Excuses

Normally I'd write here what the essasy is about and what has been going on with my life but now I think I'd better explain myself in parts. This essasy is about why....well, eh......


Not even being able to explain why I must explain is a fine example of my bad habit. What's my bad habit? Well I would try to explain but it will all sound very lame.

Let's just say that my bad habit is a habit that we all share whenever we decide the reasons why we don't do what we're suppose to do. Or for that matter do our very own goals that we set for ourselves.

I am a writer and with all that entails. The creative bouts of creativity, the writer's block, the writer's angst, the moments when you've become the one thing you fear--a starving artist.

Let's take a look at that picture. So romantic! The starving artist in his or her garret, smoking cheap cigarettes, drinking cheap booze, digesting cheap food, and wearing threadbare clothes.

Strip that all away and bring it down to the realities of the twenty-first century and you have a clearer picture. Survival. Something everybody does or tries to do and yet we romantize the starving aritist as if his or her poverty is somewhat more special. But honestly it's not.

People do try very hard to survive and work even harder to thrive. There is no reason in this day and age for a person living in America to be living some kind of overly romantic dickensian existance! And yet some do. But before I go off on one of my infamous tangents I must tell you that I do work hard at survival and I am trying to thrive. I   Just   Suck   At    It!

There I said it.

Now before the self-righteous start pumping their fist in the air; hear me out. Times are hard and they are getting harder. When I first started out on my own I wasn't on my own. I first try living in a college dorm, then I moved in with my now ex-boyfriend's sister at her apartment in the Bronx, and then I moved in with my Dad. So I went from co-dependant to co-dependant hoping upon hope that I would some how get a well paying job, save up enough money, and get a place of my own. Since this aian't my full bio I am going to skip a few details and tell you about my life since my young, naive, twenties.

First one year of homelessness, then five years of living on my own with the help of Section-Eight housing help, there were short-term jobs, long term goals, and I thought I had plenty of time to achieve all my goals before I was forty.

Talk about naive, talk about romantic! Oh please don't roll your eyes like that! I really thought like that and I bet you did too in your twenties so stop fronting! ;p

I got myself together enough to start this blog, fight to keep my apartment, and I no longer see the world in stark black and white. So many shades of grey I desperately need some rose colored glasses! Sigh.

So what's my excuse? Why am I not a well-published author with many books under my belt and a Pulitzer prize for literature? Why must I give one? Any amount of excuses I put out will either gather enough pity that I could drown in embarrassment or I will only earn disdain. People reading this will either shake there heads in bemusement or sneer at my assumed laziness.

I'm not about to give anyone that kind of power over me nor do I have one single excuse of all my issues and problems. I am either a product of my upbringing or I am responding to my environment. What do you do dear reader when faced with potential homelessness at every turn? How do you feel when your light, gas, or wi-fi bill is due but are short on cash? Make excuses.

"I'm not getting paid enough." You say. "It's hard to make ends meet!" You cry. "Somebody help me out here, I'm not looking for a handout but a hand up!" And people who have been blessed with luck, skill, or God's special protection just scoff and look at you as if you're some leech on society. Self-righteous assholes!  Erm, cough! So at this point you are getting the picture right? O.K.

So this essay is about having reasons why the post below this one happen. After last posting I got a job, lost a job, and I'm back on government suffrage. While I had a job I got to experience a once in a lifetime event of serendipity and reveled in it.

That's what life is really life for a suffering artist in the twenty-first century. I am just like anyone else who has to survive and sometimes I suck at it. But I share, I'm not selfish. I give to others who have less than myself when I can and hope through my writing to share my thoughts in order to teach others that they are not alone. There are techniques.

Now some people like a lecture like they like a whole in the head and think; "Who the hell does this person think they are to tell me how to live my life?". Well that's when fiction writing and poetry writing come in. I tell a story about a girl who wanted to grow up to be...your dream career here... and she goes though trails and tribulations. Does she survival? Does she win? What would you do if you were her?

