Blog516
Daily Notes on Poetry & Related Matters



1 July 2005: More . . . not bullshit quite, but . . . let's call it cowbreath. Not really offensive, but with little substance. In my gab about why I'm an artist yesterday, I neglected one important factor almost always overlooked in such discussions: the fact that I'm living in an incredibly affluent society. Hence, I've never had to make a living, even though my parents weren't particularly well off. It's close to impossible for anyone near-normal to starve or even go without shelter or food for long in this country. And jobs are easy to find, if not positions as CEO's that high school drop-outs are eligible for. So I was able to take vacations from working for a year or more early in my adulthood, and pretty much retire at the age of 35. I had to go back to work in my early fifties, but have been able to get by since then on what I make as a substitute teacher--which means lots of days off.












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