Dope

Words written in anger. LI finds this incredible: writers are treated so badly by the media that it either stupifies us, forces us to quit, or demoralizes us beyond repair. This is the second time in the last five days that LI has had to go without food for a day. The reason? No money in the bank. The reason: One company has deliberately floated me -- not paid me -- for work I turned in in June, and that was published in July. One company has "lost" my invoice -- this makes the second time in the last month. For that company, I have reviewed approximately ten to fifteen books in the last five weeks. Result: I am living by leeching on my friends. Leeching only goes so far, however. So, today, I didn't have the money to buy ten dollars worth of groceries from the clerk, who makes more than me, and who is paid biweekly. The time divide is the major divide in this country: a company can take its time about paying you, in spite of the contracts they have you sign in order to spin your work off without you gaining a penny by it, and they can do this repeatedly, and they can do this without penalty. This has happened with Lefty magazines; it has happened with national newspapers. You wouldn't think so, but this is true.The writer cannot make the same bargain with the grocer, the landlord, or the electric company. These are my expenses this week: 30.00 for groceries. 5.00 for a meal -- a big treat for me, going out and getting a sandwich! 4.00 for coffees. I would like to see anybody survive on what I am forced to, with chronic, unexplained shortfalls making me truly unable to say that I can eat tomorrow. In the literal sense, I can't. I will find some body, I hope, who can take me out. Hurray.
This is the life of a beast.
This is the system that makes life beastly. I am living in nineteenth century squalor. I am imprisoned in my conditions, and no amount of labor seems to help. I am being driven mad by this. Literally.
I can howl and scream, I can beat my skinny belly, but nothing, nothing changes.
What to do?