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NEW ORLEANS - 14 May, 2003: In the harshness of the urban environment, parks are one of our last refuges. I first learned this during the time I was homeless in the early '90s in San Francisco. Parks are about the only place in the city you can go and not expect to be hassled because you aren't doing anything. In a park, it's called "communing with nature," where everywhere else it's considered "loitering," a criminal offence because you might happen to impede the wheels of commerce.
I think of this sitting in the relative calm of Louis Armstrong Park on one of the benches that face Satchmo's statue. The statue is placed in a circle before the Armstrong Fountain Aqueduct in Congo Square. The aqueduct knifes through this side of the park imitating the way the Mississippi River knifes around the Crescent City.
I am writing longhand with actual pen and paper, something I have not done since being in London nearly two years ago. I was either sitting in a park there or a pub the last time I did so; I barely remember the last instance I was forced to decipher these chicken scratching which pass for my own hand. I can barely read what's here as I commit the words to paper now. I can recall that there was a time when I could make out what I was attempting to represent but that was a time before I had been spoiled by the keyboard into expecting the words to appear before me as rapidly as I can think them.
The last time I wrote near water was approximately a year ago, when Victoria and I lived near Bayou St. John. We had a rapturous day together, sitting by the bayou watching the play of the waterfowl, and then she crapped out on me. Some trouble with her sound card that it took me (it seemed at the time) forever to afford to repair. She has so many little ailments now that you'd think she was as ancient as I myself.
Vickie and I have been playing hooky from the world this week. I have retreated deep into the cocoon of my own thoughts. I couldn't bring myself to go back to the construction job because of my impression that I was being used as "the nigger" there. Most of my assignments seemed to entail sweeping up, hauling deliveries, taking out trash. I don't have a huge problem with doing the least desirable jobs but I chafe when I get the feeling that I'm expected to do them all complacently. I don't take too well to be blatantly looked down upon, never have. So it was best I not go back there, I might have done or said something I would later have come to regret. This anger led to depression. Depression led to retreat. So it goes.
The first day, I was focused on this effort, so I felt necessity had intruded; I would get over my angst and start the week a day later. The second day, nothing had changed. I felt no desire for any interaction, least of all with someone who had angered me. I didn't feel it in me to conceal the slight or keep it from exploding onto the surface. I was disgusted with myself for being so controlled by my emotions. The third day, I realized that my emotions were all I had to rely on these days, those and what little I could read from my intuition in much the way the ancients read the entrails of their sacrifices. So I decided that there was a deeper reason for this retreat and that I should go with it, rather than fight it. For once, I decided not to explain myself to anyone or consult any of my friends about my feelings. I had heard their "conventional wisdom" too many times already; why should I anticipate it would be any different this time?
IN SO DOING, I ALSO DROPPED out of the usual life in New Orleans. I didn't go out at all, accept on walks and to the park or to buy cigarettes. I didn't drink any alcohol or go to any bars. That put me out of the orbit of almost everyone I knew. I saw Dave, with whom I am staying, and his friends only in passing. At one point, Lorelei asked me, "What are you doing back there?" in reference to the room in which I linger.
Rod Amis "Reading. Writing," I said and quickly exited.
Melissa asked me on another occasion how I was doing.
"Hanging in," I responded.
"Are you still working over on Mandeville?"
"Sometimes, but not today."
I had made beans and rice, which I knew would sustain me through this week, so I had no real reason to be out and about other than my desire for my daily "constitutional," as they used to say.
I must suppose that I needed this retreat to remind me how much New Orleans I am not. It's not a routine part of the life here to crave contemplation ...
16 May, 2003: I SOLD ONE MY DESKTOP COMPUTERS, which had been in storage Out East with my friend Darryl, in order to finance the project I call "My New Life". Another chapter, so turn the page.That done, I have begun trying to put things together.
In the process, I found out from Corey, who up-until-today I had considered a friend, that the definition of who you are as a person is based on your willingness to do what everyone else believes you should do. I was nonplussed.
