what's your main income?

Discussion in 'Hippies' started by meowo, Jun 1, 2006.

  1. freeinalaska

    freeinalaska Hip Forums Supporter HipForums Supporter

    Messages:
    1,088
    Likes Received:
    3
    I'm the phone man for Nowhere, Alaska bush. Wife is sahm.

    Does the food appear when I'm starving or when my kids are?
     
  2. bamboo

    bamboo Hip Forums Supporter HipForums Supporter

    Messages:
    451
    Likes Received:
    0
    Like it says below...I work.

    Working for long hours, long days, long weeks, long months and long years, I watched from a distance as my children were born, grew up and started their lives. Turning from a young man to an old man, I toiled in the bowels of the American economy while living the fantasy of the American dream. My aging body inexorably deteriorated as the familiar and smiling faces that I once knew in my day-to-day grind slowly disappeared and were quietly replaced by an ever-growing collection of newer and younger faces.

    I grew cold and callous with a patina of “I don’t give a fuck,” that slowly corroded my soul. My views became skewed by my perceived misery and a tired reluctance of the seemingly inevitable submission to aging that my weary bones had brought. The happy pursuits of years gone by were now replaced by the tedium of endless day-to-day survival in a world that seemed to pass me by. Time sped on, faster and faster and my fate closed in on me with increasing speed and certainty.

    I truly believe that the perception of time grows faster the more we age. The quickening passage of time occurs simply because we loose the novelty of the world. The less and less new that we perceive inevitably drives us farther and farther into a waking sleep. As in nightly sleep, we lie down and in an instant reach for the alarm with the rising sun. In waking sleep the conscious passage of time is inexorably decreased. The long night has passed in the blink of an eye, as does the long day. The only things that extend the swift passage of the long night and drag the swift passage of time into to fitful hours are the things that inhibit the blissful pre-death of sleep. The only things that increase the length of the day are those things that inhibit the pre-death of waking-sleep.

    “I have done it all and yet I have done so, so little,” I cried as dark melancholy gripped my soul. What had I become? What was left but the grave and the cold oblivion of endless eternity? Little did I remember that the world was an infinite unknown to the truly curious and thoughtful. The planet reeked of novelty, but I had lost my course…my way in an endless sea of tedium that hid from me the very possibilities that could await my spirit if I could just awaken from my mind-numbed stupor.

    “A jaded dream,” I thought: “where a man’s soul is plundered by Corporate America and the insatiable greed of capitalism. Let these young fools learn as I have learned. Let them discover the feelings of disillusionment and despair hidden in the lying promise of success.”

    "I have worked," I said. At one time I had understood those words to be damned good things to say; on par with phrases like “I am working” and “I am going to work.” To say anything else just wouldn’t have described the mindless torment and fruitless loss of precious years that “I have worked” entailed in my heart. I cried out forlornly for the lost years, lost seconds and knew that there were none that heard the anguished pleas that called from my soul. On my knees I shouted to heaven in hopes that the thin tenor of my voice might be selected from the cacophony of all the rest of the forlorn cries of all mankind…and yet I knew that my voice carried no weight and my pleas and supplications were just whispers in a mighty tempest. I cried alone the tears of bitter despair in a sea of misery and anguish. “Tears in the rain” said the man-thing in Bladerunner, and yet I knew his pain.

    Our social system and very economic trust are held together by countless millions of “I have worked” mumblers and partakers like myself. If it wasn’t for all the mindless automaton “I have worked” folks, living their drizzly little lives in dismal and ugly little places the whole fabric of society would collapse upon its selfish-self, leaving utter chaos and ruin in the wake. Or so I thought.

    I have worked. The phrase was just as meaningless in the face of my reality as the word “paradigm” is to others. One too often hears “paradigm” bandied about by new-speak aficionados along with other trite words and phrases that carry no real weight in polite conversation. No weight other than to show the speaker’s “in” status.

    “In what” is often less important than just being “in,” I guessed but “in” none-the-less.

    “You will NEVER catch me using frivolous phrases and new-speak jargon,” I vowed.

    A long time ago “twenty three skidoo” was probably used in much the same way as “paradigm” is today, but that trivial little verbalization seems to have fallen into disfavor somehow. “I have worked” reeked of old-speak like “twenty three skidoo” or “catch 22.”

    But “I” was still stuck in the whole “work” concept and labored in the misguided notion that it was a really good thing to soil myself with a frenzy of servitude and subservience. I slaved for the bottom line regardless of the fact that the bottom, the line and all of the support structure that the bottom and line sustained was not mine and never would be. I have worked. Words wrapped in unspeakable pain and agony born by the mindless to fulfill other men’s dreams. The grave loomed on my sullen soul and “I have worked” was all that I remembered in my mind-numbed and toil broken state to show for the effort.

