Lit my fire

Once I knew I was going to be involved with the community garden movement in Springfield, I surveyed my surroundings and went to work. I think that a lot of research has to be done, and even though I’m not the best at it, I still do what I can. One of the things I’ve been doing is pestering local businesses about composting. Each place is different, and has unique situations. This idea has been met with much resistance.

When I was looking for a part-time job, it was crossing my mind that I might have to resign myself to working in a kitchen again. I had used my personal power, I casted a spell; I am done with cooking. It’s not uncommon though for the Universe to back me into a corner. The first restaurant I approached sealed the deal though. The lady was very receptive to the idea, but then she said, if it’s going to get done, she’d be the one doing it. I asked, are you the owner? She said, no, she’s just a lowly waitress. She takes me to the back, and on the cook line was a guy who hates his life just radiating negativity. He doesn’t give a damn about composting, nor will he. That self loathing though, got me like, I’m going to just live under the bridge; I’m not working in a kitchen.

So right here is my problem. These people ruling over me, making decisions about my life, aren’t even smart enough to recycle wasted food. If I applied there, that guy would have been my boss. These elected officials, store owners, city officials, etc. they have college degrees, and important jobs, and they are acting like they know what is best for me, yet they aren’t even making sure the simplest of intelligent things are happening. How hard is it to throw compostable materials into a separate container, and put a lid on it? People brag about how advanced, and great America is, yet we can’t even do the simplest of things. Everyone knows damn well, it’s the intelligent thing to do. If someone makes an argument that being wasteful is the right thing to do, that person is dumb. That will be scientifically verifiable.

Keep in mind, Springfield already has a compost system in place. They have several locations within the city where people can take their yard waste; leaves, grass, small branches, etc. They also get tree mulch from their city owned tree trimming trucks. They have a composting site outside of city limits, already selling compost. There is a full fledged trash service already running. There is no reason the businesses who routinely throw out large quantities of food can’t be composting.

Now some libertarian somewhere will be shouting. Small business owners will be shouting. Just another fee! Just another rule/law/fine. Another bureaucratic card in the deck. Sadly, this is the result of our failing public education system. If we had a legit public education system people wouldn’t need to be told to compost, and not be wasteful; they’d just do it because it’s the intelligent thing to do. Properly educated people in mass, do the better things. Because our American public education system fails to actually educate people they have to be told to do the right thing, by some authority figure, or they won’t do it. That government funded public education system creates a populace that needs said government. People won’t own up for this fact, but what they will do, is still walk around like they are smart, and educated. They have a piece of paper. These are important people!

Case in point, the locally owned coffee house. I do my best to support local business. This place makes great coffee drinks. I’ve been slowly learning though, that a lot of small business owners might as well be a Wal-mart exec. Some of these people are greedy assholes to the max. I’ve met several now who are straight up bullies, and treat their employees like shit. There fundamentally isn’t a difference between these people and the King who farmed his peasants for gold and labor. Same shit, different degree. These people seem to embody this attitude, that they are more special than the rest, because what seems to me, no other reason than that they go to work every day ruling over people who are less fortunate in life; just to make a paycheck.

I was house spousing when it started. I didn’t have any money personally. My wife bought the things needed to get the composting started at this coffee house. A rubbermaid, food grade, 32gal Brute container. Lid sold separately. White, like the ones used for ice. Then there was the dolly, because a 32gal plastic container filled to the brim with coffee grounds can’t be picked up by a single guy of my size and strength. It took a grunt to get it tipped back on the dolly.

What I was constantly thinking about was what it would take to keep that single coffee house in coffee beans. I’m going into urban farming. I’m thinking I would need fields and fields of coffee trees. I, of course, had to google this. According to the casual search, I find; “Since the average coffee tree produces 10 pounds of coffee cherry per year (2 pounds green beans), then 16 coffee trees are required to supply the average American's coffee drinking habit.” That container weighs hundreds of pounds when it’s full! It gets dumped every five days on average! The wet coffee grounds probably weigh more than the fresh berries. It would be way more beans per five days that was being composted. Probably close to twice as much, if not more.

This is just one coffee house. Just one. How many coffee houses are there in America? Google knows; https://www.statista.com/topics/1670/coffeehouse-chain-market/

This is insane! Where are all those trees? Look it up. Slaves are everywhere. The Steinbeck story, Grapes of Wrath, is alive and well. It’s still happening. That story is powerful.

