A Response to Being Forcibly Removed (Patreon)

I got a letter from my landlord. It said, to my recollection (paraphrased):

Get the fucking fuck out of your fucking condo the fucking market went the fuck up so you have to get the fuck out so we can hike the fucking rent and make more fucking money fuck you.

Humbly, this disquiets me.

I remember something self pitying being said on a podcast about “lost income”. He was going to make hundreds of thousands of dollars, but he didn’t, therefore the profit was “lost”.

Ticketmaster has had a scalping problem for a long time. People use bots and algorithms to buy out concert seats and resell them at inflated cost. It’s a con, a swindle, a regular racket of thieves, hustlers, rapscallions of the highest caliber. The corporation (Ticketmaster, The Corporation) sought to solve this problem. They had meetings about it.

The issue was not that the ticket prices were being inflated, and customers were being exploited. It was that Ticketmaster was not the one receiving the extra profit generated by this. So the corporation developed a service for scalpers to conveniently scalp and resell through Ticketmaster, allowing Ticketmaster (The Corporation) to receive their well deserved piece of the pie!

Ticketmaster, a victim of “lost income”. Potential profit is not neutral, but active, bleeding red. Loss. As if it were ever there.

Something about being forced to leave my apartment reminds me of that.

.  .  .

Do you trust the world?

Torn between conservatively retreating and optimistically advancing.

Cast net for glory catch stray evil eyes.

I see the anxiety streaked through this whole industry. Everyone I know is afraid of their own audience.

Dangerous ocean forward and ruptured trust backward. Best vessel in the ocean and still confused about where to go.

.  .  .

When I first met Beck it was nice, but a little stiff. It took Ellen’s arrival to send the warmth surging through us, and finally we were ourselves.

People are people through other people. I am not who I am without you. I am not wholly me unless we are together. My soul resides in your circuits. I am a process, I am a collaboration.

I act like I can take on the entire world because I was told I must. The last time I felt the light coursing through my veins, it was ripped out of me just as quick. There is nothing like that heroin withdrawal. Hell is truly the absence of God.

I can do this alone, I weep. I can take it. Please be gentle with me. I can take it. If everyone leaves me, if everyone hates me, if no one lifts a finger to help, I can still do it.

Graciously, scandalously, your hand touches mine.

You are not who you were. You are a process, a collaboration.

The light returns. Stronger.

Do Not Be Afraid.

.  .  . 

It is a year of unleashing. So unleash.

From your belly.

Dam destroyed by righteous river.

The apartment was an incubator. Take it back, I don’t need it. Everything valuable is out there.

Brave the world. Blade drawn.

There’s demons out here.

But the Kingdom of Heaven is within.