Lari Pittman, Where the Soul Intact Will Shed Its Scabs, 1987-88
What halts the downward spiral of the working poor? In my case—and I state this superstitiously, in a hushed tone, cradling my good fortune in its infancy—by the miracle of a landlord foregoing typical background and credit checks, accepting the security deposit in installments, setting the rent at an amount slightly below market rate. On March 1st I’m moving to an apartment in town. It’s 70% of my income, but 70% is better than 90%. A fifteen minute walk to work is better than an hour and a half by bus. Back to sharing walls with neighbors, containing sounds and smells and cats. The piano can’t come, nor the garden. No bicycle rides to the enchanted forest, no deer and foxes at my door, no country rambles, wild berry bushes, horse stables. On the flip side, friends within walking distance, events at the anarchist bookstore, coffee shops and churches and the main library. Community garden plots, the Gorge trail—and Cornell University, God bless it.
Living in the countryside is great if you’re self-sufficient; I’m not self-sufficient on any level, materially or emotionally. I’ve just been rebuked by HR and management for being too sociable—I’m not a good little gargoyle fitted to my windowless cell. I escape at every opportunity, rushing to joke and gossip with my comrades on the floor. Our delightful young union organizer tells me this is protected activity! Since I’d asked non-managerial members of the office staff if they’d like to hold a second election to join the bargaining unit. But I know this isn’t the reason. I’m a person who people in charge are forever trying to restrain and confine. I don’t know why; I’m not particularly feral. The fetish for rules and dominance proliferates even in the granola workplace, even as we enter a political context of unvarnished authoritarianism.
I’m further rebuked for missing work when the bus routes were cancelled for road safety during an ice storm. I tell my friends that I’m a powerful witch who controls city services and the weather!
Really, though, what is the occult power of the employee who moves freely, laughs, uplifts and is uplifted by her fellows? What is the occult power of us treating one another kindly and gently, exchanging practical information and cultural references, introducing family, getting to know one another? Don’t they want us to be agents of stolid and unremitting customer service ballast? Oh, not with each other? Only with paying customers?
A reviewer of Leon Brenner’s Against Reality writes,
“Following Freud and Lacan...Brenner offers a conception of psychic reality and the idea that its major coordinates are not shaped by real objective facts but by fantasy formations that are in constant movement. According to this conception, instead of seeking to extract the Real from objective reality, to continue living, the subject must go against reality inasmuch as it is conceived of as a Real in relation to which one can only be an object.”
In other words, our occult power as workers who move and speak according to our own whims is no less than the precursor to sabotage, no less than designing the capital ‘R’ Real, no less than reversing the gears from automaton-object to provocateur-subject. Putting the vocation in provocation! Remember the conceptual meatball sub that is Hegel’s master-slave dialectic? The master depends upon the existence of the slave for affirmation of his position as master. The slave creates the world while the master merely witnesses the creation of the world—whether this be consciousness or commodities. “Thus the lord is enslaved by the labor of his bondsman.”
“Humankind has not liberated itself from servitude but by means of servitude.”
We may have another silver lining, folks, a bulbous silver cloud like a mercury bubble in the sky. There may be an opportunity to demote myself back to stocking shelves, sacrificing physical integrity to regain mental health and freedom of movement. Bandaids on every finger and a jolly disposition!
Paxton spent the bulk of her shift unpacking and breaking down the sturdiest boxes for my move. Tony asked his sister to clean out her car so we could transport the boxes; he and his sister carried them on an icy path through a squall in the dark to my house. Chris hunted down blemished peppers, an apple and an avocado. Edward sent a flute. Emery came over with a bowl of homemade stew. Is the fantasy of intentional community coming to life as...unintentional community? What I’m learning about finding your people is that no one person understands everything about you. I thought it would feel like a coven of best friends, but it’s more like your favorite members of extended family with whom you share one or two things in common plus a general good will and generosity of spirit.
If we can continue to meet performance reviews, microaggressions, and General Managers with open hearts and steely solidarity, we just might make it.
I’m very close to achieving a life situation of greater safety, and I wish to earnestly thank all of you who have helped me.
Closing out with the ultimate heroines of free movement, spatial genius, camaraderie, and good-natured rule-breaking:
˚ · . ig: mjbuffett
˚ · . my favorite books: bookshop
˚ · . letters to the editor: thelaboringheart@gmail.com
˚ · . one-time contribution: @moodclimate
˚ · . if wishes were horses
wishing you a smooth, sensible move into the "city" <3