When I started collecting it, and a couple times during the thing, I made sure I explained my situation. I was volunteering for some non-profits. I would keep the manager posted on my progress. We were going to grow flowers to put on tables and at the counter. It was going to be cool. My goal with the flowers was to just raise awareness about the community gardens in general.

I paid with the stuff with my own money. I was dumping the coffee grounds at the community garden behind the youth center. I took the first couple of loads home to experiment with. I’d never used them in gardening with that kind of quantity. The local horticulture specialist says they are considered a nitrogen source. Google agrees. This guy knew I wasn’t always going to be able to pick it up same day it was full. I always make sure the boundaries are covered. He knew I had way more going on than just picking up their compost.

What I didn’t do, was establish who the owner was, or the boss. My dealings were with the manager. He’s a nice guy. Every employee I met was excited and happy the grounds weren’t going in the trash anymore. Most of the employees are millennials, hipsterish, college kids, and artists. I dig it.

I would get a text or call when it was full, and then I’d go get it. Sometimes though, it wouldn’t be until the next day. Sometimes I had stuff going on. This particular time I was exhausted. I woke up so sore that morning I couldn’t walk normal. I’d been doing what I call third world labor on a local farm. It is back breaking work in the sense that one is bent over perpetually, non-stop killing weeds. There is such a long list of things to do, nothing could ever actually get done fast enough. It really is hard work. It is a legitimate humbling experience.

It was weird to me at the time. So many times I could feel it, that the compost would be full. It was a weird thing. Of all the things to be linked to, why the compost tub? Well I know now. That manager was the one wanting the compost to happen, and his boss did not. This is why I always got the vibe from him to not inquire about the boss. He was being as sneaky as he could be without ruffling his boss’s feathers. I’m sure he could tell there would be problems.

Let me tell you; this “boss” guy is a legitimate dumb asshole. I’d not done my homework on his personal life, and story, but I’ve seen his type enough now it’s like reading one of those cheesy romance novels. Everyone knows how it’s going to go. This guy, I guarantee, is the textbook douche bag, who has never read a management book in his life, ruling over poor people who want a job, to feel good about himself. He only has his position of power because he is a big person physically, and has a strong personality. He’s done no homework in life.

I go in through the back door. I’m wearing my big straw hat because the sun is already blaring. I have to walk the dolly several blocks, to the garden and back. He sees me, and then turns to his manager to verify that it’s me. He is clearly stink eyeing me. He’s damn near glaring at me.

I could tell that some mad passive aggressiveness was going on before I even got to the coffee house. I could feel it. When I got there, they had overfilled the container so much that I couldn’t get the lid on it. It was literally heaping up a full foot high above the rim. They had just kept dumping the grounds on top, with the buckets I had to purchase. They didn’t even come up with the small buckets to use at the bar. I had told them that I really didn’t mind it being full af, but heaping that high out the top isn’t full; that is heaping. It is obvious that I couldn’t put the lid on it, and dolly it out. I literally stated that I was confused and didn’t understand.

All the way to the garden, and back, I’m plotting. This time I made sure to walk it home too. I wanted to make sure it’s good and clean going back. I rewrite my contact info on the lid with a sharpie. I’m too old for this passive aggressive crap.

His stink eye sealed the deal. I knew without a doubt this guy is being an asshole to me. It was really busy, but I’m not dealing with passive aggressive crap. There is something inside me that refuses to bow down to anyone. I must stick up for myself, or I can’t hold my head on high. I start letting them know that I can’t do my part if it’s heaping out the top. It should be common sense that I can’t dolly it out like that. This guy is glaring at me practically. He’s a big burly barrel chested bastard. Grey hair. He’s got to be in his fifties at least. Way too old to be being a passive aggressive asshole. I can promise you, that’s how he manages his employees.

He’s talking to me like I’m on the payroll. He literally smarted off to me about picking it up on time. Like literally said it out loud. I tell him, I’m not being paid to do this. The trash service comes at specific times, like clock work, because you pay them to do so. This is volunteer work. I am exhausted. You guys didn’t even ask why I couldn’t make it. I tell him that in most cities businesses pay to have their compost taken away. It is a paid for service, that has been being done for free, and at my own personal expense.

The manager did his best to displace the situation. He tried to tell me to come back another time when they weren’t busy, but his boss wasn’t having it. The real truth is, and he said it out loud, is that it is extra work for them to take it to the back. He’s says to the manager we’re done with this. He keeps talking to me like he signs my paycheck. This guy, he doesn’t even know my name.

