I work somewhere in a large complex of buildings - a "Technology Park" if you will - about the size of a community college campus. IBM built it, then abandoned it, so it's only about 1/4 full of odds and ends these days. My particular organization takes up 2 floors in the largest building. About 400 of us at any given time.
Most of these folks are just ordinary people - work/eat/sleep/die. We have a percentage of assholes, dickstains and nosy motherfuckers, of course, which is how we know we're humans/Americans. Some of these people have nothing better to do than make internet searches on their co-workers, looking for Facebook/Myspace pages, prison records, whatever might be out there. Inevitably, my secret life as a published poet was discovered. For whatever reason, it still gets brought up periodically, and my conversations with those who weren't previously aware of my glaringly awesome celebrity status always go something (i.e. exactly) like this:
"Oh my god. You have books out?"
"Yes."
"Where can I find one?"
"Probably Amazon is the easiest place, or just do a google search of "JOHN SWEET POETRY BOOKS"."
Silence.
Pause.
Silence.
"Could you bring in some for me?"
Because A - who the fuck wants to spend money on a book? and B - who the fuck wants to spend money on a book of POEMS, for fuck's sake?
The answer in my neck of the woods (and yours too, I'll bet) is NO ONE.
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