Icky Experience

I was just poking my straw into my protein shake here at the Vancouver Public Library (Central Branch) and I thought about how I was treated by the workers of Nasco in 2008, when I stumbled blind on their doorstep, looking for a job on a forklift, when no one in town would hire me for anything else. They had all my songs and I couldn't recall any of them clearly since I wrote them all so fast, erased them from my computer for safety, and someone had swiped the cassette I'd saved them on. They tested my memory of the earliest recordings and they wouldn't play any of the powerful ones for me. They might have been afraid I would recognize them easier. Once they were sure that I had forgotten my lyrics, they were still not entirely confident. One of the chapters in my long poem, the Tunesmith, has the hero facing enemies who were after his blood for a recording contract. I'd stumbled on the word ichor in my thesaurus and found it irresistible. And the workers of Nasco knew that I couldn't remember my poems after one of them had stolen my book of handwritten poems. And the workers of Nasco knew that the villains in my poem failed to drain their target of any blood and wanted the villains in my poem to win. So they all got together and agreed to trick me into thinking that 'everyone has to take the blood test' and stabbed me with a syringe to withdraw a little vial of my blood, about enough to fill the straw of a ballpoint pen. I am not making this up. This is fact. It happened through the setup for Madonna's appearance here in 2008. It turns out that I did not hold my poems or my songs or my comedy scripts in my head, but in my heart. If the industry probe would have checked my heart, it would have found that all my work was still inside me, intact. But the industry couldn't check my heart. It has no heart and was incapable of checking my heart for my work. And the industry was in a blind, mad rush to get richer with my hard, honest work. I noticed that it's Novel Month on the way in to the library today. Boy, are those short stories of mine ever naively written, eh? The ones from 2004? You have to write bad before you can write good. (How about that When You Leave? Probably the fourth song I ever wrote in my life. You hear the difference between that and my last recording Nonchalant?) I bet I'd do a better job of those short stories now, after all this experience. I wouldn't have shared them except that I had to show how long the people on TV have been using my work to do their jobs for them and bashing me to cover their trail. At least since 2004, even though they knew I went through a rough time over my friend's suicide a couple years earlier and that I had real talent. I tried to book myself into a hospice but it demands a full psychiatric assessment and I'm not psychotic, just exhausted. I have had to pour out a lot of work over the years and these last couple of personal losses have worn me out a bit. Still, I don't want you to worry about me if you've gotten used to finding me online, so I'm here now, staying in touch. I know I've complained about my 'wonderful music experience' but don't worry, I love my music. It is my joy. I was just talking about the people I've been facing from it, not about the music itself. The music is heaven. I'll see if I can make some videos of me reading my verses. It might be a nice feature for the vision impaired. I'm happiness impaired, but we still haven't determined how much of it is situational, at least to my satisfaction.
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