Which is one of the reasons I’m in Wyoming, of all places. I could afford to buy a house here, without having a job, though just barely.

That is, I would support them by getting an actual job. Though at this point I’m not sure what kind of job I could even obtain.

In other words, I am well-off, compared to many, but I wouldn’t say that I am rich. If I had children of my own I wouldn’t be able to support them.

By the way, when I say I survive on money that has come to me through the ‘wealth of my family’, please don’t imagine billionaires, or an endless stream of cash. My grandfather in Australia patented a garage door or something, and my father made wise investments.

I’m a Catholic, if you want to know the truth, just not a very good one. Which itself is a horrible cliche, but which nonetheless needs to be admitted.

I’m not one of these socialist-communist types, which are to be found almost everywhere in the ‘literary scene’.

If you’re wondering how I survive on a poet’s income, I don’t. That is, I survive on money that has come to me through the wealth of my family, which I’m not embarrassed to admit, even if it’s frowned upon.

Especially when the poems are like mine, long and humorless and obsessed with the wine-dark sea.

The books are collections of poems, for goodness sake, and it’s a rare person who’s genuinely interested in buying one of those.

I say “kind enough”, because I’m certain that is most frequently what moves them, or impels them, to offer — their kindness.

Which, I must admit, are not to be found in bookstores, but are sold by me, by hand, on those occasions when I happen to give a reading, at one venue or another, and a member of the audience is kind enough to say they would like to buy a copy.

I suppose what I should say is that I’m not currently employed, because I do have a job, even if that job pays me nothing, or virtually nothing (I earn a little, from time to time, from the sale of my so-called ‘books’).

Meaning, I don’t have a job, even if I’m not a ‘layabout’ per se.

Besides, the title I have now is probably the most accurate. Even if it’s somewhat tongue-in-cheek.  

But that’s ok, it can sit there in the back of my mind, informing this manuscript in a subconscious way.

Probably I won’t forget it entirely, now that I’ve mentioned it.

Or, anyway, to leave it alone as a title, and try to come up with something else.

I also considered calling it Spiritual Graffiti, but I looked online and saw that a guy had already written a book by that name, so I decided to forget it.

The word ‘Sutras’ of course comes from the Sanskrit, and can refer to a collection of aphorisms. Which I’m hoping these entries will resemble, if not be.

Or Sutras for the High Plains, because I’m beginning this book in Wyoming, and need a poetic title for inspiration.