Working on an idea.

I set out to write in this online journal once per week and as a testament of my will, completed one in addition to the poem I wrote, to which my mother accidentally proof-read and adorned Rumpke mountain with as if she were setting the angel Gabriel upon our Christmas tree, but with much more haste. Anyways, all thanks to Zuul, I am one of the lucky Americans that can call themselves employed. I'm not just employed, but sort of called. It's of my opinion that jobs are called callings, to reaffirm the illusory thought that whatever diarrhea river we are paddling our fecal formed canoe down is part of some meaningful journey and it's not until the boat melts away like paraffin, leaving us with a face-full of shit that we realize, "This isn't a paddle, it's a fucking thorn branch!" All jest aside though, there is a great value in considering your work more than a paycheck. (Especially if your work has anything to do with humans.)

It's often hard not to invoke importance into the drudgeries of life. It makes perfect sense to me why we search for meaning in our happiness and in our misfortune. More often than not, in misfortune, (The bible provides us with numerous examples and explanations of our suffering, telling us all the while it is necessary for our acceptance into the kingdom of g*d. In Galatians 6:7-9 g*d tells us that we suffer because of our own ignorance. In Hebrews 12:6 we hear the cadence of our mother's indifference when she deceitfully tells us "He only hits you, cause he loves you", while she rubs peroxide on our fresh cigarette burn. These examples are just the foreskin of the joyous wisdom found in the bible and I enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoy playing Russian roulette with a crossbow loaded with a barbed wire arrow.) but I have a spat with those who think that there is existential value in vacuous nonsensical bullshit. (What the fuck is Glee?) Thoreau spent a whole chapter of Walden going over the expenses he incurred during his seclusion. Perhaps if he were still alive I would write him a letter to ask why he was unable to foresee the inflation of our money and also why he thought it was important for the world to consider being denderphilic hermits. There is no drought of trumpery when you belittle time in such a gruesome manor.

When I was young I regarded time in its proper discourse, pleading and even crying for 15 more minutes to play Dungeons and Dragons. Now, I can't wait to get home and watch Jay Leno with his punchlines that are as predictable as the consequence of washing x-lax tablets down with prune juice, a lot of shit. We have all been disenfranchised by time, finding comfort in the throes of indifference. Once upon a shared custody, I sat with my father watching the daily news, as was uncommon for my father and I. I can say in all sincerity that it was one of the only times I remember feeling as though my father wanted to teach me something. A commercial came on for some humanitarian aide organization asking for donations to save all the half-deformed mistrodden children of impoverished nations. It was at this point, when little Rafael and Ladaya, their head's bandaged, feet bare, in shrouds of Turin, pleading for relief in their native languages, my father exclaimed, "They should grind all those motherfuckers up into dog food, at least then they would be useful for something." I am still ashamed that I nervously laughed along with such a refined example of entitled stupidity.

I knew very early in life that my father would not be my model for fatherdom. A model for God, but surely not what I think of when I hear the word "daddy". My father, if of any signifigance to my life in retrospect, will be considered a wonderful warning against the consequences of professoring impotence. I have no wrap-up thought or in conclusion to offer a summary of my thoughts. Instead, I will just stop where I started. I can no longer sympathize with my father's generational idea that your employment has no meaning but there is meaning in being employed, that idea has no value. I know now that there is no meaning, besides that which I create and of course more importantly that which was created for me. No, I'm not advocating Christianity, Islam, or Judaism. (Surely these were all CREATED by men and sustained my men and women), but I wouldn't advocate malicious delusions to anyone. (Even those that DO deserve suffering.) If you can find purpose in your work, exploit it and be joyous in your laboring.