Manifesto
In Jerome Stern’s Making Shapely Fiction, he offers the would-be writer a few cautionary tales to consider before crafting the great American novel. One of his cautionary tales is an entry he calls “The hobos-in-space story”:
“Here a small number of characters, perhaps only two, isolated from ordinary society, talk a lot about life while not doing very much. They tend to comment about civilization, philosophize about meanings, and squabble a bit among themselves. One of them says, ‘It’s cold.’ Another answers, ‘It’s always been cold.’
“Perhaps this is all Samuel Beckett’s fault. But it’s really not fair to blame him. It is fair to blame those who don’t realize that giving portentous dialogue to philosophizing outcasts (in a world gone mad) is self-indulgent, sentimental, and heavy-handed. The stylized setting makes all actions seem weightily symbolic, and the characters generally seem to stand for some major idea about the nature of man. Stories of this sort tend to end with either a bang (punching, knifing, hitting with a plank) or a whimper (staring into embers, staring into an empty pot, staring into nothing).”
We realized that many of our existing manuscripts, living and breathing in our closets and not going anywhere anytime soon, seem to bear a striking resemblance to what Stern characterizes as a fiction faux pas. We also realize that we bear a striking resemblance to hobos. Talking. In a vacuum.
Why Hobos?
Because Tiresias looks back on her five months of homelessness with fondness; because she was again cast out into the streets after her first apartment was destroyed in a neighboring apartment fire. It was the last time she would ever venture out into the boroughs.
Because Cass was a squatter living in NJ and when she did lay down roots in this fair city, it was in the Kremlin of W Czech Republic prior to reunification, prior to toilet seats, locks on windows, shower fixtures, closet rods, heat/hot water, & functioning kitchen appliances.
Because sometimes living in NYC forces one to do things typically reserved for street people, such as: stuffing a wad of Starbucks napkins in a coat pocket to use later as toilet paper, cleaning rags, or tissues; extending the five-second rule for dropped food to thirty seconds; wandering the streets, laptop in hand, looking to park at the foot of a building with wireless access; attending seminars and lunchtime talks for the free food, coffee, and dessert; conserving everything from yarn to Ziploc bags to newspapers; washing clothes in bathroom sinks (both public & private) when there aren’t enough quarters or hours to do laundry.
Because we fall asleep in the park, during corporate meetings, on the train during which we awake to find ourselves fifty blocks east of our desired destination.
Because as hobos, we often sport a uniform: loose-fitting linen skirts & tunics, wifebeaters, sometimes comfortable/sometimes designer shoes that hearken back to days long since past, to our more lucrative days as graduate students.
Because we are always in search of benefactors.
Why Space?
Because hobos are inherently transient, and as former inhabitants of Amherst, Atlanta, Bloomington, Buffalo, Latrobe, Lawrenceville, Lilburn, Marietta, New Providence, and Poughkeepsie, so are we.
Because only the highly skilled and intelligent explore space.
Because space is waste management’s promised land.
Because space offers us a bird’s eye view of all things.
Because you can do things in space that you can’t do on earth, such as: dance on the ceiling, eat reconstituted foods, and wear Balenciaga-esque white uniforms.
Because space obliterates all normal rules, such as theme, grammar, organization, transitions.
Because we have no intention of producing any sort of coherent or focused writing.
Why Write?
Because we’ve tried and failed at:
painting, sculpting, wire & plastic mobiles
piano
singing
composing showtunes/sonatas/symphonies/simple chord progressions
remixing songs like “All Along the Watch Tower” and “Immigrant Song”
violin: chamber, orchestral, solo; classical guitar; country fiddling, jazz improvisation
poetry recitation
mime, juggling, trapeze, unicycling
candle-making
skyscraper window-washing
anything and everything involving the addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division of numbers
Olympic sports, including but not limited to ice dancing, bobsledding, javelin throwing, and curling
“Here a small number of characters, perhaps only two, isolated from ordinary society, talk a lot about life while not doing very much. They tend to comment about civilization, philosophize about meanings, and squabble a bit among themselves. One of them says, ‘It’s cold.’ Another answers, ‘It’s always been cold.’
“Perhaps this is all Samuel Beckett’s fault. But it’s really not fair to blame him. It is fair to blame those who don’t realize that giving portentous dialogue to philosophizing outcasts (in a world gone mad) is self-indulgent, sentimental, and heavy-handed. The stylized setting makes all actions seem weightily symbolic, and the characters generally seem to stand for some major idea about the nature of man. Stories of this sort tend to end with either a bang (punching, knifing, hitting with a plank) or a whimper (staring into embers, staring into an empty pot, staring into nothing).”
We realized that many of our existing manuscripts, living and breathing in our closets and not going anywhere anytime soon, seem to bear a striking resemblance to what Stern characterizes as a fiction faux pas. We also realize that we bear a striking resemblance to hobos. Talking. In a vacuum.
Why Hobos?
Because Tiresias looks back on her five months of homelessness with fondness; because she was again cast out into the streets after her first apartment was destroyed in a neighboring apartment fire. It was the last time she would ever venture out into the boroughs.
Because Cass was a squatter living in NJ and when she did lay down roots in this fair city, it was in the Kremlin of W Czech Republic prior to reunification, prior to toilet seats, locks on windows, shower fixtures, closet rods, heat/hot water, & functioning kitchen appliances.
Because sometimes living in NYC forces one to do things typically reserved for street people, such as: stuffing a wad of Starbucks napkins in a coat pocket to use later as toilet paper, cleaning rags, or tissues; extending the five-second rule for dropped food to thirty seconds; wandering the streets, laptop in hand, looking to park at the foot of a building with wireless access; attending seminars and lunchtime talks for the free food, coffee, and dessert; conserving everything from yarn to Ziploc bags to newspapers; washing clothes in bathroom sinks (both public & private) when there aren’t enough quarters or hours to do laundry.
Because we fall asleep in the park, during corporate meetings, on the train during which we awake to find ourselves fifty blocks east of our desired destination.
Because as hobos, we often sport a uniform: loose-fitting linen skirts & tunics, wifebeaters, sometimes comfortable/sometimes designer shoes that hearken back to days long since past, to our more lucrative days as graduate students.
Because we are always in search of benefactors.
Why Space?
Because hobos are inherently transient, and as former inhabitants of Amherst, Atlanta, Bloomington, Buffalo, Latrobe, Lawrenceville, Lilburn, Marietta, New Providence, and Poughkeepsie, so are we.
Because only the highly skilled and intelligent explore space.
Because space is waste management’s promised land.
Because space offers us a bird’s eye view of all things.
Because you can do things in space that you can’t do on earth, such as: dance on the ceiling, eat reconstituted foods, and wear Balenciaga-esque white uniforms.
Because space obliterates all normal rules, such as theme, grammar, organization, transitions.
Because we have no intention of producing any sort of coherent or focused writing.
Why Write?
Because we’ve tried and failed at:
painting, sculpting, wire & plastic mobiles
piano
singing
composing showtunes/sonatas/symphonies/simple chord progressions
remixing songs like “All Along the Watch Tower” and “Immigrant Song”
violin: chamber, orchestral, solo; classical guitar; country fiddling, jazz improvisation
poetry recitation
mime, juggling, trapeze, unicycling
candle-making
skyscraper window-washing
anything and everything involving the addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division of numbers
Olympic sports, including but not limited to ice dancing, bobsledding, javelin throwing, and curling
posted by hobos in space @ 4:17 PM
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