Work

The longest I was sentenced to my roomwithout supper was seven years,for pulling on Mr. Kostoff's noseafter Mrs. Kostoff said, People wear masks.The next morning I was paroledto walk the dog and go to my jobclearing rocks from dirt lotsto make them smooth for the unrollingof sod. Sometimes after workI'd do milk shots with my boss,he was fourteen, I was nine.I got a quarter an hour and saved itto buy a spectrometer to see for myselfwhat elements are burned up by stars.I realized this morningI've been working half a centurybut still have no spectrometeror cyclotron or infrared telescopeto show for it, so what's the point?If I can't investigatethe physical nature of the universe,or pull peoples' masks off, or hibernate,or paint everything Chagall ever paintedand get credit for it,such that he is erasedfrom the "crazy Russian Jewwho liked flying brides and horses"slot in our cultural consciousnessand I am inserted there,what's the point, and don't say "Joy."A lot of people say joy, but most of themhave stains on their shirts,which is very un-joy-like.And don't say "Love." I am denying youjoy and love. ClearlyI'm a force of evil in the world. I'll go now. May you find joy and loveand Atlantis and James Brown in your officeone morning, as you start tryingnot to start your day, and be inspiredby "The Hardest Working Man in Show Business"to be "The Hardest Working Woman in Salesof Educational Software in the Midwest Region."I believe in you. James Brownbelieves in you. Is it a good life?Lots of crazy people say yes, so yes.