Mistahsojourner - A Boy Coming To Terms

If I could exist as some kinda layabout, I would do that. I’d shave when I want to. I’d sleep when I want to. In fact, I’ve kinda done this. I’ve spent a great deal of time jobless. You get a ton of time to yourself. Thing is though, it’s pretty much a living hell. Even if you have a place to go if you absolutely cannot pay your bills, it’s awful. You don’t feel like you have a reason to be living. You don’t feel like you deserve to live. Fuck. It was one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. I did that off and on for about 6 years. 

I fucking need space. 

I could have spent all that time that I had writing but I had even less focus than I do now. 

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

I had nothing so I typed the same word over and over and over again. That really didn’t get me anywhere. Seriously, all I accomplished was typing the word ‘fuck’ over and over again. That is all I have to show for it. Maybe that’s all I have to show for this entire day. A single word. 

Fuck. 

A word uttered when shit gets real. 

A word uttered just because.

A word she whispers when you’re doing it right. 

The last word before a sudden fade to black. 

A word when you got nothin’ but the rain, your sweat or your bones. 

A word that’s just way too motherfuckin’ honest 

for some people. 

Wanted: 

The people I can use it liberally with. 

---

Fuck. That was kinda lazy. 

Yo. I didn’t get too much of an intermission between crises. Sick dog and then corporate office warfare. Johnny on the spot with the duct tape, the kind words and the bullshit.  

Note to self

Need to reflect on the features in society that exacerbate or animate depression or other mental illnesses. The way out of the darkness clearly isn’t self-help or drugs. 

This has hung in the home I grew up in for as long as I can remember.

Therapy

Second therapy session today. 

I don’t really give a fuck what anyone says. You are only going to be so comfortable telling a stranger that you’re paying about your life. 

It’s a weird thing to say, “This is the type of childhood that I had, this is what school was like for me and this is where I ended up as a result.” 

I get asked the question, “You like to write yet you work in IT. How does that happen?”

Yeah man. It just kinda fucking happened and I don’t know how to get paid to do anything else. 

The Day Job I Ain’t Quitting

I do not feel like doing this today. The only thing that seems to be possible is dog shit doggerel. 

I will try today and I will be proud that I tried and then maybe I’ll try tomorrow and maybe the next day after that and then I’ll give up and feel this maddening restlessness.

I fear this whole thing becoming like my diary. The diary that some of you happen to get to read. Is it so bad if it does become like that? Maybe not. 

Okay. Focus, dog. Focus. 

Does it really fucking matter if I focus? This isn’t an article in Rolling Stone. I’m not Matt Taibbi chronicling the unraveling of the American economy back in 2008. I read shit like that and I think, “Fuck. I wish I could have done this.” I’m not Chris Hedges writing some beautiful Jeremiad about all the ways America is spiritually bankrupt. 

Fuck that. I’m not going to talk about what I’m not and what I’m never going to be. That doesn’t matter. I’m going to talk about what I am. What do I do?

I’m some company’s computer guy. They need IT (I.T. not the clown), they come to me. It’s me. Just me. It’s a one man band. Maybe some day it will be the basis of some narly off, off Broadway one man show about how the office computer guy slowly becomes this crazed motherfucker who hears the voice of God. What does God say? Death to capitalism. Ya know, if God said that then I would have to conclude that he truly is God. Anyway. Focus. 

Focus. 

I can take a computer apart and almost put it back together. It’s not hard. If you come to me with a computer issue, I can usually zero in fairly quickly on what exactly is broken. Look, it’s like this, okay? I’m not some wizard that is going to code some app that is going to make me insanely rich. No idea how to do that. The computer stuff is my most practical skill. That’s just about the only thing I can do that I’ve figured out how to monetize. I think that’s about the only thing I can do that makes money. 

This current gig is the most responsibility I’ve ever had in any job. It’s just me. There is no one to pick up my slack. I don’t call in sick even if I feel like it. I’m not going to bullshit you. I’m barely a computer guy. Sometimes I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Thing is though, I make up for that with my people skills. I build rapport. I charm. I play the role. I look the part. Stocky nerd with glasses but with passable personal hygiene. 