    I built from the whole cloth of bitter disillusionment an entire worldview that reflected the jaded outlook of my tired mind. Noticing from time to time that others had found escape from the unholy edifice of the bottom line, I was confused. The culture and propaganda of the dominant socio-economic culture had beaten into my malleable and formless mind the notion that these escapees were somehow seedy vagabonds; depraved souls who bore the scorn of the highest social order. They should bear my pity and loathing rather than respect and envy, I was told. How was it I missed that they were free to do as they pleased? How was it, I somehow failed to see that these enlightened individuals had found what our forefathers had fought and died to procure? In these savvy yet occasionally seamy souls was the bona fide spirit of freedom that the original founding fathers and perhaps even the biblical patriarchs had labored intently and prayed deeply to find. These souls cultured the spirit to burst the sundry chains of serfdom and slavery. They avoided the daily misery and toil for another man’s fruit. Freedom was their grail.

    “I have worked” and “True freedom,” were the opposite ends of the great polarity of all of human kind. These glaring facts sprang before me on one late winter morning in 2002. I have worked…and yet…

    From what were these gossamer, leaden chains wrought that bound me so tightly in their burdensome grip? I pondered the dilemma for some time. I slept on the gravity of it. I mulled it and reasoned it for days. On that cool February morning an uneasy epiphany came; a bolt form the blue; the light on the road to Damascus. It was another word that held me…a word insidiously planted in my mind from my youth. A maniacal word held me bound in servitude and chained me to this sick and depraved society. The word was “Care”…I cared and had been told…no, forced to care from my earliest years.

    I cared about things that had no value. If I rebelled at work I was ask, “Don’t you care about your job?” If I threatened to walk out of an unholy relationship I was ask…”Don’t you care?” I was beaten and molded to care more for others than for myself. I had to care about the homeless, the sick, the needy, the flag, and the environment. There were legions of people…enforcers, that made it their cause to see that I cared about the sick, the lame, the constitution, the streets, the endangered, the trash the…the everything. I was bombarded daily…hourly by message and thought, to care for everything. I “had” to care…it had become instinct.

    If I didn’t care then I didn’t fit...I didn’t belong. Caring was the glue that stuck the caring chains to my very soul. What a hell: emotionally bound to these fruitless endeavors not of my own making. Caring had enslaved me. This insidious plot must have been demon inspired from the pits of hell. Government and society didn’t rule by force…no, they took their ill got gain like a thief in the night, slipping into my emotions while I was unaware.

    Evil concepts had been planted in my soul from the time that I soiled my first diaper and drank from the breasts of motherly kindness. But what of my own loving Mother? She cared, didn’t she? Did she really care or was she just another victim of this satanic mind control? Had my own Mother been duped by this depraved society in to “caring” for the wriggling maggot of humanity that she held to her breast so many years before? My mind reeled under the impact of the thought…was she, too, programmed to care? Oh, Mother of God what insidious evil had been thrust upon helpless mankind.

    I held this miserable piece of truth in my toil callused hands. I raised it to eye level and peered into it from all sides and angles. My eyes squinted into the glaring truth of my new paradigm (shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen). Did I care? Did I need to care? The cold icy truth slowly sank into my heart. No…hell no, I didn’t really care…not really. I didn’t care like I should. I didn’t want to care and sure as hell didn’t need to care very much. But did I really, really not care or did I just delude myself with the hope of not caring or was it just gross indifference that filled my pounding heart?

    My head swam with the portent of it. My pulse quickened and my heart raced with what I knew to be my certain ruin and instant death. Surely lightening bolts were going to crash from the heavens and despoil my newfound revelation. I cringed…moaned, certain that jack booted thought police were soon to kick down my door and haul me away. But then…I didn’t care, did I?

    Slowly my heart returned to its natural rhythm, my shallow yet rapid breath gained a natural rate. I didn’t care or, did I really, really not care? My pulse quickened again and my eyes narrowed a bit.

    “This isn’t all peaches and cream,” I thought. I never have like peaches and cream…too insipid for my tastes, although strawberries and cream are ok. “I need independent verification…but how? Surely there is a way to test my resolve to not give a shit anymore. Think man, think!”

    I paced the floor of the little room I had relegated to “keeper of the idiot box.” Not because I was somehow angry with the room or less respectful of its room status compared to the other rooms of the house, but in some immeasurable way its size and general shape made it perfect for lounging in the most insidious ways in front of the modern day opiate of the masses…the TV. The tiny room was far enough from the other “well traveled” rooms of my home so that in a pinch…if polite company should arrive, I could deny having an “idiot box” all together. Respectable folks did not need to know. Yet the tiny space was close enough to the bed room so that when, in mind-numbed and completely nerve desensitized states brought on by hours of pabulum and banality . . . sitcoms, made-for-TV movies and game shows, I could still find my way to the bed as it became necessary to do so.

    “The TV,” I shouted. “Of course you damned fool…turn on the infernal TV.”

    By now I had worked myself into a real frenzy; I had to have proof…I had to know! Quickly I turned on the television…I flew through the channels. Where were the natural disasters?

    “Lord, help me,” I shouted, “give me an infomercial with starving children, homeless drunkards, Republicans stealing wealth and impoverishing the aged, poor and handicapped.”