I want people to think, dream, and feel things when they read what I have written. Sometimes I have time to write out a poem and print it here. Sometimes I am so busy surviving that I don't even have time to complete several books I have working on. But whatever my excuse, I will make my dreams come true. There is no expiration date on making that happen and I hope you join me on this journey. Or at least give me a hand up.

Thank you.


MRClueuin

Starving Artist Appreciates Help

Hey, What's up? Cool.
Hey, normally I wouldn't do this but I really need all my viewers help. I've been going though some tough times and that's why I have been losing all my focus on my artistic endeavors. You know like my poems, essays, and articles. I have also be remiss in help some of my friends with their artistic projects all because of the all consuming need to survive.

You know the deal. The bills, the rent, the food, all need to be paid for with money and usually my mode of getting those funds usually starts with some part-time job and ends with me on government funds. Well I was and I am getting really tired of the endless cycle. At this rate I really feel that if I could only publish my works and find an audience that I could be on my way to being self-efficient. Not rolling in the dough and all that but at least less dependant on government funds and more able to focus on the work that I love...writing.

So what does this all have to do with you the viewer? Well as much as I'd love to write a little chapbook of poems and selling them though PayPal and such I can't. Why? Because of what I've mentioned above. Now not even the local government agencies can help me. (Not that they have been very much help in the past. But perhaps more about that later in a more appropriate forum. Perhaps my political blog?  ;>) Needless to say that their main goal is to keep the status quo and get the lower-income public more lower income jobs that barely pay the bills but hey shows all the "tax-paying" citizens that a particular government agency is helping people with lower income. Gotta love that cycle. But I digress. Here it comes viewer and some of you might not like what I have to ask but if I didn't ask then I wouldn't get. Not an answer yes or no from anyone if I am not brave enough to ask at all. So ya.....

...can you please find it in your heart, soul, or mere moral conscience to donate what ever you feel is  appropriate. From your PayPal account to mine. 10 cents to 25 dollars, any little bit helps. Click on the PayPal Icon on your right and find out all you need to be kind as well as discreet. This starving artist thanks you in advance. And please if you don't have anything nice to say keep it to yourself. Thank You.

M.R.Clueuin

Poems Now On Youtube!

Hey ya'll! I did a brave thing and read my poems on Youtube. (At least I think what I did was brave!)
Tell me what you think on the Youtube comments or on this blog. Should I continue? Should I read more upbeat poems? What? What?! Share you opinions and be nice, constructive even! Peace!

You can still read my poems on this blog. Thanks to all my viewers for just taking the time to read them.

Somebody Get Me

Somebody Get Me

By M.R. ClueUin

I'm not a puzzle, I'm not confused.

Why not get to know me, you got

nothing to lose. I'm not brown sugur

I'm not gonna melt. So just try to understand

try to help.

Sumebody get me

Understand who I am.

I leave clues like there

bread crumbs.

My heart on my sleeve is heart felt.

Sometimes people judge. I do too.

But I kept my mouth shut, act like

I don't have a clue. Because what I feel I don't say.

Nobody gets me anyway.

Somebody get me.

Understand who I am.

I see everything you see.

I just have a wider pan.

Sometimes I think strange thoughts

at night wondering if I'm really alright.

Death, disease, disharmony, sometimes

I think; "Is it just me?". I need a sounding board somebody to trust.

Is that asking much?

Somebody get me.

Somebody understand.

I'm only human on the outside.

People make me feel like a

stranger in a strange land.

Somebody get me.

Written on 1/5/2012

Deck Me!

I'm writing this poem on the fly so this is my only copy. I sure do hope no one loses this online! (Blogger.Com I'm talking to you!) It's about how I feel about the Holidays. Just me venting. Believe me I love the Holidays I just don't like the pressure, the stress, and the usual holiday madness that happens every year! Oh just....

Deck Me

By MR

Just knock me out 

and wake me up

when it's over.

If I see just one more 

fucking commercial

I'm gonna scream

I swear!

Decorations are up

and I am down.

What am I to do

about Christmas?

My pockets

are so hel-lo

empty that I

swear the crumbs

inside it are

sneering at me.

Fa, La, La, blah.

