Right now I am listening to The Grapes of Wrath in CD book form, which may or may not be considered “reading” it though I am calling it that because it’s every word that was written and going straight into my head while I ride back and forth to work. I never remember reading the whole thing, probably because back in school I was too cool to do responsible bullshit like actually read. It was better to figure out ways to do well while pretending to do something I hadn’t done. At one point last year though I was reading a bunch of short story writers for some bullshit I was gonna do on my blog but didn’t, and “The Chrysanthemums” by Steinbeck ended up becoming my favorite short story of forever. It’s straight up erotica, but frustrated erotica, and an amazing fucking story that actually made me think I shouldn’t even try to be a writer.
But anyways, in listening to The Grapes of Wrath, I’m struck by how amazing a work it is, how seamlessly Steinbeck weaves shit together between Joads and overview of America, but also how much it applies to American life now. Things are very different, yes, but also very much the same. Also made me decide I’m slaughtering my own pigs next time.
I should be writing more but am just now getting back into even trying after recovering from some external bullshit involving cobra poison in my soul. Listening to the story of the Joad clan has been very relieving, to realize the pains of being done wrong by those who feign constantly how they have your best interests in their mind, and insinuate you should be more appreciative, is nothing new. Shit man, we started the grand dance of pretendery last night with the Iowa Caucuses. Pretty soon, half of you will pretend Obama is not a fuckin’ Illuminaut funded more by Monsanto Popes than Ickey Woodses, and the other half will pretend that whatever cocksucker Businessman for Christ has the R stamp is not a cocksucker Businessman for Christ.
Oh well. Grandpa was having his stroke as I got home tonight, so I anxiously await getting up at six in the morning to shower, warm my truck up, and hear what happens next. I know it will be painful, but I am thankful for John Steinbeck. Dude gets overlooked probably because he is considered a classic, and we of this age are contrarians by nature and have to like the unheralded. But Steinbeck was a motherfuckin’ man when it came to this shit. I put that dude right up there with any of my literary heroes.
