the human before me
I guess the writer in me has taken hold,
and no one else will take me for any other role
but maybe the message is a good one, maybe this
is how it has to be… for to weave rainbows
out of nothing, to raise worlds out of thin air,
to shine and embellish reality in the slickest
and most gut-wrenching ways is to be a bridge
to someone, to someone else out there struggling,
someone else who can’t find their place
or their footing… I hear the ways in which
the world will deny you — the ways people
see only the gaps in your existence,
rather than the substance, rather than the stones
and the flesh… a human being is not the empty spaces,
a human being is actually the reach of their expression!
because I know one thing: I felt lonely and misunderstood
today — I felt lost and ashamed and like an alien
in my own life, but one thing that saved me
was the act of opening a book and turning a page and seeing
the story of myself unfold before me in the voice
and words of someone who is now gone, who lived
this all before me — a writer who felt the same things,
and felt less than human — no longer human
on the worst of days, and maybe even from the start…
but the irony is that in connecting the stories
from one mind to another — from writer to reader,
there was an act so far above and beyond the commonplace,
so much more than human, elevated even higher than fiction,
and greater than reality itself, to something entirely magical
and on fire and sacred, and more than enough to get me through
Garbage Notes:
I’ve been reading Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human, and there’s just something about this novel that is so moving and relatable—perhaps in the most uncomfortable of ways—but still, I can’t put it down.
This poem I wrote here was in part inspired by the connection and the empathy I felt for the author, whose feelings of alienation and blatant rejection from most of the human race were so poignant and understandable.
As a writer (particularly of fairly unknown stuff) I know what it’s like to feel like you’re being rejected by the world. Moreover, the choice to continue to be the kind of writer you are despite all of the mounting evidence against you can take a huge toll on your identity in more ways than one.
What starts to happen is you get a sort of backlash from the people around you for continuing on, fruitlessly, as if you’re the kind of rarified idiot who is content to stubbornly and foolishly keep trying at something most of the world deems a pointless endeavor—or at the very least an extremely uncertain or unstable one.
Being a struggling writer doesn’t exactly do favors for your resume. In the adult world, you don’t really get brownie points for all the mistakes you’ve made. And taking any time at all away from “work” (as society defines it) in order to devote extra time to your craft can make you look selfish or irresponsible.
Like, how on earth could you trade in your current chances at making a solid living to have a little extra time to be creative? Like, why? It’s only going to hurt your future, right? But then again, what do you care about the future if it doesn’t contain you as the writer you’ve always dreamt you could be?
Anyway, these are some of the things that were going on in my mind as I wrote this piece. I also felt very much connected with this one particular quote from the book about social outcasts:
“People talk of “social outcasts.” The words apparently denote the miserable
losers of the world, the vicious ones, but I feel as though I have been a “social outcast” from the moment I was born. If ever I meet someone society has designated as an outcast, I invariably feel affection for him, an emotion which carries me away in melting tenderness.”
― Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human
See, the thing is, human beings in all their social prowess are unfortunately quite good at designating the “miserable losers” of the world. But I continue to cling to an idea from another of my favorite writers, Mr. Charles Bukowski, who said this in the context of rejection:
“There is no losing in writing, it will make your toes laugh as you sleep, it will make you stride like a tiger, it will fire the eye and put you face to face with death. You will die a fighter, you will be honored in hell. The luck of the word. Go with it, send it.”
― Charles Bukowski, The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship
So you may feel like a loser. You may even feel barely human. But all you have to do is open a book. Find a poem. Put on a movie. Listen to a song. And you will discover a bridge to all the other miserable losers of the world who kept on losing and losing and losing until the world finally accepted their voice. And that’s when you’ll find the spirit and the magic to keep moving forward.
Franco Amati 2023
Very special thanks to my paid subscriber Marie who requested the commentary and voiceover for this poem.
If there are any other poems from my back catalogue that you’d like to see given the Garbage Notes treatment, just reach out to me at franco730@gmail.com with the subject line Garbage Notes Request. And I’d be happy to make it happen.
The difference between someone who is content to work full time and not pursue writing, and someone who works part time or has other side hustles and whatnot, to have time for writing is obvious. Why else would we attempt it? I'm a single Mom, I juggle two part time gigs, and no, I'm not where I'd like to be financially. People say, give up, just stop. Or better yet, work a full time job which will suck the life out of you, and then try to write on the side. Some of us find it mentally untenable to work full time and try to write. Some can pull it off, but not many. One could say this about acting, painting, being a musician, etc. They are "hobbies" to some. To us, they give us life. Even if they end up not setting the world on fire, our creations keep us alive, give us purpose, joy, etc. You find a way, because you can't imagine a world where you are not writing in some capacity. I hate my world without writing, without curiosity, without magic and good stories. I don't like who I am even with a bigger bank account if it means I can't muster up the energy to write. I tried many careers, but nothing stuck with me as long as writing. I work jobs to pay money. This is the compromise. I think, while I was younger, if I'd found a group of people I really enjoyed and a cause to throw myself into, I could see working full time and being ok with it. But I always found it hard to get into the corporate mind set, and I am a curious person who loves to learn a million different things. Writing gives wings to my curiosity, more so in ways that an academic career I think would have. Keep writing, Franco. It is how you breathe on this planet.
A lot of feelings in this one that are so relatable; I've always felt for the underdog or lesser people, some might call them, or less fortunate. And when writers get many rejections, it's definitely an underdog feeling. Writers have to keep their heads up and allow the heart to brace itself and move on. Writers are hard workers and magically creative. That includes you. Thanks. Keep up the good work of writing.