I have a kind of reverse-pride,
homesick-for-the-gutter, skewed
interpretation of success. The best is
the worst and vice versa. I’m not last,
I’m first. I didn’t lose, I won. The winners are
the losers, because of what they did to get there.
They cheated. They were careerists. Ticketpunchers.
I wouldn’t do that. They are apparatchiks. I’m not.
I’m a stand-up person. I stood up and they
stuck my finger in the pencil sharpener,
like Dagwood Bumstead and Mr. Dithers.
Employee of the month. Versus fired for blogging.
Sacked and blacklisted. The oeuvre suppressed.