Burial of the Living
I write this on the second anniversary of the Great Purge of 2009 when I was forcibly evicted from my home and family of 15+ years, having devoted virtually every dram of my energies for the betterment of that ungrateful family and pumped virtually every penny of the $200,000+ I ever earned during those 15+ wasted years into that house.
A month later to the day, I lost my job and therein begins a mere anecdote, a simple little overlooked footnote of the real tale of the Real America, the one Sarah Palin will never tell you about, the Real America that has begun the slow process of burying the living, Corporate America clutching that golden shovel to begun the ground breaking ceremony of the interment of Working America.
We have come not to praise Jurassicpork but to bury him and those he holds dear so the world can get on with its getting and spending and not have to listen to his endless tirades about poverty both personal and collective. God, won't he shut the fuck up?! the world seems to say every time I put fingers to keyboard or raise my embittered voice in agony.
It is now exactly 23 months since I have last held a job, O Lord, and after 31 years in the workforce I am now officially an unemployable dinosaur because I am now suddenly not experienced enough, educated enough, because my teeth aren't white enough, my credit rating not high enough, or maybe because I break water when I try to walk upon it or break wind when I make water. Whatever...
Whatever the reason, O Lord, thou hast forsaken me. And however righteously one may rail against the banks, the corporations, the government or whomever is responsible for my state of redundancy, at some point one is supposed to grab their bootstraps whether or not they exist and to PULL like Horatio Alger on crystal meth until one hath pulled themselves out of the muck and mire.
Even the most pitiable of us get tiresome which is why God really gave Job a break. In the movie The Beach, the man screaming in agony from a shark bite in the leg was eventually excommunicated by the others with a single caretaker because, O Lord, he was harshing their buzz with his screams of agony. At a wake for a cancer victim there are at least several who are relieved not so much at the end of the suffering of the departed but an end to their suffering.
But April Fool's Day will come soon with the attendant bills and that is not a joke and no laughing matter so I beseech thee for a break whether it come in the form of manna from heaven delivered by a really hot chick on a clamshell a la Botticelli or in Paypal donations or a job or, best of all, a book contract.
Hear me, O Lord, for I am at the end of my rope and it is looking more and more like a noose.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
April is the Cruelest Month
Posted by jurassicpork at 7:04 PM