    Landslides in California suddenly loomed on my flickering screen. Destroyed homes and wet-soil trodden souls in abject misery filled the screen as giddiness settled onto my heart…I laughed, giggled at first and then percolated into a chuckle before rolling into a full belly laugh.

    “Shit! Look at those poor miserable schmucks. I don’t care!” I was elated.

    Even more channels before I found CNN. The misery channel…the home to all whining and Liberal concern with a capital “L”…I laughed until I cried. The next several hours were lost as if I had consumed rivers of alcohol and breathed nothing but pure nitrous. Stone cold sober I saw humor in all misery. Icy indifference gripped my soul.

    But then a new light dawned. What if my new revelation was for not? What if I had just somehow become a Conservative; a Neocon …God strike me down if my callus epiphany was wasted and I was now little more than a heartless Republican. I fumbled hurriedly with the damned remote. The black plastic connivance was suddenly wet with cold the perspiration flooding my trembling hands. The remote spurted from my slippery grasp like a slimy bar of wet soap in the shower…I saw it bounce and slide under the couch.

    “Damn,” I cried as my flailing arms flew under the couch to retrieve my electronic redemption. How many times did that slippery little bastard slip from my grasp in the darkness beneath the couch? Cursing in desperation, I threw the couch out of the way and dove in bodily to reclaim the damned thing. Once again it was in my sweaty grasp. Victory!

    Slowly I turned to the flickering, chattering television. My trembling thumb advanced the tiny slivers of rubber that would send magic commands to some hidden piece of electronic wizardry. CNN slipped away. Court TV…

    “Who watches this shit?” I scowled.

    My heart raced. Time stood still as new grim and grainy faces sparkled into view…FOX News...perfect! This conservative bastion of right wing propaganda was sure to have the misery of the poor and down trodden…god forbid they wouldn’t show the pain and anguish of the rich.

    Just then some fang-faced whining winch was calling off the sodden demise of some heartless soul in some far and distant place…I slowly smiled. A smirk crept, and then crawled across my face. Chuckles. Tears began to stream down my face as I laughed at misery and mayhem…God, I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all…I REALLY just didn’t care.

    I spent the day with my newfound delight in the misery of other men. I saw collapsed societies, natural disasters and the utter barbarity of all things religious. I felt good inside with the certain knowledge that I didn’t give a shit and never really had. By God, I just didn’t care and it felt great. The mayhem and misery of miserable mankind suddenly no longer mattered because I had found “me”…deep inside something old/new had been awakened or reborn and I trembled with the possibilities, not knowing what this new lost/found entity was.

    Suddenly I wanted to splurge my new found “not caring.” I didn’t know where to spend it. A fever pitched frenzy grasp my heart as I sought an outlet for the freedom of not giving a damn. Surely this was great but what the hell was I supposed to do with it? Something akin to getting my first real hard-on at ten or eleven years old possessed me. This was a portentous event and it felt great but what was I supposed to do with it? I liked it. It tingled and throbbed; I knew that this was important but I just couldn’t get my hands around it…so to speak. Would I have to scratch and rub it many times before I found the secret of its ecstasy? I needed more revelation and epiphany…silence.

    “God damn it,” I cursed, “So close and yet so far.”

    “Honey…” the familiar voice of my wife called through the house. “What ya doin up there?”

    “Playing with my dick and watching the news.” I shouted back.

    “Smart ass…” her voice trailed off from the kitchen down below.

    Little did she know that had the fang-faced bitch on FOX NEWS been a just a bit more attractive…but no, I had to solve this problem. If I didn’t care…and I didn’t, then what next, what do I do now; how do I proceed? Shit! Who knew that not caring took so damn much work?

    “I must be doing this wrong,” I mumbled. “There’s more to it than this…I need something else.”

    My body collapsed into the green recliner that sat next to the now disheveled and misplaced couch that not long before had guarded the hiding place of the demon remote. Shifting the lever on the side of the tattered throne, my feet flipped out and forward onto the flimsy, poorly padded rest as I lay back to ponder the ponderous dilemma of my happenstance.

    “Damn fool’s luck,” I moaned, “I have the secret of life and no key to unlock the thing.”

    As my head swam in all that had transpired this day, I slowly thought back…back to the beginning; back to where this had all began. Trying to put into a conceivable context the things that my heart now felt, I longed to explain it to no one but myself and to visualize it for my own clarity. Someone told me once…
     
  3. Morning Myst

    Morning Myst Member

    Messages:
    225
    Likes Received:
    3
    I work (full time in summer and part time in winter) as an aid in a small hospital. I'm also in college, studying to hopefully become a social worker.
     
  4. Duncan

    Duncan Senior Member Lifetime Supporter

    Messages:
    2,815
    Likes Received:
    394
    I work as a certified nursing assistant at a local hospital. I attend college during the day. I live with two housemates who help supplement the food and rent. I grow veggies and herbs and have three fruit trees. I do composting. I have three Auracana hens.
    I have 35 excess pounds to loose so I'm not too worried about my next meal. We get along just fine. Thanks for asking :)
     

Share This Page

  1. This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
    By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.
    Dismiss Notice