My mistake was I thought belles-lettres
was different from academia. I thought
I could have a career as a writer on my own.
I wouldn't have to form alliances. Join the masons.
Or the Aryan Nation. I could do it on ability.
Talent and perseverance. Well, I persevered.
I followed my destiny on out, even to
the edge of doom, as Shakespeare said.
Then I reported back on what's happening.
What it's like to be W. O. D. And that's way
out there. Out there where the leaves tremble.
Sons of the Shaking Earth. Buzzards ain't good eating,
a reader writes. No shit Dick Tracy. They aren't much
to fuck, either. They are curiously passive.
Docile. Intimidated. No resistance.
No pushback. I thought it would be like
sticking your dick in a Mixmaster.
Not so.