from
SMOKE, LILIES AND JADE
he wondered why he couldn’t find work…a job…when he had first come to New York he had…and he had only been fourteen then…was it because he was nineteen now that he felt so idle…and contented…or because he was an artist…but was he an artist…was one an artist until one became known…of course he was an artist…and strangely enough so were all his friends…he should be ashamed that he didn’t work…but…was it five years in New York…or the fact that he was an artist…when his mother said she couldn’t understand him…why did he vaguely pity her instead of being ashamed…he should be…his mother and all his relatives said so…his brother was three years younger than he and yet he had already been away from home a year…on the stage…making thirty-five dollars a week…had three suits and many clothes and was going to help mother…while he…Alex…was content to lay and smoke and meet friends at night…to argue and read Wilde…Freud…Boccacio and Schnitzler…to attend Gurdjieff meetings and know things…Why did they scoff at him for knowing such people as Carl…Mencken…Toomer…Hughes…Cullen…Wood…Cabell…oh the whole lot of them…was it because it seemed incongruous that he…who was so little known…should call by first names people they would like to know…were they jealous…no mothers aren’t jealous of their sons…they are proud of them…why then…when these friends accepted and liked him…no matter how he dressed…why did mother ask…and you went looking like that…Langston was a fine fellow…he knew there was something in Alex…and so did Rene and Borgia…and Zora and Clement and Miguel…and…and…and all of them…if he went to see mother she would ask…how do you feel Alex with nothing in your pockets…I don’t see how you can be satisfied…Really you’re a mystery to me…and who you take after…I’m sure I don’t know…none of my brothers were lazy and shiftless…I can never remember the time when they weren’t sending money home and when your father was your age he was supporting a family…where you get your nerve I don’t know…just because you’ve tried to write one or two little poems and stories that no one understands…you seem to think the world owes you a living…you should see by now how much is thought of them…you can’t sell anything…and you won’t do anything to make money…wake up Alex…I don’t know what will become of you……..
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