He asks me if I need help getting my stuff out, as he struts to the back. He smarts off again about not being able to pick it up on time. I never agreed to that. How hard is it to just throw it away like you were doing before, until I could come and get it? How hard is that? He says something dumb under his breath, and I just smart off, as I walk away, about him going back to throwing it in the trash like a smart guy.

This lit a fire in my ass. This gives me a reason to be in city council now. These people shouldn’t be allowed to litter. I can’t even sit on the sidewalk in this city without a cop harassing me. I know for a fact I would get fined, and have to go to court if I was littering. Throwing useful things into a landfill is littering. It’s stupid. It’s wasteful. I shouldn’t even have to explain this to people, that is how good American public education works.

I’ve seen firsthand the amount of food wastes grocery stores throw away. I’ve seen how much restaurants throw in the trash. Now I’ve seen what a coffee house is throwing away.  

This guy wants to be a dick to me; I’m going to make sure he has to pay for that composting service.

That Background

Life is legitimately crazy. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t really care what some dude sitting at some college somewhere says about how people should spell or write. I write like I talk. I’m talking to people through written words; why would I do it any other way? This isn’t a one way street.

It would be a lie to say it’s a phobia. It’s more of a hatred. All things bureaucratic to me are inane. I’ve read somewhere that intelligent people have a harder time at life for various reasons, and this is one of mine. My inability to do dumb shit, just because someone else says so, makes my life hard. Keeping track of everything on paper is dumb; I am a monkey damnit. I didn’t sign up for the circus.

I really need to get over myself.

We are monkeys though, and as such, we literally evolved for communal life. That’s what nepotism is. It’s not my fault Christians fucked that up. Am I right? As if we couldn’t follow the archetype of Christ, and live communally? Shit is absurd. Anyways.

My goal was, and is, to be so deep in this gardening game that I can’t be told no. Remember? I’m stuck between two cultures. This one culture is sheepled to the max. Such types never like me. They must always get the facade. Unfortunately, they are the ones in charge of the paperwork. To be clear; it is the ones that sign the paychecks that run the show. 

At the youth center where the garden is; there are rules. Lots of rules actually. It’s a safe spot for kids. I can logically wrap my mind around why all the rules are necessary. Lots and lots of rules saved me once up a time. Matter of fact, for a very long time I would tell people prison saved my life if for no other reason, than for once in my life, when I woke up in the morning; I knew exactly how it was going to go. I knew exactly how my day would be structurally all day errday.

In prison the structure is perfected. One eats at the same times errday. One gets lined up to be counted at the same times errday. One is allowed to get out of their cell, go into their cell, watch TV, play cards, lift weights, socialize, go to church, hang out; at the same times errday. This is a critical part of domestication. If children are raised by fucked up people, they most likely will not have had any structure at all. Structure of this kind feels safe. It is dependable. It eliminates tons of stress. One never has to worry about when they will get to eat, sleep, or shit. There are so many reasons kids need certain levels of structure. Life is very hard for anyone without this level of domestication.

I know this because it goes against my personality to do anything anyone tells me to do. Yet, I still needed this domestication, or how would I have ever gotten through life? It seems we all have to fit in together at a certain level, or we would be legitimately wild. A wild human. Well, like it or not, a wild human would not last long in this culture. In this culture Christianity has been purging the wild ones for thousands of years now. If one is wild, it can be felt by the domesticated ones and their autopilot is to destroy the wild ones.

Still though, I would never, and will never again unless I must; sign myself up for a background check. All my life that shit has haunted me. The stigma, the immediate placement at the bottom of the pecking order; a criminal. I really can’t believe I never killed myself. That is what society wanted after all. Anyone back then, who wasn’t a friend of mine, would have been all like; fuck that guy, lock him up, and leave him there.

There was a time when I was still really bitter about it all. I would trick people into talking about how they would treat violent criminals, then look them right in the eye and tell them I was one. Is that what they would do to me? I would always make sure they had known me for awhile first. You could see the nepotism kick in. They would always back track, but I knew the truth; just another stupid monkey.

I was trying to sneak by. If I wanted to go inside the youth center to talk to the kids about the gardening project, I had to follow the rules. They are telling me all that really matters is that I have never harmed a child. Pedophilia. That kind of thing. There was a great deal of ambiguity about it though, because it wasn’t the people whom I was talking to, it wasn’t their decision. The background check was through a government website. I mean, I robbed a freaking bank. I had over thirty charges on the books before I was 17. I can’t remember honestly how many times I’ve been arrested. They were running a legit background check.

