Again, I feel I'm not up to the challenge. I've been in a fiction frame of mind for five solid years now, and nonfiction is how I get through my day. I try not to think too hard about films or America or pop music or the state of good manners or I wither and become upset. If I just pay attention to people, they become characters, where I, in turn, rip them off and turn their personalities into a fictional story. It's where I am at the moment.

Dan Kant, as everyone knows by now, lives in seclusion somewhere on the Oregon Coast. I'm an hour away from where the rough Pacific meets the abrupt edges of America, so I knew he was never more than an afternoon's drive away. We made an agreement after I completed his biography, that I would sever all ties and leave him to his life of staring into nothingness and minor craft hobbies. But as fate would have it, (fate being something he and I have just come to embrace) we met again at a gas station in Forest Grove, about two towns west of me.

He was on a trek for a birthday present for his wife, I was taking my son back from a football practice. Sitting in our cars during our fill-ups, which is the custom in Oregon, we exchanged grins and nods. Dan drove around after he received his receipt and wrote his email address on it. He told me he had some stuff to show me.

I am not at liberty to reveal his new work. Sorry. No way. However, as a gift for my silence he agreed to guest-editorialize on my website. (we are also not big on "blogs") I was also asked to state that he has been battling with severe tooth pain for the past month. He's been on some serious pain meds to "get this bitch-devil out of my skull". Be warned.

 

"Job"
By Daniel Kant

I used to begin my performances with lines like "Fuck John Wayne."

I believed each word, and I had a point, but they were only used to wake everyone out of the buzz they had going, or the mix CD that was played between the opening band and my first line.

John Wayne was an actor, an illusion, a fable, a fraud. He was a prime example of the roots of this country. We prefer image to truth. We love the comforting lie rather than the sad, uneven true story. Simple as that. I guess what I'm working toward is that this feeling of a fake and fraudulent façade permeates every person. From Portland to Peoria. (I'm been experimenting with alliteration.)

A few years ago I was able to quit my job because I got a new one just being me. Its an unusual career move that almost no one gets to do, but I think….I suspect…it could be done. But it is not an easy thing to admit your job sucks. So many people equate your career to what is in your soul.

I guess James thought I could write a concise essay about the mystique behind the 'Job' in America, but it will probably be all over the place. He is like me, and so many of the rest of us out there. Too much free time in between shifts and nothing to think about. When I worked in the office I was tired all the time. I yawned and cracked my knuckles and stretched as if I woke up from a long afternoon nap. I was exhausted, unmotivated and bummed. 'Bummed' can be worse then sad or depressed. It's just low enough to let the clouds roll in but not low enough you need meds to fake your way out of it.

I loved to blame everyone and everything, including myself. Then I would get bummed all over again because I was too silly not to just accept life as it lay out before me, with coffee highs and timecards and FICA. James is there right now. He is lost and twisted and sad, and he has no way out of it. Other than his own imagination, there is no escape for him.

So I thought about the millions of us like this. Stuck in the wrong job; sad unhealthy…staring out of windows and eating crap out of vending machines. I've heard there are people who love their jobs but screw them. They can lie better that the rest of us. At least we're truthful.

So I say: Find another option. If life is truly about focus and determination, like it says on those motivational posters with the Rocky Mountains and the whales on them, then focus on something else. If all we can control is ourselves, than our mind is fair game. James is a dumbass because he doesn't see that no matter where he goes, all he will ever care for is the people around him. He has no other motivating factors. It’s a job with no pay, but he's still waiting for a check. He focuses on the wrong thing. I was like that. All I saw was imperfections everywhere I turned. Then I took a break and met my wife. Nothing changed to make that happen. Just where I as looking. So I say, focus on----

Wait.

I've done it again. Damn.
I've tried to accept the everyday and become Zen with my surroundings. I should let them envelope me and wash my pain and anger down the river. But truthfully, I want our national pursuits of happiness to end. For real. Today. Always have. I want it to end for James and I want it to end for you. I never speak of class struggle and conspiracies and "being kept down" for the benefit of more privileged people as much as I speak of what freedom really should be. I want everyone to have a chance to see what would really make them happy, if they didn't have to push a button or shovel dirt to stay alive.

I was scorned because I wanted a different happy ending to my life. That is as
clear as I can make it. Never wanted a great job and a house. Just like the artists and thinkers and geeks and nerds out there who never find the right path out of ten thousand. So don't give up. Its your life…if you need to keep hope alive to stay alive, I'll stand right behind you.

Forget it; I'm not the right guy to ask about jobs. I am self employed and I live in the woods for God's sake. Sorry about this. I'm rusty. In fact, jobs are great! You love yours, right? It's all you've ever wanted, right?

-d. kant
Oregon, 2008

Editorial Archives

 

 
E

I sneak up behind her.  I wrap my arms around her
belly and bury my head in her neck.  I’ve taken to
appreciating silence more.  No television or stereo.
They say you can become more imaginative when
you allow silence into your life.  Your brain wants
to fill it with something, rather than having it filled
with commercials or the same damn songs over and
over. This moment is perfect the way it is.