In Corey's world, as he defined it for me this afternoon, there are no artists or thinkers, only work-a-day people contributing to the greater good of some unseen and unknown engine of society. By my lights, that means there is no Truth or Beauty. I was disappointed to hear this because I had thought better of him. He asked me about my reason for walking away from the Cat on the allegation that his friend C----- had robbed me. I said I still don't understand why that man, who I had also believed was a friend, would do such a thing.
"You're a blithering idiot!" he shouted. "You take the word of a person who has mooched drinks for months over that of my family? What's wrong with you?"
It seemed to matter little to him that the accuser was someone who had known for almost a decade and, despite his other faults, I'd never known as a liar, while the accused was someone actively working to undermine my employment. I guess such an approach would be too logical.
What would it have benefited Matt to lie about C----- robbing me? He effectively 86'ed himself from that bar in telling me how I was being hurt. But that's logic.
That's what makes me an idiot: I depend on logic in an illogical world.
Corey was very drunk when we had this exchange, I must admit. He said that he had begun the day by sharing two six packs of tall boys with his business partner. Seeing him this way reminded me of why I had chosen to retreat from the life of New Orleans this week and decided, too, to take my own counsel rather than that of others.
Perhaps my problem is seeing the world that exists behind the world we refer to ... Perhaps.
I NEED TO EXPLAIN MY NEW LIFE PROJECT to you, my love. The core of it is that I have decided to take my own counsel and ignore the wishes and advice of my friends. Like Dollar Bill, I have too often depended on the opinion(s) of others, my reflections of this week have told me. It's time that I (finally) strike out on my own and only do those things that Rod believes to be correct.
Make a Commitment to Justice.
Donate to Rod Amis' Legal DefenseRead the full story of our publisher's unjust incarceration in this week's GLASS HOUSE * SPECIAL REPORT
Organizations and individuals in New Orleans are organizing to help Rod fight his unjust arrest and charges. You can help, too. If you'd like to throw a house party, benefit concert, or other event, it would be mammothly appreciated.
For information on how you can help our publisher meet his legal defense costs, send an e-mail with the SUBJECT LINE "FOR JUSTCE" by following this link.
I'm sure this will frustrate and alienate certain people (see evidence above) towards me. That's okay. I have broad shoulders and a hide like a rhino. It's about time that I trusted myself, don't you think, Darling?
The Universe inside my head is beautiful. Because of it, I have been able to create this Cathedral of Words ‚ with the help of other writers who also believe in Beauty and Truth ‚ from around the world. In these last days of my life it's time I stopped listening to the nay-sayers, the utilitarians, the prophets of the American nightmare, and started trusting in Love, don't you think? I do.
No matter what the empire does, I mean to be the celebrant of the Republic of the Mind. Love against Death.
Listen: essayist William Rivers Pitt, from Truth Out had this to say this week, regarding the terrorism in Saudi Arabia:
We went to war in Iraq on a number of flawed and blatantly incorrect premises. There is no fearful arsenal of mass destruction weapons; there is no liberty for the Iraqi people; there were no terrorists, nor was there ever a connection between Saddam Hussein and 9/11. To fight this war, we drastically scaled back our operations in Afghanistan ‚ the new Bush budget has precisely no dollars set aside to pay for operations and democratization/reconstruction there ‚ and allowed al Qaeda to reassemble in safety. We also alienated the entire global community in the process. We need their help, whether we like it or not, to get the intelligence required to stop these attacks."The United States will find the killers, and they will learn the meaning of American justice," said George. Will they learn this meaning the way Osama bin Laden, still alive and free after almost two years, has learned it? Will they learn it the way Saddam Hussein, still alive and free as well, has learned it? Thousands and thousands of Iraqi and Afghan civilians have learned what justice means to George W. Bush. It means a terrible grinding death in the dirt while the real killers get away.
Such a catalog of failure and shame is the Bush administration record to date. They walked away from the Israel/Palestine talks and let that situation turn into a bloody horror. They pointedly ignored a vast array of warnings about impending terror attacks in the summer of 2001 and let that situation turn into the nightmare we currently endure. They fought a war in Afghanistan and walked away before the job was done, allowing the enemy to escape and regroup. They poured vital resources into an Iraq war that did nothing to curb terrorism and did everything to inspire and motivate the terrorists. They passed tax cuts and budgets that steal money from the coffers of Homeland Security ‚ that means cops and fire fighters and emergency response crews ‚ to make sure their wealthy friends and corporate sponsors feel well and truly loved.