Ba humbug!

I just want this crazy

holiday over with.

Pulling out the tinsel

out of my closet

and trying to light

the fire inside me

to have some holiday

cheer is not easy.

So forgive me if

I'm not so much

in the sprite but

I just finished eating

my pumpkin pie

and candy corn. 

Just give one shining

golden moment

so I can reflect

on just when the

heck my savior

was really born.

I'm in the sprite

of giving not getting

but I don't have

alot to give just me.

So if you think

I'm being churlish

just...

Deck Me!

Did I mention that I just wrote this on the fly? Yeah so if it sucks you know why.

Happy Holidays ye'all! ;>

I've Seen

I wrote this poem inspired by a walk on the streets at three in the morning. I started thinking about the things I’ve seen in the long years of my life. (Heh, heh, you didn’t think I’d give you clues on exactly how old I was did you?). Some of it didn’t actually happen to me or even in my neighborhood. Some did but they all come together in a gigantic caliscope of memories. Some I have seen on television on the news about things that have happen in or around my area in Brooklyn. Then there are the street people I’ve observed in my neighborhood. There is this store I go to for ‘loosies’, cigarettes I buy and there are some people there who let’s just say their store is a hang out for ‘Charecters’ and just leave it at that. But what I’ve seen that is bad isn’t all bad and what I’ve seen is good but is all subjective. Depends on how you look at things. What have you seen? Do you see hope for change? I do. Enjoy this poem and look for hope. M.A.R

I’ve Seen

(A Poem)

By M R

A Prayer or maybe a Psalm.

Young rouges, Roughnecks, Middle-aged Hustlers.

One after another, sitting at one table.

One dreams, one schemes, one stays on top.

Some are grizzly old bears, some are just fops.

Lower down pants, showing off the muscle, do-rags.

Wife beaters, staying on top.

All are wannabees, never do they last, one down,

One upmanship, having the last laugh.

One sees them all come down the pike, livin’ in

the ‘hood. Think you’ve seen them all, if only

you could.

I’ve seen bell bottom hustlers, guys with ‘fros.

A city on fire, glass Molotov cocktails thrown. All on

T.V, some in front of my eyes, tough guys,

losers, all in my sight.

Guys with knives out, brass knuckles on their fist.

Gold chain wearing guys, you can not miss.

Kangol wearing, cocky motherfuckers. Class

Clown cut ups, cutting all the classes.

Corner store hanging, smoking all the weed,

Forty drinking, sitting on their asses.

Scheming, big dreams, livin’ in the ashes.

Threatening old ladies, some are living scum.

Leaving their old ladies with all the babies.

Baby mama drama, who’s your man?

Protesting Grandma’s, doing what they

can. Going to church expecting the worse.

Bedstuy do or die. Drive by shoot outs.

Young men dying. Cooking the books,

Cooking the crack. Dividing the territory,

lying on their backs. Plotting, planning,

All have come to naught.

Then came nineties, and wasn’t that grand?

Young men came to earth, needing a new

plan. Charities gave a damn, programs came.

Still the hustlers still stayed the same.

City on fire, do you hear our prayers?

Street corner preachers, do you really

Care? One day it will all burn. Can you

Find a plan?

I’ve seen it all and seen it past. Good

Things are coming back to back. A black

man is President. A lie is understood.

Things are changing down in the hood.

I see a city on fire and ashes on the street

with a Phoenix rising in the air screaming

To the beat. Hustlers, wise men, little babies

growing, young men, vibes felt. A city in

the morning.

A new dawn is breaking. Bums have a care!

Roughnecks, Young rouges, bow your head

In prayer. For one day you shall see…..

..A Young Phoenix in the air.

The Calm Before The Storm

The Calm Before The Storm
By M.R

It's the peace before there is war.
It's the quiet before there is noise.
it's the feeling you feel before the shoe
drop, before the bough breaks, before all
the kings horses come.

The calm before the storm.

It's the moment before the sea change
and the mood shifts.
It can be seconds, minutes, or days
before the storm.
One should really strive to enjoy.....

The calm before the storm.