Coming Back

I’ve been
Coming back to science
After seeing all that it leaves out
Coming back to words
After seeing how they betray me.
Coming back to family
After seeing how they condition me
Coming back to money
After seeing how I sell myself for it.

Am I complete?
What desires are left?

And am I complete
When it comes to my stage
As an independent man?
As a pre-father?

But we’ve gotten ahead of ourselves.
Coming back to money:

Co-Dependency
I remember
How it felt in my gut
When college girls whispered
“I hear he’s Loaded”.
I hated how attractive money was to them.
We were eighteen
What a parody of our culture!
Our wealth had nothing to do with us
It was simply who we were born to.

We can’t win.
I put myself in the shoes
Of those guys,
Present, funny, athletic, loving
It didn’t matter how they showed up
“I hear he’s loaded” would overshadow the rest.

As for me,
Acting pulled me in.
I took acting lessons and became
In succession, a thug,
The emperor of Rome
A servant,
And the prodigal son.

Each day I’d leave the theater
And walking the college campus
I’d keep acting.
I crafted a mask for myself.
I wanted to attract those women.
So I acted as if
I myself were loaded.

“Oh, I assumed you were a trust fund kid”
I’d hear years later and smile.
They had been whispering about me
“I hear he’s loaded”,
not because of anything I said
But how I acted about money.
I treated it with irrational effervescence.
I wanted to be invited to those parties
Where everyone is a “Big Shot”, “Loaded”,
Where I’m the only intruder,
Where ladies put down their guards
Because every man is a catch.
Except me, tho they don’t know it.

I want to be at those parties
Where they can project onto me:
“Entrepreneur”, “Rich”, “Sexy”.
Tho the grass be greener:
When I finally was invited
To the formal White Tie
Creme de la Creme
Debutante Ball
At the Pierre Hotel for a Spence girl.
(If you know you know)
In my white gloves and tails
I ran into a college classmate.
In the bathroom he said,
“What a bore, right?
It’s my 10th Deb Ball this year.
I’m tired of playing this role.”
And then did some blow.

I was not discouraged.
I’d put my ear to the door
And listen to the whispers
Of the parties of the rich & famous.
And do what I could
To be there.

I knew it was a good party
When there was no reason
That I should be there.

And when I became intimate
With women who assumed my loadedness
I knew the guillotine had been raised
It was only a matter of time until
It came down.
When they realized I didn’t have those Pied a Terres.
Was that even consent?

“Business, it’s who you know and who you blow.”
That’s what the aging hippies told me
When I arrived at the commune.
College was over.
Spending a summer spending nothing
Living a California dream in a tent as a freegan
(They also call us dumpster divers)
Good thing I had a girlfriend back east:
I could end my relationship with money
Cause I wasn’t trying to get laid.

Without money
Decisions were easier.
If it had a price, it wasn’t for me.
Ocean sunrises camped illegally.
Hypothermia from mountain climbs.
Windowless bedroom in a warehouse
Blowing with the wind.
Without Money.
I lived.

Coming back to my desire to be a Father.
Coming back to Money.
Seeing all the plastic toys in my childhood garage.
Hot Wheels.
“Raising a kid is expensive!”
Seeing what plastic is doing to us
Early onset Cancers up 80%
Micro-plastics in our Testes.

How much is enough to have saved up?
I asked my Mother
In preparation for Fatherhood
“You can never have enough.
You never know what can happen.
You can’t assume you’ll be healthy.”

So I see the yoke
We’ve been carrying and passing on.
Duty to play this game.
Let this be my moment
Of writing in the sand
“I do not consent.”

I will not carry resentment
Of having sold myself for money
Into the next generation.

“You get what you get
And you don’t get upset.”
My first boss said in New York,
Was what he taught his toddler daughter.
At the time I found him enlightened.
My California summer over.

You get what you get
And you don’t get upset.
Or do you?