin that said I knew how to do research, and could actually read schematics.

I decided that electronics was nothing without getting a Bachelor's or higher. I didn't have the patience to deal with another two years of school just to prove that I could also design as well as repair equipment. I can and do, on rare occasion, design some of my own stuff. Why do I need more years of school to prove I know what I already know I know? To me, it was a waste of money, and not worth the investment in time.

So, I switch to auto mechanics. I figured that someone with an electronic background would be a shoe in for that kind of work, and I also figured it would be a lot easier to get to a place where I actually had the possibility of making good money. That meant I had to go back to school. I went to a junior college for auto mechanics, and actually did learn some stuff. It wasn't a complete waste of my time. The problem with that field wasn't whether or not I could do the work, it was whether or not I was into women. Now, I admit that I am so out of touch with the latest and greatest as far as cars are concerned that it's all a lost cause. Add to that my age, and how damaging standing and bending over cars is to my body, I just don't see me getting back in that game, or wanting to.

Then I made the switch to computers. The fact that I had a degree in EET made getting in the door easier. I wanted to go to the next step, which was networking. In order to even be considered, you need some kind of certificate that says you know what you know. Gee, where have I seen that one before? The irony of it is I was getting the money together to at least go for an MCSE, if not an A+. Then the lover from hell hit. After that, then the dot com bubble burst.

Now there are people with graduate level degrees in computer science that are out of work. What fucking chance in hell do I have getting back into this field? It doesn't matter that I can turn a box of parts into a working computer, fix a computer that isn't working, or set up and maintain a network here at my house. I have no degree, no certificate, nothing to show that I know what I know.

It looks like it's going to be the same thing for recording work. I have years of experience in every facet of audio production, but I have no sheepskin that says I lived up to the expectations of my professors.

I have heard so many talk about the glass ceiling; that partition due to factors outside of one's ability to do their job that keeps people in their "place". I have felt it. Nowadays, I am dealing with what I would call the paper wall. That's the barrier that keeps me from being able to get a decent paying job because of the lack of some stupid piece of paper that says I know how to go to a library and do research.

I have been, and probably will always be a do it kind of guy. I am not afraid to get down and dirty learning new things. When I find something in which I excel, I go at it full force. The problem is, I live in a world that cares more about pieces of paper than they do with finished works and provable results. It was that way with electronics, auto mechanics, computers, and now, recording and production work.

I look at someone like John Waters. He got out there and did it! He didn't waste his time going to some school that was only there to make their own money, and steal his ideas and identity. No, he got out there with his camera, Divine, and the rest of his friends and made movies.

Love him or hate him, he did his own thing, and he did it well! He made his movies happen. He didn't go to some school and theorize about how to make a movie. He got the camera, and the rest of the equipment he needed, and he went to work! He made himself who and what he is today, and for that, I will always look to him as a real paradigm of hope to be able to write my own ticket as he did.

I have done the same thing with audio many times over. I get down and dirty, and use what I have available to me, and make some pretty good recordings. But no one notices, or cares. I know I am not the only one doing this sort of thing. I know there are others out there who are probably doing a mix or another take using the same stuff I used. I know how to record, engineer, wrangle talent, make cover art and liner notes, and make it look and sound professional. I would think that should count for something.

I don't know, my silent readers. I don't know if this bullshit in my life is ever going to let up. I don't know how much longer my wherewithal is going to last. I don't know if I am ever going to see the light of reason shine upon me again. Right now, I have my doubts I will ever see that light.

Of course, there is still my writing. I keep hoping someone with some power will see what I write, and want to help me out, or give me a chance to do it professionally. I don't hold out much hope for that. I am just one of a million other digital voices screaming out in the cyber wilderness.

What do I have that would set me apart as unique or worthy in this melee? Nothing. I am one more critter in a really big forest screeching out my existence as loudly as I can, and getting drowned out by the rest of the critters around me. Who wouldn't be seriously depressed under these circumstances? I sure am!

Now perhaps you know why I am so pissed off at DUBYA and Hot Karl. It grinds me to no end that such marginal human beings have hoodwinked others and used the confusion to put themselves in positions of power. DUBYA fucked up every business venture he tried, fucked up Texas, and is now fucking up the country. How did he become so worthy of national trust? He lies on a daily basis, and people love him!

Rove is a traitor, and he has a group of vermin who are working to pull his ass out of a fire that he really needs to sit in for a while...at least until he is burnt to a crisp. His petty vindictiveness set back the war on terror, and endangered the lives of several CIA operatives, as well as destroying good contacts for real intelligence, and there are people who are rushing to defend him.

Damn it, it's just not right. If I did half of what he did, I would be in a federal prison, or on death row as treason is the only capital offense spelled out in the Constitution. There would be no one rushing to my aid, and scores rushing me to my seat in old sparky. I curse the fact that I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth (thanks to the Who for that quote).

So, perhaps I am just rambling. I don't know anymore! All I want is my chance at my version of the American dream while I am still young and able to appreciate it. I thought this was the land of opportunity. What a lie! It's only the land of opportunity if you have the money to make it so. If you don't, it's the land of crushing poverty and unending bullshit!

I know I am not the only one in this boat. I know that others who are in it have died by their own hand. Believe me, I am grateful that I at least have a roof over my head, such as it is. I just want my life back. I want the depression to stop being such a close personal companion. I want to be able to hold my head up, pay for my own dinner, or fix the ailments that my car is having at the moment. I really don't think that is asking for so much. From the looks of it; however, it's like I am asking to go into outer space with only a pogo stick.

Blessed be!
Pappy