The Biography of John Littleman

Just really pissed off, an ideal that started out of desperation on a drunken school night; something, that came to mind after dozens of mishaps with the occult. If I could actually control what went on within the universe of my life, yet still be fair to others – the game is how I would do it. I don’t know exactly how it came to me it just did. Its everything that I would fantasize about in terms of being a fair honest game changer. But, without me there’s no game and the game came about out of my screwed-up life! But, without me there’d be no game. Who am I, I’m John Littleman and this is a description of my life!

Tightness-tensing – tightening muscles exploding with anxiety – hatred; lying here wrapped up in wet messy sheets that I’ve wrestled into submission, my first thoughts are “God – let me win the lottery so I can get a life.”Not goanna happen, God doesn’t play like that. So, I just cling to my sheets wrapped in masturbatory fantasies of love, youth and money; an obliging bottom possessed by a controlling, caring top. When a man isn’t able to be a man, he opts for being a woman. When whites aren’t able to be white, they opt for being black. Broken, black and broke – the “other” of others, what do I opt for being – a wraith. Even wraith’s an identity; looking like a man, feeling like a woman, acting like a slave, but thinking like a robot: what do people like me opt for when our identities are sold by our own leaders to deceptive corporations, dysfunctional liberals and racist conservatives? The only thing left is our past, the very thing that turned us into the waste that we are. Fix your past, you fix yourself. To fix your past, a masturbatory fantasy wrapped in sheets of heated despair; God! My life is so freaking sad.

Another day ruled by white plastic men, political jackanapes and moneyed tyrants seeking to strip the Earth down to its core. Daze, craze, haze creeping towards the end of days; in the Devil’s day, I could have paid, prayed or played, I could have been a black dope man like my daddy; “for us baby boy power lies in iron fists and hollow legs.” I’ve prayed in church for a miracle from God, but the church is dead. Once; I thought that I was delivered from my days of dread, but that was in my head. Dare I say, it’s like the devil said; God has his favorite necks colored in red, but if your black or brown you’re better off dead.

As man and boy, I’d been a failure. The weight of that failure has broken me. I am a mess, Unknown to orderly men, if possible – a mess yearns to be straightened and made right. It yearns to be made into something. I’m a mess. But, I doubt I’ll ever be made into something right! I’ve lost too much time, and I have no time left to gain. I’ve tried God, Buddha, magic – Heck; even psychology. I needed the psychology because the magic messed me up pretty bad. I ended up having to be delivered from evil spirits by Christian hypocrites. I still can’t say if it was God delivering me from devils, or my soul battling the hateful starvation for success eating me up from within. My relationship with them lasted for four years until I realized they didn’t care about the shape my life was in; they just wanted to see someone delivered and God just wanted to put on a show – I wanted God to clean up my life, he just wanted to clean up my soul. Four years later, we parted company; I cursing and blaming him for a jacked up life, and him?

Listening om to 80’s “New Wave” and watching films by John Huges, I sit drunk and alone: always pissed, always frightened, always saddened. Because I’m on a fixed income, living in a clean and sober house, I spend very little time quietly passing out quietly in my room. The fact that it’s a C & S home is the only thing that keeps me from stacking up on six packs and stashing them in my closet. If I got caught with even 1 beer can; I’d be out on my ear before I could blink an eye. I’ll probably live here for the rest of my life – if not here – than the street.

When asked how I got this way, I say I screwed-up a lot, but not intentionally as much as others. When they ask what were my biggest screw-ups, I’d say not learning how to play the games that white people play, and running away from my problems. By the time I had learned not to run away from things, it was too late for that lesson to be learned. I had always been taught to run away. It was something my parents taught me; along with not playing games with people, but being extremely honest and self-deprecating because I was too incompetently “incapable of tying my own shoelaces” to play games with people. Maybe that’s why when I was undergoing my own sexual awareness; the first thing I learned was how to get well you know? That was why I turned to Wicca and even considered that terrible last resort Satanism. Item desired – the type of life that most people take for granted – exchange one miserable, misbegotten human soul. The mythical Faustian deal, I tried you know – don’t bother. You’ll either end up having to be delivered by Christian hypocrites whose convinced God to show off for them, or going out of head bordering on psychosis. I tried Christianity on and off, but always with the same result – bupkis. I don’t hate God, I use to – but, I got over it.

