I wrote this back in 2001, just a year after graduating with a degree in Futures Studies (now called Foresight) from UH. Posting here because my brother wanted to use it and I couldn’t find it here. Since this is the “place for my stuff,” at least digitally.
Reading this after 18 years or so, it’s held up pretty well. Which I am not sure is a good thing.
I’m tired.I’ve been cutting back on McLattes.I’m saving up to turn off my shoes.I saw some last week —shoes that were just plain shoes.They didn’t track where you goand then beam ads up at you.No motor oil ads while pumping gasNo cookie ads in front of the dairy case.They’re expensive ’cause they’re not subsidized.So I’m economizing to pay for somethingThat people are used to getting for free.My friends think I’m nuts.All these constant commercials,they don’t bother my friends.Just like wallpaper.They say they can tune them out.I should be so lucky.They drive me crazy.But it’s my fault —I made them my job.I’m an “Eyeball”.Sounded like a good idea at the time —just walk around and look at stuff.When I see a logo or a commercial spot,this chip at the base of my skulllets the good folks at Nielsenknow my reaction before even I do.This kind of informationis very valuable, they say.Thanks.Here’s your check.I figured it’d give me more time to write.But somehow I can’t concentrate.I can’t write more than a paragraph at a time.I get these uncanny urges to drop my workAnd flip through a magazine.I never order magazines but they come to me anyway.I’m never sure when, or if, I’m off the clock.I can’t tell what else I’m giving them.Like, last week I had this “naked in public” dream,and my landlady gave me an amused once-over lookthe next morning.Gave me the creeps.I try not to dream if I can help it.I saved for months to buy one blank wall in my apartment.It’s in my bedroom opposite my bed.No logo lamps, no meme marqees, no active windows.The wall wasn’t subsidized, so my rent went up.But it was worth it.I sit and stare at that walllike it were some kind of holy shrine.It is holy to me, I guess.One day I’ll be able to pay my own rentAnd put what I want on all my walls.For now I’ll just take refuge in this one blank spot.But if I sit at the end of my bed and stare long enough,say, more than half an hour, there’s this thingNot a voice, not a thought, not an image.Faintly, but clearly, it whispers“Get to work.”— Cody Clark, 2001