"Why do you need to exist?"

"Why R u Needed?"

"Why do you need to exist?"

I was asked that today. In a message here on my wix blog. By a stranger.

An obviously, impotent, insecure, egotistical bitch-boy of a stranger, but hey, that's just the impression I get from his snot-encrusted message. I could be totally wrong

It's peculiar, and it got me thinking... thinking about how when one takes the high road, it's easy to look down on those you left behind writhing in the mud and throwing a tantrum. It's easy to look down on them because you're up high, out of the mud... and they're beneath you, covered in it.

But I digress.

As an observer of human behavior, I have to wonder what possess a stranger to ask something so profoundly absurd with such aplomb. He literally asked me why I exist (presumably as a grassroots poetry collective) because there are 3 other organizations (far away) which already meet his need. He really said "For me these 3 orgs meet my needs."

"For ME."

"Meet my needs."

HIM.

HIS needs.

I mean...

YIKES.

Boy is he gonna be surprised af when he finds out I didn't give shit-1 about his needs when I started this.

* * *

Trigger warning.

Interestingly enough, this message is rather timely, as I have been working on my next Vowel Mouth Poetry Podcast episode... about the mind-numbing political nonsense that drips from poetry cliques & clans like long strings of viscous goo from a Mastiff's floppy jowls.

Superiority complex-a-go-go. It's... H I L A R I O U S. I mean, it's fascinating from a pathological standpoint... to see tiny, bloated fish trying to make as big a splash as possible in an enormous pond where literally no one is paying attention to them. Like really... how badly did your parents fuck you up that you are like this??

I have hit these brick walls at every turn in trying to do poetry on Delmarva. I moved to the Shore in the summer of 1999 from southern California. Before that, I was in the Air Force. And before that, I grew up in Pittsburgh. None of those places are like Delmarva. Or rather, Delmarva is like no where else I have ever been, and I have been around. And around. (...and around and around and around she goes.) But Delmarva is a-whole-nother world. And I don't mean that as a slight. It's just a fact. I have lived in a multitude of locales - rural, metro, desert, city, country, east coat, west coast, mountains... and Delmarva ain't like none of 'em!

Now I am sure this sort of nonsense goes on everywhere in the poetry world, and also everywhere everywhere. And thanks to the Internet, we have access to an entire global network of ego-driven, platitudinous "poets." In fact, poetry feuds are nothing new. And they are ALL HILARIOUS. But that doesn't change the fact that Delmarva is a unique temporal promontory all its own.

I suppose it's my own fault for not taking into consideration that someone might come at me just to be a dick about my mere existence. I stupidly never even imagined that might happen. And I probably ought to thank him for being so overtly basic and common that it inspired me to write this whole thing about it, but like I said, I was planning to do a podcast about this sort of nonsense anyway. I've been feeling the need to dish about the unimaginable shit that stinks up our creative Porta-potties. Maybe I ought to go all Andy Cohen and real-housewives on their hackneyed asses. I have SO MANY STORIES! It would definitely be original to talk about what cunts a lot of poets are... everyone gossips, but I want to protect others from the scum... yeah... I'ma drain the motherfucking poetry swamp.

And then I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The #LVPI posts and mission statement are pretty clear about wanting to create a poetry hub based around Fenwick-Selbyville-Roxana-Dagsboro-Frankford-Ocean View, Bethany-Bishopville areas, so those of us who live in those places, and who also like poetry stuff, can DO poetry stuff without having to drive 45-minutes (one-way) OR drive to another state. I have done that. I did that A LOT. I don't want to do that anymore. I have been to and hosted events in Salisbury, Crisfield, Berlin, Milford, Hockessin, and Harrington. (I have not been to events in Rehoboth, because for a number of reasons including the fact that there is no parking anywhere in the entire city of Rehoboth. It's a 45-minute trip one-way, the traffic is insufferable, and it's not a fun place to drive around. Plus, I DON'T LIVE THERE. I. Live. On. The. Maryland. Border. And there are 2 things I can tell you about living where I do: A.) It's beautiful and I love it, and, Secondly, it sucks to have to get anywhere because the whole state is a 35-mph 2-lane road clogged with traffic.

I sucks even more to go through all that just to be around a dude who has the pebbles to ask why I need to exist.

So fuckin' excu-u-u-u-se ME for trying to get something going closer to home.