I don’t even think I’m angry at him. I just know that I wouldn’t trust him to handle my financial life; my soul, but not my finances. I don’t think that we were really cut out for each other. I’ve always been a creature of time and matter as opposed to spirituality and faith; a person who needs immediate results and not more garbage about when we get to heaven blah, blah, blah. Maybe that’s why I keep hoping to win the Lottery, not because I’m a worshipper of money; it’s because I believe it’s the only way I will ever get to possess a life worth living – at this time in my life, at least worth living in California. In SF a simple duplex is worth at least $400,000; easy, and that’s a fixer-upper! In the small town of Kalamazoo, I could still buy one for $75,000. But, I would have to be able to buy it outright in order to get the banks to even waste time with me; otherwise, I’d just be spinning my wheels.

The only thing I ever successfully did was finish grad school, but that didn’t do any good. I tried becoming a therapist only to find out that I didn’t have enough going for me in terms of race, gender and connections to be one. Black males aren’t considered positive role models, or potential solutions in keeping kids from dropping out of school – their just considered part of the problem; unless their real suck ups. In a time of so called sexual revolution and enlightenment where women are capable of having the same jobs as men, black men are secretly considered by white women, those who pretty much run the social service system in Alameda county, to be a threat to young black girls; while younger whites in general consider me too old to have anything to offer to young skids living on the street. The truth is most of those places have become drop-in/drop-out centers. As for more legitimate places, well I just haven’t heard from them in terms of paid employment, but they all eager as heck to have me come volunteer for them. So, I’m qualified enough to volunteer, but not qualified enough to work for pay. Basically, I went $80,000.00 in debt, used up all my student loans, and jumped through all kinds of hops in terms of taking volunteer jobs and internships to get my foot in the door: just to be consistently rejected. And, you wonder why I wouldn’t trust God with my financial life.

Yes, life sucks. So tired of being alive and too afraid to die; don’t think I haven’t tried. God, I’ve tried. I even begged God to let me succeed. Forgive and kill me – that simple. It’s like my roommate told me one hot summer night, I can’t do Hell; it’s too hot. If Hell was like the movies, I wouldn’t mind. At least, I’d have a chance to become some lowly minion who works nine to eternity to make a living without worrying about being fired, or laid off due to downsizing, or outsourcing jobs to China. So, I obsess over my pass and all the things in it: parents, jobs, -ups I’d rather be peacefully dead than miserably 45 and alive.

Most days, I just drift through my existences. My life is like hitchhiking a highway that never ends, you realize that no matter how much you try to reach your destination you never arrive – you just reach another empty gas station failing to make good on its promise to fill-up your tank. After awhile, you just abandon your car along the roadside; what do you call a motorist that’s abandoned their body on the side of life’s highway “fill in the blank” a suicide. Usually; those too afraid to commit suicide become substance abusers, or neurotics. Right now, I’m working on becoming an alcoholic. If someone asked me what I want from God, it wouldn’t be salvation-I believe that God finds that too easy to give away; it would be something that he doesn’t give away so easily, the power to re-write the past in any way I see fit; not the world’s – just mine, the ability to truly become a new creature, not metaphorically, spiritually, or biblically, but physically and historically. To rewrite as many elements of myself and my past as I see fit for as long as I see fit; that’s what I would want from God. That’s why I start writing the game I’ve been working on. One night it just came to me after cussing God a blue streak. I don’t know how it just did. So, that’s what I work on now; in between getting drunk and watching MTV. I work on the game.

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