I go in and recede into the required persona. Friendly nerd with okay computer skills who idolizes MacGyver. They got no idea. They don’t need to have any idea what I really am. 

It could be worse. Seriously. I could be someone with nothing at all that is marketable. 

I hate that I even have to think that. Shit. I hate that anyone has to think that. 

Yeah. I’m underpaid. If I had a choice, I’d never work for a wage another day of my life. 

I’ll tell you what though. Somebody comes to me all stressed the fuck out over something that is going to keep them from getting their work done and I fix it? Shit. I think on that too much, I kinda feel myself getting misty. I’ll walk through the halls and get the respectful nod from people I’ve pulled out of the fire in the past and it kinda makes it worth it. 

Look, you gotta understand. You are reading the words of a guy who has not held down a job for more than 6 months since 2012. Do you have any idea what happens to the soul of a person who can’t hold down a job in 21st Century America? I can say that it rots but that’s not accurate. I can’t describe it.

Fuck. I really wish that the ability to work was not a prerequisite for dignity. 

I can feel myself getting angrier by the minute because I feel like I’m still accepting the precepts of this insidious and inhumane capitalist system. I feel like I’m weaving this tale of a man who was a flake but who battoned down the hatches and became not a flake. I went from a flake to a good employee. 

FUCK THAT. 

I get to have dignity cuz I breathe. I get to have dignity cuz I’m here and I didn’t ask to be here. I get to have dignity cuz I can bleed and I can cry. 

Fuck you, Ben Shapiro. I just felt like saying that. Fuck that guy. 

I have a day job that I can sorta stand. 

I don’t know if I believe in miracles but that’s pretty close. 

Fucked o’clock 

and time to get up. 

Nude 

Tired 

Still slightly stoned 

but not stoned enough 

for America 

when she on that cocaine 

and she talkin’ all crazy 

and her nails are demonic claws 

tearin’ us all to ribbons 

but you don’t talk about that 

cuz if you do talk about it 

you don’t really love her 

but she loves you 

She really fucking loves you 

You know that, right? 

You do. 

Additional Notes on How I Learned to Love the Lord

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what I wrote earlier today. Mostly I’m not too satisfied with it. I feel like things could have been more lucid and more interesting. There was so much that I could have said that I did not end up saying. 

Faith or lack thereof is a challenging thing to express. There was a lot that just got lost or at least that’s my feeling. 

The story that I told myself as a Christian was that I was a reformed criminal that found redemption. Reformed criminal? I was a kid that did something dumb but in my mind, I might as well have been knocking over liquor stores or have been some kind of budding serial killer. I had a desire to convey to people what a wretched sinner I was if I ever got the chance. I look back on this and I’m both amused and disturbed. 

People give reasons for doing things. I don’t know that I buy too many of the standard answers given about why someone takes the dive for J.C. especially if it is couched in theologically “correct” language. People can say that they became conscious of their sinful nature and of their need for a savior but I often suspect there is a more interesting, more honest, more genuine reason. If someone tells me they believe simply because they like Jesus or it just kinda seems correct or just wants it to be true then I respect that a lot more than some bullshit they half remembered from a text book or a tract or something. Wow, this paragraph sucks. Moving on. 

My faith was nonsensical. It was utter bullshit. It basically revolved around feeling guilty for having sexual desires. I got really tired of hating myself for natural desires so I kinda just said fuck it and quit. Hating myself for liking the idea of sex made no sense. I wasted a bunch of time hating myself for a stupid reason when I should have been hating myself for being a Republican. 

The marriage between evangelical Christianity and conservative politics is an awful thing. It’s destructive. It baptizes ideas like peace through strength, low capital gains taxes, gutting the social safety net and other abominations that make the world a terrible fucking place to live. I can’t be part of that no matter how bitchin’ those praise songs are. 

It’s ultimately just not a very adult way of looking at the world. Adult is the wrong word. I just don’t think it’s a very honest way of looking at the world. 

This is the part of the evening where I listen to Roads by Portishead and stare at the ceiling pensively.