small defeats, large visions

held like water in your shaking hands
are all the small defeats a day demands
10-6 or 9-5 trying, dying to survive
never knowing what survival means

i have spent most of my time this week with the likes of upton sinclair, virginia woolf, mark twain, max weber, juliet schor, and william shakespeare. although this sounds like great fun, it has been one of the most miserable weeks of my entire life. i fucking hate my job.

my time as a temp-worker sorting books at the university of wisconsin bookstore will end only a week and half after it began. i can't imagine doing it any longer. it's funny because i love books and i always enjoyed putting books away at rainbow bookstore cooperative on my volunteer shifts. but this is different. the university bookstore is a corporate factory surrounded by a much larger bureaucratic monster. it is a plantation of text books. thousands of students who are done with their spring semester courses are selling their books back this week. as the bookstore's temporary slaves we are responsible for sorting, alphabetizing and organizing the returned books. as the week progresses the space is closing in on itself, like a basement quickly filling up with water. all we can do is tread as hard as we can until we can't breathe anymore. then we leave.

the work itself actually is not that bad. i work at a pretty leisurely pace and i don't smell when i get home. it's the workplace that is oppressive. my supervisor is little rat named terry doyle. a small fish in ginormous chlorinated lake, trained to micro-manage us plankton that are temporarily floating below him. i don't do well with supervisors and their dubious mission to reinforce the myth that there is one correct way to do everything.

when i registered with the temp agency i decided that i would go by matthew; to assume a different name and identity for this strange, disjointed experience. "hi this is matthew dineen. do you have any work for me this week?" undercover, selling my labor...the ultimate alienation. i was introduced to terry doyle as matthew. when he approached me early in the week to assign me a "project" and accuse me of taking an extra break "at 10 of 3," he had forgotten my name. after uselessly speaking at me, without my acknowledgement, he finally submitted to requesting that i remind him what my name is. "matthew," i responded, still sorting books. "oh yeah, matt," he shot back. he's on to me. he reminds me that there are cameras. cameras. watching.

so, it sucks. but these kinds of experiences are important and stimulating. it has helped me put a lot of things into perspective. it has crystallized my politics and reinvigorated my commitment to particpatory democracy and collectively decision making. to creating a society where people truly have control over their lives. one that can cultivate lives worth living for. and i realize that i have it better than most of my fellow plankton. they are stuck in this temporary economy in madison, moving from job to job just to survive. some have families, some are alcoholics, everyone is miserable doing this work. by the end of the month i will be moving on with my life, away from madison and it's lakes (both real and metaphorical).

* * *
amidst my week of hell at the book plantation (and having a cold on top of it), i had a wonderful experience yesterday evening that helped me get through all of this. riding my bike to ambrosia co-op for dinner i discovered a very special person on the corner of state and w. johnson. seeing peter linebaugh, a professor and close comrade at bard college, standing on that corner was like biking through a dream. those ones with someone from your life that you haven't seen in a while because they mean a lot to you and you miss them.

there he was. visting madison from ann arbor, michigan with some students of his from the university of toledo. they were on a road trip researching landmarks relevant to the magna carta. it was cold here and they were going to camp, so i offered my house. we all hung out and engaged in stimulating conversation. mostly about how much my job sucks. and strategies of resistance. they were grateful to have a warm, dry place to stay and i was excited to have the company. and peter showed his gratitude by donating a copy of his book to the friends' co-op library.

it was so good to see peter. we went to 2 degrees coffeeshop this morning before i went to work and they heading back. we hugged goodbye and he looked at me and said, "don't let the bastards get you down." that got me through the day. thanks peter.

i am gonna make it through this year
if it kills me