Went to the 711 tonight. Mad headache. I had to get some vitamin water something. I get the water and go to swipe the debit. You know the dilly, when I'm stopped by 30 Mardis Gras necklaces on the swiper.
Guy behind the counter yanks them down.
"It's crazy, you know," he tells me. "They give these money to all those people to get a house, and we don't even have a house. I work everyday. I have to rent a house. If I don't work, I am on the street."
"I hear you," I say slowly.
"You take care," he nods. "You have a goodnight."
I leave the store.
***
Found out there are poets in need. This makes me upset to no end. I cannot understand the craziness artists are willing to go through before they ask for help. It made me want to punch someone when I heard the story. I didn't do that though. I am going to start a personal fund drive from now on. It is strictly for artists. If anyone ever wants to put money my way, that's where it goes. If I hear that an artist doesn't have the proper equipment, or needs some extra money, I am going to give it to them.
For an artist (that goes for artists of all ages) to not have the basic necessities is so unacceptable. So unacceptable. I will start the savings account this weekend. I will build it throughout my life.
If I make any money in this life, let me help my beautiful artist friends out there. They do enough for the world. It's time they were repaid with some wonderful grants, money, and possibilities.
Hear me spirit. I will make this happen in a major way by 2012, if not sooner.
***
I read Stacy Elaine's post entitled "Cancer." Then I heard today of a friend with Crohn's disease. I would like to help. Has anyone out there heard of alternative treatments to Cancer, Crohn's Disease, and other incurable illnesses? Please share what you know here. I will pass on the information to my great friends.
***
What I'm Reading
I am reading Frank O' Hara's poems in some book. (God that's useful) Hold on...Let me do this right...
"Poems Retrieved" by Frank O'Hara
"The Autobiography of Mark Twain" by Samuel Clemens (ed. by Neider)
"Leaves of Grass" by Walt Whitman
"Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair" translated by W. S. Merwin
"The Famous and the Anonymous" by Savannah Schroll
A very American roster. In fact I bought some new sneaks over the weekend. Filas that are red, white, and blue. I got comments on them all day today. My haircut too. This was my favorite exchange.
"Nice shoes," Jeff says.
"Thanks," I say.
"Very patriotic," he says.
"Yeah," I say, and laugh.
***
This brings me to my last bit of news. I got the Permanent Alien card in the mail early in the week. And yesterday they called to set-up my interview for citizenship. I was supposed to be in Buffalo yesterday, but it looks like I can get it scheduled here in L.A. very soon.
Now those shoes seem rather poignant, eh? You better believe it, Yankee Doodle. I'm an American.
***
World here I come.
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5 comments:
Pirooz, I feel just the same. I'm enfuriated when I think about what trained artists have to do to do their work. Always have to work another job and squeeze their work in somewhere in the cracks. It's bullshit. I always tell Rory, if something doesn't work out and we go our seperate ways, I'll live on the streets before I let myself fall into some job where I can't get my work done. I think I'd have to kill myself. My identity is tied way too strongly to my work. And I don't mean those words lightly. I'm with you all the way on your fund drive. We should pool up and drag in some others and form a nonprofit collective like Anne Waldman did with Ginsberg and Burroughs (forget the name right now but it was pretty upfront.) Anyway, that gives you tax breaks on the money you dole out too! Ginsberg used it as a way to not pay taxes and support the war machine. I'm all for that. Maybe we should talk to Anne and see what kind of suggestions she could help with in steering something like that together. It sounds grea to me but I don't have any financial know-how. Good for you. Talk to me brotha.
Yeah, I hear you. I am for helping artists in anyway I can. At the moment, I offer advice on whatever I have experience with. I offer love, support, and encouragement. I remind myself and others, how important art is to this planet and its people.
As far as talking to Ann, I am sure I could mention it to her. Of course, she wasn't in Allen's position. He got that nice check after he gave his journals, papers, etc. to Stanford's Library. Then he helped many this is true. I think Ann is doing all she can at the moment.
This brings the matter to myself, you, and all else who are interested. For me, I will start an account and dole money in monthly, as much as I can. If I hear of an artist in particular need, I will help.
As far as the winding road ahead, I will try and make as much money on these books, readings, etc., so that I can start something like you are suggesting. In other words, let me sell this first book and then we can talk about what is possible.
In the meantime, I will keep writing beautiful books, comics, poems, etc. I will work at the WG. I will do my best with helping me be healthy, happy, and financially stable myself. (This comes first.) I cannot help anyone else, until I have mastered this myself. And, presently, I am no master.
So what about now?
The Collective is the best way we can help right now. That, and blogging, loving, and creating.
Much Love, P.
PS. I will also make educational resources and grants available on Shikow for people to peruse, and find the best fit for them. I will give my take on their reputability, and leave it to all these amazing artists to decide. (This goes for all artists: musicians too. I will try and map out the best way to score record contracts, book deals, magazine offers, etc.)
so glad that all the paper is coming through. Means so much. Something most of us take for granted. That paper, then a plane ticket, we have work to do.
Do they really call it the Permanent Alien card?
Jim--Yes, I holler at you from seas thick with our distance. Foam collides against the tide. A passport rolls on the beach. A ticket too. Then we will party Phuket and Seoul, until Kingdom come.
"Not in 10,000 years has there been such a celebration," they will say.
Jeanie--Yes, miss sweetness. This is the actual term. Although I am a mechanical proponent of impermanence, I am placed against permafrost and other chilly labels. This does not mean that "nothing" does not actually rule in the end.
For look, there I am. I am walking beneath an apple orchard. There is a summer breeze. They call out as if there was something the child could do different.
"Hello," they say.
"Yeeessss," he calls back.
"This apple falls hard. Button your trousers. Lose the accent. Now walk. Keep walking."
The boy walks through the orchard. He is in White Pine Circle. It is New Jersey. He picks up his Star Wars figures. He puts them in a pit he has dug. It is hollowed by his hand.
Into this pit the figures fall one after the other.
A young girl watching, holds a Barbie. She looks at the boy. He is beautiful. She is beautiful.
The girl holds out her hand. The boy takes it. They walk to a pine grove. Here, they kiss each other's cheeks. Innocent and Beautiful.
The pit is forgotten. Dirt piles. Leaves.
Soon, one can barely make out the figures.
The children turn from 7 to 8. The pine needles continue to fall.
Now as an American this memory seems sweeter. Now I know this clearing for what it was. Home.
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