Moneymoneymoneymoney

I am moving my hips in front of him on stage, and he is putting a dollar on the rail, another dollar, another dollar. As he puts them up, I clear them away and keep dancing.

He leans forward, putting another dollar up. “Let me see your pussy.”

I smile. “Let me see your money.”

He laughs, puts a ten up on the rail, nudges his buddies. “She’s a capitalist! Gotta love a naked capitalist!”

I lean over and whisper in his ear, “baby, this is the purest form of capitalism you’ll ever see.”

It’s not that I even believe in capitalism, or any other economic system. But I believe in survival and I know how to thrive anywhere, even in a imperialist, capitalist, international economy where people are deprived of touch and connection. And I am more money hungry than usual, because I am land hungry, river hungry, sky hungry. You know, life hungry, and there isn’t much living with all this capitalism.

So. I counted my money (you know, the numbers on the calender, not the actual cash) the other day and averaged things out. My daily average is way down. I’ve worked thirty days (I don’t know how it took almost six weeks for me to work thirty days, except for all the driving between towns and visiting people and spending a few days on the river). What I’ve made is enough money for me to live on for a year, and more than a lot of people make in a year. Or it is not quite enough to buy land, a boat, a new transmission, etc.

It is enough to start, though, so as soon as this wave of good money ends here I’m off to the river.