Perhaps my problem is seeing the world that exists behind the world we refer to ... Perhaps.
Are you listening, Doctrinaire? This is for you, Baby. This is for you and all the people like you who wish that Truth-speakers would just go away.
Either that, or we would conform to your narrow weldanschaaung
Ain't gonnah happen.
Here's something else I believe you should read, my lovely, from the Independent of the United Kingdom.
WHILE GIVING YOU PORTRAITS AND SKETCHES OF PEOPLE living here in New Orleans, I guess that I have given you glimpses of people you know yourself, as well. We are all fated to run into our share of jesters, idiots, bigots, drones and saints. My life is no different than your own, is it?The saints are few and far between, of course. Most of the people we interact with ‚ day-to-day ‚ are struggling with DUIs (Driving Under the Influence), adultery, philandering, boring-ass jobs, poverty, making an appearance of "normality", child-support, trying to raise their kids the right way without a user's manual, figuring out what it means to be human. Some of them, unlike Yours Unruly, have a certainty about what Life means that is frightening in its strength.
Some days I envy those latter, other days I loathe and pity them.
But I'm just a nigger. I have no right to such opinions.
Are you listening? Can you feel this? Is it real to you?
17 May, 2003: LORELEI AND MEGAN, a very cute friend of hers, KIDNAPPED ME LAST NIGHT. I was going to see Lisa. But Lisa decided not to open her bar, so I was wandering down Decatur Street, headed home, when L & M pulled me into a cab and wafted me out into the blue, full moon night. We had fun and the girls bought me drinks to keep me around and amused. I didn't fall off the wagon, I was pushed. Women can do that. Especially the kind of women you can meet in Nawlins.It was just as well, because Dave had an in-home date last night. The timing was flawless for both of us.
"Matrix Reload" is happening this weekend. Thanks to Darryl and Providence I can go and see it with a group of friends. (Bargain Matinee, of course.) I am rejoining the world now, my love ‚ on my own terms.
Monday I shall look for a job I can like. That is enough for now.
Go on to "American Justice New Orleans Style", the chronicle of Rod's incarceration.Things I Need This Week
1. For the New Orleans District Attorney's Office to realize the absurdity of my case and drop it, as it deserves.
2. A new bar for The Rod Show.
3. The money to cover my legal expenses until reason prevails..
Thanks for coming back this week."Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching..."
Rod
Rod was a columnist for the Andover News Network, where he wrote over two hundred articles on web design and development issues. He was also principal writer and Editor for IT Manager's Journal, where he reviewed technology issues weekly, producing 383 editorials. He became the Managing Editor for Electronic Mail/Newsletter Publications at Andover.net at the end of February, 2000, and left in September of the same year. He was a contributing writer for ACCESS magazine, which appeared both on- and offline for 10 million readers in 100 newspapers like the San Francisco Chronicle, New York Post, Boston Herald, Austin American-Statesman, Denver Post and Orlando Sentinel, among others. Rod was the US reporter for Silicon.com, a division of Network Multimedia Television in London, UK, reaching 3.5 million European readers, until May, 2001.
Last year he worked as Assistant to the General Manager of a Big Easy company that does restaurants and nightclubs. (Think: The Boy.) Oh yeah, Rod's had Day Jobs working construction. Mostly renovations of old New Orleans structures, houses and a bar. Sometimes he designs Web sites for other people so that he can get his creative juices flowing the way he can't at a staid publication like this one. And he's been the instructor in Editing for Internet Publications at the Novi Sad School of Journalism in Yugoslavia. Right now our Resident Philosopher has left the pantheon of New Orleans bartenders and still doesn't know when he'll have a "permanent residence" that he likes.. He's decided that maybe it's time to be an entrepreneur again. Working with "employees" and Bosses doesn't suit his temperament. In his spare time, he chases women in the manner that a fly pursues a spider. 
Rod lives in New Orleans, Louisiana. This town is eroding his normal sense of driven purpose. He wants to live somewhere civilized when he grows up. Wish him Luck.
He continues to be committed to integrity, chastity and a dose of humility.
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