I am approximately 1/5 Midwestern in my outlook, whereas my Grandfather Arvid was reportedly 64 percent such (also 10 percent native Dakotan , 8 percent Norwegian north islander, and 18 percent Pennsylvania Squadootch.) My grandmother, I knew her, so much more complex––cannot quantify genius, so they say.
And my real father––who knows? This is the great question mark that gives me the freedom to be myself, whatever weight the clinically insane have laid on me––I have no idea of the roots and tradition behind half of what goes on in my head. As mom said 20 years ago, there is no trace of him, he may be dead or in Timbuktu, sharing mango smoothies with a 45-years-sober Jim Morrison. Larry & Lizard King's Sugar Shack.
All we know really is this is how I write, this is how one goes broke, this is how one stifles a continuous temper tantrum at having one's hard work, undertaken in good faith, rejected by the powers that be (very transient these days, I hear, are editors).
I do not think a very perceptive professionally employed reader has read my work or I would have heard back many moons ago. Which means my agent is middling at best.* Or I am so full of myself, I cannot see that wiser heads have been wagging my way for aeons, bordering eternity. They are just gun-shy because, well... everyone burns everyone these days. There is no trust. And social media is a tryst.
I'll just sink here on earth, just sit here for a while, play the flute which is poetry and make sense of nothing.
Falafel Daze, Makati.**
Endurancewriter (SEO alert) Damon D. Dawson of Bandito College. Endurance Writer (what else is there but endurance, when you no longer have heroes)?
* On the flip side, middling + persistence can be a winning combination. Ganbatte!
** Anno Domini 2016––34 years before the critical two degree temperature rise was reached and human extinction set in stone (never mind the nukes).