I would like to confine most of the whining in my life within the 15-year period—spent almost exclusively in Los Angeles County—from 1996 to 2011. Now, here is a sentence that scares off a lot of attractive women all around the world:
In 1996, I was 28 years old.
1996 represents the year that I ‘turned myself in’ to the corporate authorities, becoming a salary man and then a contractor, working “at will” of psychopathic corporations. 1996 marked the end of my 20s. My 20s were devoted to being recognized as a writer of poetry and fiction while I scraped by as a LAUSD substitute teacher, transitioning into temp jobs related to graphic design.
The Black people of Los Angeles recognized me as a writer of poetry—fiction, not so much…
Let us, in the 21st century, try to respect what I am saying here with the phrase, “The Black people of Los Angeles.” From a real-estate speculation point of view, “the Black people of Los Angeles” are a withering demographic, fleeing to the southern parts of the United States in droves. My mostly dysfunctional support system was being taken away from me, leaving me effectively two choices: (i) gentrify my friendships and act like nothing tragic is happening to “my people” or (ii) kick it like Obi Wan and become essentially a corrupt monk, ostracized in the deserts of fantastic L.A.
When I was 28 years, old I had no idea that my choices were so stark. I optimistically assumed that there were more choices than these impoverished two. Most of the personal-ish entries in this Blog are a pathetic, convoluted, confused record of why I was broken down to these two choices.
1996 to 2011 represents the bulk of this horrible journey. As of this writing, only 2005 through 2011 is covered in the rasx() context, this Blog. Six years of stuff like:
My “life” from 2011 to 2019 represent a maniacal devotion to establish that ‘ready state’ first mentioned in 2009. Either I am profoundly misinformed, but I remain completely committed to this self-organization and making a ‘complete expression’ (instead of depending on others to understand my intent I must ‘go away’ and make a complete statement of my intent).
I have spent 10 years making incremental movement to this ‘ready state’ and ‘complete expression’ (actually in the form of publishing). My surrender to the corporate world both subsidizes this “craziness” of mine and prevents it from progressing with relative ease and rapidity. One might say that the 15 years, 1996 to 2011, was my last desperate attempt to avoid going on this “crazy” journey almost totally alone. I am not the first adult to be confronted with this insanity. There are others, starting with my father.