What's In a Name?

Every new day dawns right?

I'm up. I'm wake and I'm in motion. I could use the shower today, but I just awoke too late once more. Tomorrow will be the day. I promise myself this because I have to go to work and there is nothing worse than a smelly Hobobob in the office.

And that brings up the question: What will I call myself once I'm in an SRO? A Single Room Occupancy? Well, whenever that happens, next year sometime, I want you to realize what the reason for my name is. Many of you are wondering if I will go back to my real name, or will I name myself something else. Something like SRObob.

The answer is: No.

Hobobob is my name. I chose it for myself. I was once told that I will become ashamed of it once I do have my own home, and I will outlive the reason and need for it. It will become skin too small for the man. Like a snake, I'll wriggle free of it, leaving it a discarded shell. Well, let's look at this for a moment. Lets give it a second here and look at the dictionary definition of the word Hobo: "a tramp or vagrant, a migratory worker. " The dictionary definition of vagrant is as follows: "an idle person without visible means of support, as a tramp or beggar. A person who wanders from place to place; wanderer; rover."

With this in mind, question as to what changes will being in an SRO bring? Will there be any change in employment, or my wanderings? I wander the poetry circuit, well not as much as I used to, but I do. And I also have no visible means of support, since I am a writer without any real income. So there will not be enough massive change in my life to warrant a name change, lets say, if the sheer impossible happens and I get a place to call home.

But further, Hobobob is a pen name. It is a pseudonym. I call my writings the work of Hobobob. This will never change when it comes to poetry. When it comes to my fictional work, I have other pen names that I use, and will use. I guess I'm a man of many names. People in my old life call me by other names, and to be honest with you, I've had a name change before. So there are those that call me by another name in a completely older manifestation of this man. Therefore as I have evolved, so has my name.

Many people want to feel closer to me by using my name, not really realizing that I am close to the name Hobobob too. It is a name that I have chosen, not to hide behind, but to use. I can understand those who rather use my real name, it makes them feel comfortable. Especially from old acquaintances. But still, they are no closer to my heart than those who call me Hobobob. I have built endearing friendships with people who know me as Hobobob alone, and I will cherish those friendships just as much as some who call me by my name. Not all who know me by my real name, are close to me. My enemies know my real name too.

I guess, what I'm trying to say is that some names are chosen for you. Some are given to you, and very few, very few of us have the privilege to have given ourselves our own name. I have given myself that opportunity. I have rewarded myself such a benefit. I see no need to change this whenever I move from shelter to shelter, from room to room, from apartment to apartment, from house to house.

I am Hobobob.

Here is a poem that I wrote a long time ago to express how I feel. I think it says it all:

I’M HOBOBOB
I’m gullar sahir
They call me that because I’m homeless.
I’m a hobo, a vagrant, a lark.
But what the fuck is homeless exactly?
New York is my home.
Harlem is my pillow.
The Bowery is my footstool.
Central Park, my blanky.
The East River, my terlet.

I’m gullar sahir.
They call me that because I’m a hobo.
A drunk, an alky, a joke.
Thanks for the fucking compliment!
I could drink the Hudson,
If it was filled with Jack Daniels.
I can fuck a woman all night,
If it ran through her veins.
When I stopped drinking,
Jack Daniels sent me samples in the mail.
Can you guess what I’m naming my first two sons?

I’m gullar sahir.
The call me that because I’m a bum.
I’m broke, busted, unemployed.
Hey, you can keep your slave wages.
I have the love of the world.
The shining sun I wear as a cap.
The Earth is my britches.
I still breathe the free air everyday.
And I can still stare into her crystal blue eyes.

I’m gullar sahir.
And they call me that because I own nothing.
Insolvent, collateral-less, without liquidity.
Me? Ha Ha, I laugh.
They say Bloomberg owns Gracie Mansion,
But I don’t see his ass out there,
When I sleep on his lawn.
And Commissioner Kelly owns the street?
Well when I chase the whores on ninth avenue,
He ain’t there.

I’m gullar sahir.
New York is my home.
Jack Daniels is my drink.
Freedom is my currency.
And I own all that I see.

Have a beautiful life.
Live, Love, Laugh.

Hobobob