December 2023 Monthly Roundup
Happy new year, Waywards reader. I’m extending those wishes a few hours early, I understand. But I’m eagerly awaiting 2024, already anticipating what the forthcoming year has in store. You see, 2023 took a lot out of me!
As regards the monthly roundup for December, there’s nothing in the way of published articles to roundup.
I spent a lot of my time this past month finishing up the fall semester and preparing for a course I’m teaching during the winter quarter at UC Riverside and for a course I’m teaching during the spring semester at Riverside City College.
With respect to freelancing, editors recently got back to me with suggested edits for a piece I submitted back in October, and I resubmitted a revised draft earlier today.
That article will probably be published in early January.
I also got commissioned this month to write two pieces about women’s college basketball players. This could be a recurring gig. I’ve been wanting to get into sports writing in some capacity, preferably with a focus on hoops, so I’m excited for the opportunity. The rate is quite decent, so the gig could be a way to regularly supplement income from lecturing, writing about what I’m passionate about.
Perhaps 2024 will be a good year.
I’d be remiss not to mention that in mid-December I recited poetry at another open mic night, like I mentioned doing previously in a monthly roundup several months ago. The poems I shared at the open mic this month—poems I previously shared with you, Waywards reader—were, I dare say, well received by those in attendance, if the moderate applause and the fist bump or two I got afterward could be taken as any indication.
I wrote a few poems this past month too. You can find most of those beneath this fuzzy image of me dribbling a basketball while on a skateboard the other day.
The Marketplace of Market Interrogation We use it to buy and sell things A pervasive institution for allocation and exchange Is it also responsible for untold pain? Through it public goods are commodified Contrary to right-wing libertarian lies It totally governs our lives As the late David Graeber advised When someone starts lauding free enterprise Look for the guy with the gun; he’s no doubt nearby Transactions backed by violence Low-key worshiped like the goddess Isis Even as it often empowers tyrants A quasi-competitive system Michael Albert criticizes Because its leads to outcomes that aren’t the nicest Rewards based on abilities to produce and self-promote, not effort or sacrifices Conferring social power onto those better endowed or equipped Assisting those able to bargain and wait to reach favorable agreements Benefiting the able-bodied without dependents Single parents with sick children, for example, are at a disadvantage As are those not in close proximity to certain goods or without easy access Supply overdetermined by those with money to demand more, privileging the affluent classes Intrinsic failure to account for externalities Removed from consideration are both positive and negative realities This results in a lot of devaluing and overvaluing The medium erases labor exploitation And discourages interrogation Of processes contributing to environmental degradation Commerce enabled as we experience alienation Pitted against each other, we fight for greater compensation Solidarity and the commons are undermined, subject to evisceration Yet this taken-for-granted force in capitalist economics Often goes unquestioned and reigns hegemonic An extension of our avaricious nature, a possessive self-interest amplifying bionic We might use participatory-community councils to address our needs and problems Take back our agency and cultivate beautiful shared gardens But that would require curbing our complete and utter faith in markets
To Begin Anew
She helped him realize
He should never have apologized
He wasn’t wrong when he criticized
In response to immaturity and lies
He wish she’d never walked in
Acting spoiled rotten
With some arrogance tossed in
Privilege misbegotten
Responsibility-shifting You-statements
With false accusations baked in
Gaslighting, demanding obeisance
Boasting about your life being amazing
To be candid and rather blunt
You’re used to getting what you want
And of the litter, he was the runt
But she secretly admired him, I have a hunch
She thought he wasn’t in her league
She wasn’t on his level, it seems
They still play for different teams
With different values, different dreams
Rather accustomed to having your way
Yet you won’t be able to parlay
That social capital into integrity
Your needs always take priority, don’t they?
We said sorry and now regret it
Our criticism was on point and had merit
We’re too self-absorbed to get it
The selfishness is pretty pathetic
When they first started talking
She said she cyber-stalked him
Later she cruelly mocked him
In retrospect, it’s not shocking
It’s obvious and clear as could be
Your words lack sincerity
You behave badly, get called out and then blame me
That’s not a recipe for ending things amicably
If one really feels uncomfortable
Maybe one’s conscience creeps up once in a while
Which leads to anxiety, so one can’t keep still
Fretful because of what one has done to people
Before your self-righteousness heightens
So that the entitled snowflake doesn’t get too excited
Prompting you to act aghast or frightened
Allow me to paraphrase Carly Simon
You probably think this poem is about you
Vanity might make you pout too
But don’t have a cow, dude
I’m no Simp, son, no Bartholomew
I’m not personally insulting anyone or being rude
I’m not referring to any particular interpersonal feud
Rather, I’m freely expressing a sentiment, capturing a mood
Am I transgressing? Or just transmuting pain, to begin anew?
