Saturday, April 8, 2017

fiction: My Position in Life

(this is total BS.)
Paul was hostile and inebriated. Hours earlier he was charming. Handsome, in a camp group of mannerisms composing the finest Hollywood Square who ever lived. I've come to believe in destiny, like the moon is some type of luck fob. One of the reasons I remained a friend to Paul, even at his worst, is because I know what it is to be on the B-list. And I only know this because when people fall out of it, they wind up seeking emotional support from people two or three notches below the A-list, which is like saying I'm dead and still able to speak. Once you accept your own social death, it is possible to make yourself useful while living with everyone else's stardom.

You can't let on you have feelings when a man like Paul Lind shows up at your apartment drunk and angry. I just pretend I'm a professional of some sort and let people like that make snide remarks. He paid for meals and drinks, like he was paying for mental health service. There were some good times, between us, and it meant something. When I tried to explain that Wally Cox has been able to accept his position in the industry, Paul snorted an expression of scorn. "This isn't about accepting," he retorted, "it's about being."

Everyone is an existentialist when they feel like a snubbed genius with a hare lip. You have to remind a lot of people that they are celebrities, and fame is the Scylla and Charybdis so hairy to fall into when you are drowning in the River Styx. No one can be a Hollywood Square without fighting with these sorts of feelings. I went through it when I was a Hollywood Square. Now I'm back to being a folk singer. It's how I started. A producer saw my act, we had an affair, and I got what I thought was a break. Ha! Four months of celebrity then nothing.

Nothing's lower than folk singing. You can't explain a thing like that to people like Paul Lind. Fame is worse than Michael Row The Boat Ashore. You have to suffer through it, knowing other people benefit from it. It's not your song. It's theirs. Your job is to support the values other people wallow in, like pigs.

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