I used to take that as a compliment, and indeed, I acted quite a bit as a younger man. However, six years ago all that acting caught up with me—pretending to be something I was not; desperate for attention.
All those hugs I didn’t get as a child.
Pretty standard in this day and age.
Anyway, all the lies, all the conniving, the false advertisements, the slimy obsequiousness, and cocktail parties and lines of cocaine in the coatroom; smarmy sycophants, Colgate-perfect smiles, and “networking” came crashing in one morning when I got up to take a piss; after which I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror.
What I saw looking back at me was a bloody, mangled pulp of once-smooth lines. My new husband had a way with words…and fists, and flowers and apologies and drugs, yet I took it all in; saw what my life had become and made probably the most sensible, well-thought out, sane, sober, and conscious decision of my life and committed suicide.
Kind of a long, drawn-out drama just to make the point→ that after a week in a deep coma, after a year and a half of physical therapy, teaching me how to walk, how to eat, how to shit again; after 6 years of mind-numbing psychiatric treatments, 6 years of stuttering, and shaking, and struggling to hear through the maddening ever-present ringing in my ears; after years of living on the streets, in the ghettos, selling myself to whoever wanted a piece of used up meat; after spiraling down with any number of other junkies and whores in the vast suburban megalopolis that stretches from Phoenix through Las Vegas and landing finally here, in Lala-land--
--here, where I would climb my way out of the pit, and put myself through rehab; put myself back to school; put myself back to a place where I can look at myself in the mirror and not cringe: all this to make the point that I don’t act anymore.
What you see is what you get, and I have enough on my plate trying to sort through all the voices in my head without taking on the role of artists or so-called artists, or authors or painters, some living/some dead, and try to see myself through their polychromatic, bent, even cracked, broken prisms…
(Jesus, Dan, why can’t you just follow an assignment and not be so fucking argumentative?!)
{Yeah, it’s like you just set yourself up for failure and aggravation!}
[You’re certainly not going to make any friends that way!]
< Hush up, all of you! Can’t you see I’m trying to work here? >
(Yeah, but you’re pretty twisted, pal. Seriously—you got along great with D’Lo, and you grooved with William Wimsatt. You even got your secret validation out of Edward Said, especially after that fat bastard last Spring smashed your GPA…)
< Look, guys, I’m trying to concentrate here. ‘Sides, despite whatever any of them might or might not have thought about my performance with the group the other day, let’s face it, I didn’t perform. I just sat at home coughing up shit, trembling, and feeling sorry for myself… >
[Hey, c’mon, give yourself a break! You were sick, man! You are sick!]
< So, what? That’s supposed to excuse failing my teammates? >
(Ooh, ooh, clever, Dan! It’s like you took that whole desperation and isolation theme to a whole new level! Like you’re so isolated, you’re not even with yourself! Pretty crafty!)
< Fuck you; you know that’s not it at all! >
{Oh, I got it—this was like a heuristic device, huh? Like, all these kids getting all excited about AIDS last week, and you just know none of them have ever really been touched by the disease. Like most of them have never really had to deal with someone who’s constantly getting sick and having to back out on stuff and cancel-- }
< Um, okay…but no!
You guys just don’t get it.
I try and I try, a million goddam ways I try—to point out the ills in society, all that shit that needs changing. Sometimes I try to fucking force-feed it to them, but they just don’t get it.
And all of a sudden, they are a “them,” as compared to “us,” or in my case, just “me.”
I try to “lead by example.”
I try using humor and sarcasm and mass emails and bitter, late-night rants on the radio, but I still feel like no one’s listening.
Nobody takes any notice.
Nobody cares… >
(There you go feeling sorry for yourself again, man. Boy, you sure are a drag to be around sometimes!)
{Yeah, like didn’t you notice that, like, the whole fucking department was behind you the other day, and that was totally unscripted; from the heart; raw; whatever--!}
But it didn’t change anything. It didn’t mean anything.
The way Daily Bruin cast it, I was the fucking bad guy! >
[Fuck the Bruin, man!
Who cares what got misprinted?
You were there! You saw the looks in their eyes! You heard them chanting, singing, and saying ohms…]
< But it still wasn’t good enough! It’s still not going to bring him back! >
(Who back?!?!)
< Matthew--!! >
{Matthew who?}
[Oh Jesus, here we go!]
[Look Dan, you didn’t even know the guy personally, and so what if you didn’t go to his funeral because you were scared it would “out” you? As I recall, a whole state full of people didn’t go to his funeral, or any of the few candle-light vigils because they were scared of getting targeted.
But get over yourself; he’s the one that’s dead, not you!]
< … >
(Hellooo?
Anyone in there?
Ain’t got something to say to that?
Some witty retort, something that makes it about you—puts you back in the limelight?
Fuck, you’re worse than all those actors and wannabe models and A-listers! At least they’re honest about wanting attention!
You—you try to come off as all humble, and holier-than-thou, and Mr. Martyr, and--)
< Okay, I get the point! Yeah, I want some recognition, is that so bad? But I don’t want it for some bullshit cause that hands out a cheesy trophy or some retirement watch-- >
[Then you’re just going to have to settle for the momentary recognition that comes and goes.
If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll touch someone—and let’s face it, —you do—how many pats on the back do you need? But people are people; that means they’re flakey and forgetful and easily distracted. So, take the nod and move-the-fuck on!}
< Right.
Gotcha.
So… um, what were we talking about, again? >
{[(WHETHER OR NOT YOUR PERFORMANCE MADE A DIFFERENCE!!!!)]}
< Oh, right.
What’d they/we decide? >
(…sigh…it did, Cricket; it did…)
Step by step I try catching up.
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