* * *

I discovered two things about this inquisitive message-sender, one of which is that he's quite impressed with his own biography. And, of course, the other is that he is a member of the Rehoboth Beach Writer's Guild. (I also found a senryu he wrote, and it's pure puke... but my opinion may not be completely objective, I admit. I mean, I'm used to reading and writing good senryu. Maybe that was his first one. Maybe he had Covid when he wrote it, who knows. Hey, he's writing, and that's the important thing.)

I'm being catty, I know. But he started it.

I mean what kind of a nimrod puts "Why R u Needed?" in the subject of a message, then proceeds to tell me why he has no use for me - at the same time asking what I'm "doing/gonna do" that will be different.

Well, for starters, I'm going to write a blog post expressing my desire to invite him to go fuck himself... how's that? That's different, right? Have they told you that at ESWA? Or DDA? Or RBWG? Well get a load of me. Bein' all different an' shit.

(This mud-treatment is only because I read a magazine article once that explained how it's good for my complexion.)

In the interest of full-disclosure, my reply to his went thusly:

Rehoboth is 45 minutes away, DDA is an hour away, and ESWA is in Maryland. As my many posts have stated, I'm trying to build a hub in the communities nearest to the coastal DE/MD border for those of us who find it frustrating to travel a long way to be outsiders in an established group that we can't be a part of on a regular basis because it's over a half hour away (in the off-season). It's frustrating enough when reliable transportation is available, but it's impossible when it isn't. Not everyone can get to Rehoboth, or Lewes, or Hockessin, or Harrington, or Dover, or Wilmington, or Salisbury.

"Also, no one is doing what I'm doing.

"Maybe try reading my blog before asking why I need to exist. All your questions would ave been answered. And what does it matter how many poetry collectives there are? There can't be enough."

My favorite part of that is: Also, no one is doing what I'm doing.

And he's all, "What are doing/gonna do that is different..."

In the words of Bugs Bunny, "What a maroon."

It's unfortunate that he doesn't read the #LVPI blog.

Son-of-a-gun, I bet he thinks this post is about him.

I guess the short answer to his questions are: I need to exist to because I don't want to be around people like him. And I am needed because there are other people who feel the way I feel. But that's pretty blunt. Of course, his dumb message was even blunter [sic], so once again I defer to the aforementioned starting it which he perpetrated.

I want to ask this guy what's his problem, but based on his message, I think no matter his excuse, it would just be stupid & poorly written. But again, that's just my first impression. I could be wrong. I've been wrong before, and a lot. He might be perfectly mediocre and very popular among people who need their art spoon fed to them. (Opps, kitty gots claws... rrr...)

Pardon me. A flash flood can make even the high road a little muddy sometimes.

I also discovered (and again, I could be wrong and that's often been the case) this charming head of the welcoming committee is at least virtual friends with an extremely petty person who has a substantial amount of disdain for me. (I'm saving THOSE details for the podcast, but trust me when I tell ya they are sordid! But if you listen to the Vowel Mouth Poetry podcast, you might just hear a poem about some of it.)

For real, I have some stories.

But their connection raises some suspicion as to what motivated him to be a rude fuckface to me.

(Note: "rude fuckface" is a judgement call, and based solely on this one rude-fuckface of a message I received from him. In his defense, he did say "thanks" so, clearly he's complained to a manager before.)

Poetry has been my gig since high school. I didn't have a lot of the same opportunities, support, or access to pursue it in the late 80's and early 90's, but I started hosting poetry nights at a coffeehouse in Lancaster, California in 1996, and I have been all over the place with poetry in my life. I'm at the point where I don't care about being published. I've been published a lot over the years, and so fucking what. I'm not that kind of writer. I'm not about introducing myself with my bio & credentials. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and has a whiff of pretentiousness... prejudice, even. And I don't like doing it. And I especially don't like catering to people who need to know my resume before they decide whether or not I'm interesting enough to be permitted to exist and considered to be needed.

Geez, why am I so touchy about this? It was just a message. yeah, I mean I guess I'm not so much irked with the message as I am with the sentiment. Sure, I get the petty, clique-ie tribalism or whatever, but to be THIS SMALL... to send this message. It's confounding. Like, why go out of the way to just be so nanoscopic.

His message is such witless shorthand jibber-jabber that it's almost like he's trying to pretend he someone else. I mean, with all his publishing credits, I hope he doesn't actually communicate like that. How embarrassing.

I think maybe the better question is why does HE need to exist. No wait, maybe it's why doesn't he leave me the fuck alone.

The letters G F Y keeps coming to mind.

"thanks"