Had a serpentine career under many wet rocks. Short stint in the military. Cashiered. The early '80s were a primo time to get kicked out of the army. They truly didn't care what you were doing. They just wanted people like me out. I'm still warm to their position on a thing people used to get Xed for. Best of all possible worlds, when your timing is good. I'm a royal fuck up, admit it, no longer sensitive, I learned as an undergrad that I am entitled to basic human dignity, and it's in the bindle, along with can opener and my beans.
Now I'm in Late Life Program, some bogus pro-geriatric continuing education garbage that only benefits people who aren't expected to produce the next better brain transplant. I get the shittiest stipend and health care package there is, also the worst high-rise unit available, because the nicer ones are reserved for people better liked. The project is nearly over, and I shall have to, for the 93rd time, vamonose to someplace else. A few weeks to go. If I turn in a decent report, I might get referred someplace nicer. For now I will stay focused, like my unit leader tells us all, on my anthropological study of a Pittsburgh shit hole.
I think they hated my guts at the state college. Other undergrads were recommended and referred to cush ass jobs in a corporation, almost like a gift for a great blow job, and it often was. In perpetuity. All puffing parties trading boy nookie for wampum beads and health coverage. In less oral/anal predatory times, people sufficed blowing one kind benefactor, then off forever to a private institution. Instability. We don't produce anything. We can't retain our worth in a company through useful labor. We don't do it. No one wants us. The new free will requires first legislation, then an organization that enforces it. We enforce lethargy.
What I wanted to share, since I don't get a book deal, is that I've been working a completely frivolous graduate externship in a Pittsburgh slum, can't say which, privacy, but I am still, until the crossbows rip my ass, more or less at liberty to concoct a farce.
What I have to do, and think of Orpheus, is sit on a bright orange fabric couch in a subsidized housing unit, and observe the inhabitants. The report I'm clicky-clacky on right now, when I'm not snowing your air waves, if I didn't have to measure words, for the real report, like Idi Amin was on the review board, is a sickly boring utilization review, I determine if these individuals are being well served, or being fucked six ways till Sunday. I am at liberty to profess that every ass fucking soul in the sub-philum has potential for growth of some sort. If Cecil Fucking Rhodes was alive and right here now, I believe he'd blow me for this development.
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