Dance with me today, Brethren and Sistern, for I am a free woman! No

longer do I claim the title "waitress," I have set aside my apron and

taken up my pen. Lo, though the trail was long and arduous, though the

path was filled with thorns and distractions, I have held firm, and

"Bob" hath rewarded me with the greatest Slack of all...independance.


Eight long years I labored in the service of John and Crow. Three

years before that, I served another master. Always, the chalice of

independence was held before me, just out of reach. Then, at the

beginning of the year, I sent in my $30 love offering, and "Bob" found

its pstench pleasing. He hath showered me with luck; he hath opened up

the path before me. He hath made the heathen rend his clothing and

offer me his anus, and I have been given the penii to take advantage,

Praise "Bob!"


"Fear" truly is the mind killer. From the time we are small we are

admonished to "make a living," "find a career," "get a job." They also

admonish us to "get a life." Rarely are the two the same, and in our

times there isn't ENOUGH time to both have a career which makes a

living and still have a life. We are taught to be afraid of

everything, at the same time being told to go out there and take the

bull by the horns. I promised myself I would not program my children

this way. Since they were tiny I told them, "Do what you love and do

it well. The money will follow, and even if it doesn't, you've lived

your life on your own terms."


I went to college for the first time wanting to be a sculptor. Then I

learned the fear message. Sculptors starve. I didn't want to starve. I

swallowed the CON. I went to school again when my son was a year old.

I was going to be practical this time. I needed to feed a child. I

studied Anthropology. When I finally came to my senses (during the

writing of my thesis) I realized that I was going to be stuck in a job

where I'd have to play departmental politics, publish or perish (which

meant tons of much hated research) and only a little bit of what I

really liked; classroom teaching. I couldn't pile it any higher or

deeper so I got the hell out.


Restaurant work paid the bills while I was in grad school. There

aren't many jobs for women out there that pay $10-12 an hour (at least

in Oklahoma). I started painting and writing again just to fill the

space that had formerly been filled with anthro theory. Then came the

Bearded Guy (blessings on his multitudinous penii), someone who found

out what he loved, did it, and holey shite, got paid pretty damned

good for it! The Bearded Guy is my longdurpersav. He gave me the

freedom to escape fear long enough to do what I love. Six years later,

I am free. Soon, I will be able to return the favor (though in truth,

he doesn't chafe at the bit much, since he's something of a god at

work). Every strike at the CON increases the power of Yetidom. For

every free free-thinker, there is hope for the others. There is the

chance that a latent SubGenius will say, "I can do this too. I can

escape and not eat shit anymore."


Fear makes us take what we are given without protest. Fear makes us

stop doing what we love in order to survive. The truth is that we have

power, but it is hidden from us by the CON. They tell us it's HARD to

make it in the world. They tell us we must do mind numbing work in

order to preserve the economy or the social order, or some other

life-stealing reason.


There is no reason in these modern times for most of us to have to

leave our homes to work. Those who cannot send their work in by modem

may be cheaper for us to support on a living stipend than what they

cost us in oil, steel, roads, and large buildings to house them (other

than their own domiciles.) Fear of change is what keeps us from

looking for alternatives, creates the status quo.


It IS possible to succeed doing what you do, IF you do it well. There

are enough people in the world that at least a few, are going to find

what you do of enough value to allow you to survive by doing what you

love (for the most part). But here is the secret: you must DO what you

love. Talking about it, thinking about it, dreaming about it, are just

not good enough. I was talking to the model on a break last week about

writing. She said, "I think I could be a writer, but I just have to

learn to finish stuff." I couldn't help but smile. When I go to the

poetry readings, I see these people who scribble stuff down, call

themselves poets, and never let anyone see or hear what they write.

Well, I'm sorry, but poets WRITE FOR OTHERS. If you don't share it,

you can't call yourself a poet (well, you can, but I'd laugh at

you...if that matters). I actually admire the really BAD poets who at

least have the cojones to get up in front of people and DO what they

love. Writers write, bullshitters dream and blame. Think about

it....if people will pay Leroy Neiman and Andy Rooney, surely YOU can

find a way to survive. (actually, this is what I keep telling MYSELF

in order to keep from using automatic weaponry)


For THIS holiday season I wish you all, what I have been given;

Freedom from Doing That Which You Hate...and some really decent



Reverend Mutha Tarla Star of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually

Juicy; a Proud jism schism of the Church of the SubGenius.

Worshipping Juicy Retardo and "Connie" Dobbs since 1986.