Golem Radio still believes in a place called Hope

Last night, one of my friends called me an optimist. It was one of those fascinating moments where you stop and wonder what on Earth they could possibly mean. No one ever calls me an optimist. In most circles I run in, people think I’m the most dark-hearted and cynical person in the room.

Yet, if you’ve ever read any of my comics, there’s no question that there is a bright (or at least goofy) side inside me. Like all forces within us, every description we define ourselves by has an opposing undercurrent that most people overlook. It’s just unbelievable that anyone would look at me that way.

These days, any time I meet someone who says they are trying to be more creative, I always want to show them this poem that M– pointed out to me from Bukowski. Here’s a little excerpt:

no baby, if you’re going to create

you’re going to create whether you work

16 hours a day in a coal mine

or

you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children

while you’re on

welfare,

you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown

away,

you’re going to create blind

crippled

demented…

I don’t always show it to people, but I always want to. This poem almost makes you feel like you’re better off living in the misery of hoping to one day mean something artistically and never actually arriving. It’s like Steve Martin says about his latest book… the artist trying to get there is usually more intriguing than the guy who has.

OK, but… if you know me, you must be wondering why the hell she said I was an optimist. Well, here’s what was profound about it. She based it not on all the negative stuff I say (there’s a lot), but on what I do. She said that most people talk about writing but quit doing it after high school, but I’ve kept at it.

For years, I’ve felt like every possible force was against me producing anything, but I have. I’ve never been satisfying with how much I’ve done. I’ve been acutely aware of months when I haven’t done much. That’s the small picture.

The big picture, though, is that I have finished a lot of stuff. Writing. Drawing. Comix. Printing. Despite the six states. Despite the sense of aimlessness. Despite the long hours, the low pay, the emotional turmoil and the jail time.

Okay, there was no jail time.