I got arrested once merely for having been to prison. Cops showed up, someone says, “he’s been to prison.” Cuffed, and in the car I go. Spent twenty four hours in a holding tank on “investigation”. I was in my own yard, at the house where I lived. If a highway patrol pulls me over, and I’m sitting in his car, and I hear my name come back over the airwaves, I always hear the code words for potentially armed and dangerous. Being the sensitive guy I am, I can always feel the energy change at that moment in time. It’s instant.  I can feel it go from just regular old guy, because I yes and no sir them, polite as fuck, like I’ve been in the military; to this guy who is now a fucking douche. I can see them think about where their weapons are, as if I were never not doing that the whole damn time.

All the jobs I was smart enough to get, but never could get, made me very bitter. Even if I had not been raised like an animal, never been abused, never even went to prison, but merely had the label attached to my name; life would suck. You know, kind of like a government goof up, where any time anyone runs a background check it turns up “armed and dangerous.” Life is going to suck if that’s the case. There were many times I couldn’t even get a shit factory job. And I was abused, I was raised like an animal, so I have a goddamn shine in my eyes. As if I can do anything about that.

I can’t tell someone who doesn’t know me at all what I did without twenty questions ensueing. I can’t say anything about much of my past at all without suddenly someone being all up in my business. My life did not take the standard sheeple trajectory. My private introverted ass does not care for this intrusion in my life. I prefer it to be up to me, who knows what when. I’ve lived where I live now for almost three years and no one has known about my past. It was a nice reprieve. A vacation if you will.

The whole time I’ve been doing this gardening thing I’ve been so anxious. It was going to be awhile sneaking past that background check. Wasn’t like there was going to be at time, or calendared spot that says, “now safe from having to do a background check.” I was signed up for a long wave, but the wave crashed.

I got put to it. They were being pushed by the paycheck signers to handle business. I don’t blame them or anything. I’d do my job too. If my job was to protect, look out for, and provide a safe place for kids, I’d run a background check on anyone that came within a hundred feet of the building if I could to make sure they were not a pedophile. This is a rape culture; pedophiles are errwhere.

I’m off the grid. I have not had a bank account for over a year now. Luckily for them, they gots the computers right there. She proffered her own debit card to seal the deal. Stuck like chuck.

For days I paced. Waiting. I was preparing myself for the bad news. I find it best to go ahead and start doing emotional work before big events in life. Prepare for the worst; hope for the best is my motto. I was even having strangers pray for my well being. Now you know it’s serious. Everything had been so harmonious. Everything had fell into place so naturally. I was betting on that, because honestly, that’s all I got.

I got the email from the government. I had to keep re-reading it. I couldn’t tell what it was saying. Nowhere on it did it say denied, or approved. The email was encrypted for my privacy. Super official government stuff in my eyes. The land where I do not belong. The land where I’m magically at the bottom.

I call the lady who put me to the background check. I tell her I got this email, and can’t tell what it means. She tells me that it would be very clear about being denied, if that were the case. I tell her it doesn’t say anything like that. She says, “You’re good to go.”

I just cried.

I cried for awhile actually.

Now; it really is go time. That was the only dead weight I had. 

The Universe called me out

It was Memorial Day. Since the libraries are closed due to the holiday I posted up in a local coffee house to charge my phone and get some reading done. I’ve been re-reading the don Juan stories, and was almost finished with one of the books. As I was reading a man sat on one end of the couch, directly across from me. I was posted up in a comfy single seat. He put his laptop on the coffee table, and proceeded to do whatever it was he was doing. I really wasn’t paying him any mind.

My typical reading fashion is to read a chapter or two, put the book down, and then read an article or two on FB that is not the same topic. It’s not easy anymore to stay on top of all the technological advances being made. New ones happen almost every day. I share some posts, and depending on my mood, or the mood of FB itself, set the bait with some mirrors, ponder it all, then pick the book back up for another chapter or two. The don Juan stories are deep, and heavy with metaphor, so often I sit and ponder for minutes at a time.

He was sitting across me for who knows how long. When I am reading I don’t really have a sense of time. I only had one chapter to go, and this guy, Dan, asks me if it’s a good book. I tell him it’s one of the best, and after he inquires, tell him briefly about the book. Everyone finds the Castaneda stories interesting. Who wouldn’t be thrilled being tricked by a shaman?

