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When the Ruse Theater in San Diego got evicted from their warehouse space in 1997, I wrote a poem called “The Ruse Eviction” detailing the bad situation and generally roasting the characters involved: the property manager, the absentee landlord, the theater director, some of the poets and musicians who called that place a home. The impact of Eviction has been the dispersal of those artists like a bomb went off at their center; I’ve lost contact with most of them.

I had been living in the same house under the flight path near Lindberg Field for 8 years [pause while a jet rolls in] when my landlord came over to fix the leaky faucet and said, “Um, uh, we’re going to be renovating back here.” I was taken by surprise, dumbfounded. “You mean you’re kicking us out?” He answered by handing me a 30 Days to Quit the Premises Notice. Evicted. At that point I had remove myself from his presence. Thoughts crash through my mind: a special kiss in the hallway, a dozen other images specific to this old house and something Eddie Murphy said on Saturday Night Live years ago, “K-I-L-L my lan’lo’d.”

“It’s nothing personal,” my landlord added. “Financial reasons.” Wow! nothing personal. We did such a good job gentrifying the neighborhood that we can no longer afford to live here. When we moved in an extended Mexican family of 8 shared a one bedroom unit. When they left in the middle of the night, the landlord polished the floors, painted and raised the rent. A nurse moved in. It’s happened many times since. I ran into a former owner of the building at a smog test station and he said, “Eight years! Vee could never get anyone to stay more than three months.”

My impulse was to fight the eviction. I clicked on to the internet and came across an article by Sonny Anderson (ha!) She battled a 30 day eviction for 5 months in San Francisco. A hero for the cause. Coincidentally, Sonny is my friend Kevin’s girlfriend (double ha.) I Emailed Kevin for step by step battle instructions. Meanwhile, my friend Cecil, the lawyer, said “You would better spend your energy looking for a new place to live.” Cecil’s not quitter, but he does know the law. Kevin said to find out the local housing regulations. After much research (in San Diego there are many helpful hints for landlords to evict and few for tenant’s rights) I finally contacted the housing authority and they said, “You have to move.” Apparently Greed is an acceptable reason to kick someone out of his home. Retaliation is not. If I could prove that the landlord was kicking me out for complaining about the roaches or the plumbing or the unsafe deck railing, or the time he was standing over by the garage with his pants down waving his naked dick at a strange woman in the garage, I could fend off moving. If I couldn’t prove it, I could be held responsible for his court costs, get a bad credit rating for at least 7 years and have my income tax return attached for other damages massa landlord felt he incurred trying to banish me. Plus the marshal would be out in 3 days to physically remove me, eight years of collected possessions and my family.

Yeah, my family. We have to be out on the 18th of next month? the middle of the month. If we can’t find another place in the neighborhood my fifth grade daughter may have to change schools, change friends and teachers or we’ll have to drive her. “We’re driving her,” her mother says. When your child receives special ed services for a learning disability, it aint that easy to find a teacher who you trust. Her current teacher gave her a pass to the roller coaster for her 11th birthday because she’s a model student, came to her ballet recital, regularly shows love and respect for her. Too rare.

What are we going to do with our cat? What if the new place doesn’t accept pets? We’ll have to send her to the pound or we’ll have to lie. “We’ll have to lie,” my daughter says. My sister says her cat tried to find the way back to its original home after they moved. Somebody found the cat dead on the side of the road. I walk up to my cat, she sniffs my breath. “It’s nothing personal,” I say slipping my fingers around her thin neck to wring it. She rakes her back claws against my forearm trying to slip free… the kicks peak, grow weaker, then stop.

I’ll have to get a day job because we have no money. I’ll have to cancel my trip to San Francisco. I’ll have to throw away magazines that I was saving and sell all the non-essential furniture.

What’s going to happen to the mural Patrick Haley painted on the wall when he recuperated at our place from hernia surgery? Maybe I can have it declared a landmark? Or years from now, when the house is made into the Jimmy Jazz Library, an anthropologist will restore it with some special paint thinner. My eyes swell up with tears. This is my home. This was my home. I’ve lived here a quarter of my life.

My landlord can expect me to invoke cosmic justice using the special incense I saved for 5 years (the same one Apasara's mom used on that crooked car dealer who died a week later.) Landlord can expect voodoo dolls with pins jammed through the head, he can expect me to replace all the working light bulbs with dead ones so that the night he takes possession of my home, he’ll be standing in the dark.

Blubber by Judy Blume is an interesting book about girls in the 5th grade. The whole class was mean to Linda because she was fat. One day Linda did a report on whales. She talked about the whales' blubber and the girls started calling her “Blubber.” To make fun of Linda, Jill dressed up as a flincer for Halloween. A flincer is a person who strips the blubber off of whales. It seemed kind of like they wanted to kill her because she was fat. The girls cornered Linda in the bathroom and took her costume off her and threatened to throw it out the window. Even though it was about people being mean to other people I just kept wanting to read. In the end Linda finally got a best friend, someone who didn’t care that she was fat.

"Bad Pilgrim Room" by Jeffrey McDaniel
from The Forgiveness Parade (Manic D Press '98)

When I misbehaved as a child,
my parents would make me undress.
Instead of spanking me,
they'd paint my rear end red,

then place me in a black cloak,
and lead me down the basement stairs
to the bad pilgrim room.

$$ The Sub - Jimmy Jazz' classic novel of a man caught between anarchy&order, authority&rebellion and student&teacher. 10 bucks for Swashbucklers like yourself. jazz@incommunicado.com

$$ The Forgiveness Parade - Jeffrey McDaniel's second whoop ass poetry collection. <http://www.manicdpress.com/>

$ Titanium Exposé #1 - Chris Woo's music 'zine: With writing by David Stampone, Tim Ellison, Garry Davis, John Goff on subjects like the Mekons, David Grubbs, Jim O'Rourke, Will Oldham, Spiritualized, Pussy Galore, The Frogs, USA, Dutch Harbor, and a Flapping Jet Label Profile… Two bucks for Swashbucklers like yourself. po box 86639 SD, CA 92138-6639 TiExpose@aol.com

March 30 Los Angeles • Silverlake
* Book Bound
* 1067 Hyperion
* 323 913 1332
* with Steve Abee, Jimmy Jazz, Gordon Henderson, June Melby and special guest

March 31 Orange County • Costa Mesa
* Club Mesa
* 843 West 19th
* 714 642 6634
* featuring Jimmy Jazz (see This Week in Poetry OC Weekly) with host Lob plus open mic