No one said life is fair

Unemployed. Borrowing my sister’s car so I can find work. I’m sitting in a coffee shop and it’s as still as a cemetery. No one is talking. They’re all on laptops. I’m doing the same thing. I’m another silent typer in a public place where people work on private projects.

No one goes into a coffee shop to talk to another physically present person. I’m avoiding more pressing tasks. I should be talking to people, applying to jobs, renewing my license. My bank in dc doesn’t have a branch here so I need to close that account and open a new one.

I have 300 dollars to my name. When that’s out I will be stuck at my parent’s house, in their basement, permanently pajama clad, vacant and directionless. I need to find work in this small town I left two years ago. There was no work then and there’s no work now.

Living in a small town is strange because even when you don’t know someone, you know them. You’ve seen them around, they know people you know. You should have introduced yourself years ago and now it’s too late. You both know you should know each other but neither of you will make the effort now.

I stopped by an old friend’s place. He’s an improv jazz drummer who tours all over the country, plays shows in chicago and st. louis. He lived in vietnam and cuts records with experimental bhutanese guitarists. The music he plays is unlistenable but there’s an audience for it. He could go anywhere in the country and people would pay him to play for them.

You can make it as a free jazz drummer because there are just enough people scattered around the world who’ve convinced themselves that free jazz is enjoyable or challenging or ennobling. There are enough people in pockets here and there that have the grit to sit through 45 minutes of spastic nonsense.

He’s poor but he has recognition within a cloistered culture of avant garde enthusiasts and artists. I’m happy for him but I can’t talk to him anymore. The whole conversation is just him spewing out a flood of obscure musicians; this guy played with that guy who played in this band who did a record with this label and on and on and on. Have you heard this band? No. Well they have members from this other band. Don’t know them either.

When it’s not who played with whom it’s more leftist politics. He also works at a community kitchen serving people who repeatedly ruin their own lives. So everything is institutional and systemic and racist and sexist. It’s all the conservatives fault. It’s those callous midwestern republicans and their refusal to dump more tax money on derelicts. People have no will. Institutions shoot heroin directly into their veins. Structures force them to abuse their children. And if you’re not rerouting your extra money and attention and affection towards their sinkhole lives then you’re a monster.

The addicts and abusers and retards don’t have enough money and support to get up out of the gutter. If they just had more money and love they could overcome generations of bad breeding. I’m an idiot now and with my life up in the air I don’t care about any of this. It’s all tiresome and unproductive and no one ever convinces anyone of anything except that the other person is an asshole. Everyone else is either an idiot or a selfish bastard.

My friend’s delicate sensibilities have been disturbed by Trump. I had to listen to another person work through the life shattering trauma of a presidential election in a free country. Another person whose fragile psyche couldn’t bear the hideous horrible truth that large segments of the population have different beliefs. How could the white working class have interests of their own outside of severing their scrotums and calling for their own displacement.

We were on the verge of an ethnically indistinct consumer technotopia of interchangeable designer sex organs and life extended egalitarian pleasure seeking until Trump and his band of bigots dropped an atom bomb on the whole enterprise. In a single day the left, which had nearly established an enduring order of mottled, muddled, androgynous nu-mans without roots and religion, was throttled into a state of hysterical bewilderment and free falling failure.

It’s all different now. It’s all crashing down around them. They need therapy and medication, protests and chemsex coping parties. I just a need a job.

Author: The Empty Subject

Born curmudgeon

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