The Lowliest of the Low

The SHOUT OUT was awesome.

We had such a good turnout with some of the most awesome poets. Jay was there, Earthmother, AJ, D2theL, Rob, Rob and Rob and others, too many to list, and the house was rocking. Elizabeth did the feature and she was spot on! It was amazing mind you, it sent shivers up and down my spine. Now this is the way the SHOUT OUT is supposed to be. As Jay put it just before he read, and Jay should know, being in the poetry circuit for all of these year:, a poetry reading should be grungy, earthy, informal and rowdy. It should promote the sharing of ideas and talent...it should be like ours. I was never so proud of any of my accomplishments. My brother and I had put together something out of a labor of love, and the poets loved it back.

It's a great feeling, these things. One might say, 'shit Hobobob, you're a homeless fuck. Everything that you own is on your useless back, you're a stain on the fabric of society. You're in the lowest frame of the ballgame and basically, you stink. What do you have to be so happy about?"

I question that. I wonder that, because honestly, that's what I say to myself everyday. But shit if I'm not happy. I'm pleasantly overjoyed. I have more than most and I have nothing. Wealth is immaterial. That's why rich and powerful people can feel unhappy and unfulfilled. That is why a cockroach can feel proud when his mates egg sack bursts and out comes a million of those little fuckers. Something so fucking low can feel better than the President when HE looks at the state of the nation and the sorry condition it's in.

Yes, I'm happier than that guy on Wall Street, who is getting that pink slip on Monday because his firm folded. And so many more in the weeks and months to come. I'm happier than most.
I am in a zero sum option. I get whatever's left. Everyone takes theirs and I get the rest. That's alright, because I don't need much. The little I do get out of life is more than enough. The little money, love, sex, power, shelter, the whole Magilla, that life wants to nickel and dime to me I accept gladly.

And on days when the SHOUT OUT is as perfect as it was today, I smile with a unique kind of pleasure, because it's real and it's mine to have and to hold. No one can take that away from me. JM walks past me with a Koolaid grin, his reading when over excellently. I see him beaming. He reached a personal best here, and here was here for him to do just that. We gave him the forum and he performed. He added and was added to. That's a reciprocal engine, when there is no loss of efficiency then it is called a perpetual engine. This here, this achievement, is a true perpetual engine.

I was never, ever so proud.

So what do I do about it. Of course I become insular and put away the stage and my gear. I make myself too busy to engage in the banter after the reading. My brother does that end of the work for me. I do what I do best, work and support. I am the buttress upon which this structure leans. There is a tap on my shoulder. It's Elizabeth. "Hobobob, I am so grateful to come here and read. You two have a great space and it's been a privilege to read here." Her eyes are beaming and far away. I smile. You're welcome. It's been a privilege having you.

I wrap everything up, and head with D2theL and my brother out, where I can pick up some chicken wings. Now I have to say, that the high point of my Saturdays, after the reading, has to be the chicken wings. And don't crack any Black jokes either. Shit, and I'm hungry too. I buy an insane number of wings, nine in total, and fries. This will be my dinner, and I eat them walking to the park with my brother. We walk D2theL to the Way and then we head to the park where I slow from eating. I've since picked up some pastries and so hand the chicken over to OBSIDIAN to finish. I'm done with the night.

My head starts to bob as my brother gets into an animate conver- sation with a gentlemen next to him on the bench. I look up at the huge digital clock on the side of a building. It is time for me to leave. My brother walks me to the Box and we chatter like teeth in the cold. I say goodbye to him and ascend to my bed. The Dorm is unusually still, GOD is singing aloud terribly while listening to his walkman. Igor and another client are in a chat room on his computer with a gay guy in Germany. They're having great fun acting like a gay man. Go figure. Roundtree is preparing for church, carefully laying out his clothes.

I sit, cherishing the day. It has been a good one.
I hope to have many more of these before I expire.

I wish you could feel as good as I do now.

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