We ended up having a two hour metaphysical discussion. This guy was really big on the “law of attraction.” It’s a definitive stage of spiritual growth. It’s definitely a step on the path, regardless of whichever path one chooses. It eventually came to be known to him that I am an atheist. Poor guy could have no idea that I was shamaning him, but the whole time we were talking he was giving me one of the greatest gifts, so I had to return the favor. I don’t like accepting gifts, so I always give one back.

Towards the end of the discussion, after having backed him into a logical corner, he admits defeat. Not directly, but in that kind of questioning, “seems to be this way” plea. I’m right eyeing him, and I say clear as day, “Maybe you don’t yet have enough personal power to live your life without needing beliefs.” That was as much as he could take. Any more and he would have been running out of there.  

He gave me a tremendous gift though.

I’ve been threatening to write a book so long now, I doubt anyone thinks I will do it. What most might not know though, is that everything I’ve ever written is for the most part digitally saved. All that is the rough draft. My life prior to the age of 21 is book worthy all by itself. I’m at least smart enough to be keeping that part safe. I must admit it is a bit daunting to me even though it shouldn’t be. Typically the words just write themselves. The stories find me.

Writing a book reminds me of college. After having gone to college I can clearly see it was the easiest thing in the world to do. But for me, it was more difficult than anything I had ever done. You see, as a child I was brainwashed that college was out of my reach. Making it to MU without sabotaging myself was a real miracle. It took everything I had to pull that off. The emotional process of actually walking onto campus was one of the most powerful experiences I’ve ever had. Not because college is awesome, but because I did not fuck it up. I proved those pieces of shit wrong.

This book thing feels that way. I could easily write a book. Anyone could. I cannot so easily overcome my own self-destructive patterns. That, is the real work.

The whole time this guy was talking to me about his idea of god, he had a small paperback book in his hands. He eventually showed it to me. It was a collection of poems he had written. He told me he has published other books. I was just sitting there taking it all in.

His photo on the back, bar code, artsy cover; everything about it was real. It was a real book the same as any I’ve ever read. Here is where the Universe kicks me in the nuts. He said it was his rough draft, and that it only cost him 2.53$ to have made. He has one made, and then does his editing on the actual book. It took everything I had to keep my jaw from dropping. He said he’s sold a couple thousand copies of the other books he has written. Okay, now the Universe is kicking me while laying on the ground recovering from the nut shot.

He has me read one of his poems. His favorite one in the book. It was something about giving love to those who hate. I’ve already taken up the god tactic, so I can’t press him on this one too. But no where ever in history, has the evil guys gave up because their enemies loved them. That is just not how it works. That is some idealistic Christian bullshit. I’m not even into poetry, but I oblige him. He spent some time talking about some other books he’s written. He chided me for keeping him from getting any re-writing done, but he knew he wanted that metaphysical conversation.

He told me about his professional life. He likes to fix things up carpentry style. Told me about other jobs he had, things he’s done. You know me, I’m always asking questions. He’s tells me why he took up this writing poetry.

He used to know this guy like ten years ago. This guy had a good job, and was working on making a movie. I think maybe Dan looked up to him because he seemed to be being creative in life. I couldn’t get the gist of why they were such friends, or even why this guy stood out to him so much. Then he says, crazily, that he just saw this guy last week at the library. They got to talking, and it turns out this guy is still doing the exact same thing; working the same job, still working on his movie. He’s astounded by this guy, seven years he says, and he’s still doing the same thing. He tells me he took that as a sign; he needs to change what he’s doing.

I just kept thinking how amazing the Universe is. This guy, on this day, with that book, and those stories. He could not have had any idea what he was doing. More than likely he was just getting more validation for his “law of attraction” theory. By the way, I don’t discredit that theory, but it is far from all there is to it. In typical Christian fashion, he seemed to be holding it way too far up on high. There is so much more to life than going around paying attention to the fact that we all attract things. The Universe balances everything.

Needless to say I cannot stop thinking about that little 2.53$ book. I’ve often in my head calculated the odds. Gauging by the number of reads my blog gets, versus the number of FB friends I have, if I extrapolate those numbers out to the population as a whole, my writing would get enough readers. Logistically speaking there is no reason I could fail, except that demon following me around still, telling me I’m stupid.