miller's crossing

I'm coming unglued, unhitched, unhinged. I've got that feeling that the ground beneath my feet may not fully be there as I expect it should. Space has more space in it. And there are extra figures and faces lurking at corners, popping up in unusual places.

I'm still feeling solid, though.

There have been tasks to accomplish. While it's felt more difficult than normal, piecing together what needs to take place, things are happening easily. And I've noticed that imaged scenarios -- daydreams and such -- are tedious and lackluster when compared to experiential life. That's really a nice perk, I think.

But I'm spoiled. I was at the DMV today, waiting pleasantly enough (D688 was my number), when I realized that the folks on the other side of the counter -- the people to whom you are waiting to talk and give money -- are there everyday for at least eight hours. Oh, the humanity. Patty and Selma Bouvier waiting to serve you. How do they do it? I'd crack completely, once and for all.

Yes, I want to help people. Hopefully the DMV employees have some satisfaction that they are in fact helping people. Car transportation is important in a place where public transportation is sparse. But what if you really don't believe that you're doing any good. What if it all feels like busy work?

I've got another Wittman Ah Sing passage -- part two for the site's motto. Wittman is standing in line at the unemployment office after he walked off his department store gig. Here goes:

... Wittman let his cigarette ashes fall, then his cigarette butt, and stood on it. No ashtrays for the poor. He wondered how much money he was going to get, whether this waiting and whatever else they'll make him go through was worth it. Good thing he was a stable person, otherwise run amok. Nobody was running amok. How patient most people are. How law-abiding. He was standing amok. So, it has come to this. Lew Welch teaches us to stop and say every now and then, "So it has come to this." So it has come to this.

Oh for 1967 San Francisco, where a poet still had a small chance. Of course, Lew Welch in the end couldn't take it. The man wrote in 1964 a column titled "Manifesto: Bread vs. Mozart's Watch" for the San Francisco Chronicle. Check this out:

I stand for Beauty and Delight and Love and Truth in every form. I am a Poet. I see, finally, that part of my job is to show how we CAN afford Poetry and Ferry Boats and good Live Jazz and Dancers and Girls in Fishbowls -- how, in fact, we can't begin to live without them. Without them the City is only a hideous and dangerous tough Big Market -- of no interest and no delight and no point to anyone.

I've given Lew the benefit of the doubt concerning that part about "Girls in Fishbowls," but in the end, he walked off his job. He walked out of Gary Snyder's cabin in the Sierra Nevada foothills, so the story goes, with a revolver in his hand in May 1971 and was never seen again -- dead or alive.

I would've been almost one.

The era ended. Why do we have George Bush as President? A man who believes he can do WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS is in charge of this country, "the world's richest." Why? Because where is the satisfaction of selling crap to people? Of designing pretty boxes to put designer shoes in? Of getting a woman food stamps so she can feed genetically modified sugar bombs to her kid while the little one is transfixed by a television -- a desire and violence delivery device. Oh the power of the boob tube.

Heart breaking this assignment I've got in early 21st century Earth.

Do most people think their grinding lives are worth taking a brave stand for truth? Do they have a moment to even consider such a thought.

The way out of this mess, the way to the next level, the evolutionary path will be lead by people who do believe their precious life is worth it. They will come from everywhere. Some even from U.S. suburbs, hard as it is for me to believe. McDonald's cheeseburgers will have nourished some of these visionaries. And some may have even watched reality TV shows. However, I believe the majority will come from the majority population, meaning those people who live outside the U.S. and who don't experience what passes for abundance in our consumer crazy culture.

It's crumbling for me and I know I am not alone. Who's standing amok with me? May we find something better -- kinder ground beneath our feet, gentler breezes to brush our faces. May we find it soon.