Tuesday, October 20

Immobilized

Q: Why do you feel immobilized?

A: Well, I'm broke.

My car might or might not start.

I can't afford to rent a car.

If I stay around here I feel like I am earning my keep, by cooking supper, shopping for groceries, washing the dishes, and cleaning the house once a week. Running errands Brenda doesn't have time to run.

Plus, I'm looking for a job, and if one comes up, I'm here to take it. If I'm away, I won't hear about it.

Plus, I'm old.

I don't want to leave the house.

In fact, I don't want to leave my room.

I want to sit in front of my computer and write, or read a library book, or watch a rented DVD on TV. Rented from Netflix, so I don't have to go out to the video store.

I go to the library and the post office. That's it.

I go to the Winn-Dixie every day.

I don't go to bluegrass festivals, we don't go to The Red Bar, we don't go out to eat, or to the movies. We don't go to church.

We go to funerals.

I don't go to football games, band concerts, parades, I don't hunt, I don't fish, I sit on my porch, I spit and whittle. I live in my head, mostly.

I think about the book I am writing.

Q: Last book you went to a writers conference. You went to Office Max to run off several pamphlets.

A: Yes. I don't expect to do as much of that anymore.

I went to work five days a week.

If I don't do that, if I just stay at home and write, I won't get my hair cut, I won't comb my hair, I won't bathe, I won't brush my teeth.

I don't change my sheets often enough.

I can't clip my own toenails anymore.

I don't always wipe my ass carefully enough.

I dribble pee on myself.

I'm disgusting.

I'm like an old man in a Samuel Beckett play.

Is that immobilized enough for you?

The hero in modern fiction is immobilized by modern times, by modernity, by the pace of traffic, life, getting a living, suffering fools gladly, being a team player, work is very wearing, wearying, corporate life, having to listen to the same bullshit, over and over, these new managers have no shame, no humanity, they don't learn it in Sunday School, they don't learn it in school, they don't learn it in the military, they don't learn it in the MBA program, they don't even learn to fake it, they don't even try to fake it, anymore, you are expendable, disposable, so are they, but they don't know it, until it happens to them, and some of them are taken unawares, they are traumatized, they are in shock, they never recover, at least I was immunized, inoculated, by life.

I can't be allowed to spread my virus, it's a poison, it infects the workforce.

I think the Mall Builder culture needs a good scour, myself.

It needs an enema.

Enema vérité.

It needs a harsh dose of truth.

The Mall Builder culture can't handle the truth.

It has been raised on lies and bullshit, pipedreams and fantasy, wishbooks. College catalogs.

Do you get a good liberal arts education at a state university anymore?

If you wanted one?

Would you find professors who made waves, who challenged the conventional wisdom, would you find students who questioned their professors?

Or would you find conformity, passivity, obedience.

I don't know. I haven't set foot on a college campus in 40 years.

Well, 38 years.

I've been in my room, writing.

I've been reading, too. When I wasn't working.

But I can't say I know what the intellectual life is like on campus.

I left academia one step ahead of a shoeshine. Two steps ahead of the county line.

As Jaye P. Morgan says.

Q: You're lucky you didn't get an MBA and a job teaching writing in college.

A: I have often thought that.

Every time the public radio station has a fund drive, I think, man, am I glad I don't have to get on the air and say that for my job.

Every job is that way.

If I made a living writing, writing would be my job. It would be a job. I'd have to watch what I said, so I wouldn't lose my job.

I don't have to sing the company fight song.


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