Happy Birthday Brooke!
Note: I wrote this acrostic-style poem for my niece for her 18th birthday. She let me know she’s OK with me posting it.
Hold your head up, even when you’re fed up, because trust me, you’ve got this
And if you get knocked down, just get back up; don’t ever let ‘em knock your confidence
People can be cruel, but keep your cool; maintaining that stoic demeanor of yours says more
Put your worries aside; I’m someone to whom you can confide — just knock on my door
You’re capable of so much, and I’d take a hit or a punch, if it’d help you feel secure
Be who you want to be and have fun; the world is yours to see, so go out and explore
If you need to run for cover, call your mother’s younger brother; he’s got your back, for sure
Real talk, I hope you always shoot your shot; I believe you can accomplish a lot
Take it easy from time to time; life can be a grind, but it’s not for naught
Help people when you can; give ‘em a hand so they feel empowered, not dumb
Don’t let self-doubt keep you from figuring out who and what you want to become
Attorney at law, artist, organizer, political activist, strategist or GM for a team in basketball
You have what it takes, and it’s OK to make mistakes; again, just get back up after you fall
Bid angst adieu, do what you’ll say you’ll do, and trust that your family will be there for you
Repeat that when you need to dry your tears, allay your fears and feel happy instead of blue
Or, if you’d prefer, just rest assured, I’ll do what I can to assist and ensure that you’ll succeed
Others girls aren’t as real and not all have an uncle they can call if they stumble, like my niece
Know that I’d give my life if that would mean you’d be alright, and that we’ve been tight
Ever since you were the drowning toddler I picked up out of the water and you didn’t cry
More Than a Number Note: I wrote this poem about my older sister, who's currently incarcerated in Illinois. She gave me the green light to post it online. Y60685 But more than a number My older sister since I’ve been alive How’s she doing inside? I wonder… Y60685 Reception status now at Logan Correctional Center Physical profile mentions brown hair and hazel eyes The Individual in Custody search lists her as an offender Y60685 A war on drugs or a war on the poor? Meth delivery, less than 15 grams in size That’s what they gave her a 4-year sentence for Y60685 One count related to cannabis, not even two ounces The state of Illinois’ legalization of the substance aside The state still criminalizes and pounces Y60685 Pierced ears and scars on her breast and foot, per IDOC Tattoo on her arm with the name of my niece to whom she gave life Separated from her for a little rock, stove top and pot Y60685 When I was young, she got me hooked on early-90s rap flows As she drove, I sat in the back and heard Skee-Lo during a car ride We shared a dad; we’re cut from the same cloth and it shows Y60685 She drove me to Oak Park where I got treatment on my foot Once or twice, we went to Bulls games, sitting nowhere near courtside But we had fun and laughed together, like a brother and sister should Y60685 She helped me move into my college residence hall She exudes the kind of self-confidence I couldn’t if I tried She’s always been there, should I need someone to call Y60685 But more than a number The criminal punishment system should be despised For the families it’s torn asunder Y60685 But more than a number And with this I hope you realize We’ll survive and thrive after this critical juncture
Worth It
Life doesn’t always seem
But it can and should be
Worth living
Love alters the in-between
It is, if you please,
Worth giving
Libidinal thirst can excite and moisten dreams
It’s sometimes, even under adhesive sheets,
Worth sleeping
Though it doesn’t look promising
Our word is, I tend to believe,
Worth keeping
We endure unnecessary suffering
We face existential challenges
Worth meeting
We might be afflicted with a social malady
An absence of autonomy and community
Worth treating
Are you also experiencing
Painful relations that feel estranging
Worth remedying?
Do you encounter arrangements that impede
Your vital, erotic and instinctual needs
Worth transforming?
I’m a flawed, finite being
But is the cry of the soul
Worth heeding?
And with that, this “roundup” is a wrap, as is this year, more or less. But it was, as I suggested in the poem found directly above, worth it, I guess. “For auld lang syne, my dear,” Waywards reader. “For auld lang syne.” And until next time!