I\’ve been really quite disgraceful at everything for the past week or more. I\’m behind on a contract, I\’ve not been keeping up with my friends the way I said I would, I haven\’t been returning phone calls, I haven\’t been doing my homework, I haven\’t been getting any exercise, I haven\’t been taking my medication on time, I haven\’t been going to bed before four in the morning on any night, I haven\’t eaten more than a meal per day if even that, I haven\’t been listening to any music, I haven\’t been reading any books, I haven\’t been watching any of my GreenCine films, and I have basically been ignoring almost everything and everyone around me — including Dr Maude, who started being civil and even friendly to me two days ago because his grant is now done, but I am finding it hard to give a shit.
Instead, here\’s what I have been doing: feeling irritable and anxious; furiously masturbating until I\’m raw; looking at porn; negotiating sex work; setting up appointments for clients, pornographers, and photographers; talking via Google Talk and Skype to a lad I used to fuck and to a Dr who has been wanting to fuck me for years; having virtual sex; vaguely working on my book but not much at all; setting up the scenes for a torrid, temporary affair that\’s been a long time coming; plotting, planning, and allegorizing about how an asshole can never truly shed the nature of the scorpion.
October begins tonight. My favorite seasons are the ones that are beginning. As someone with seasonal cyclic nonsense (look it the fuck up), my brain chemistry wigs the fuck out every four months no matter what I do. Prozac, anti-psychotics, light-boxes–whatever, dude; just ride the wave and eventually it subsides. If at first I don\’t die. Wouldn\’t be the first time I went down that road. But no, that\’s not what I\’m talking about; it\’s not like that. I\’m not on the edge looking down in an attempt to runaway; I\’m on the edge of the past eleven years and am attempting to sprint ahead without any more pain than is necessary. To you, but mostly, to me. Because it\’s all about me, remember? I warned you about my nature before we began, and have reminded you countless times since.
You look for a show, a crutch, some entertainment, a good lay? Attracted to the sparkle and shine? You like to play the rescuer, the noble friend, the benefactor? Think you can find some damaged goods and wring them a little more dry? Well don\’t we all? That\’s the thing, about my generation: we know all about exploitation and victimization, and that\’s why we\’re willing to seemingly subjugate ourselves in what seems like your game. In the end, we\’re beating you to the punch with a Royal Flush, assholes. Guess you didn\’t see the cards we were keeping under our the table, though we waved them under your nose before shoving them under our skirts. Rank and file, who\’s the daddy now? We use you just like you use us, so who\’s the real fool? Who\’s the real exploiter and the real exploited? No one wins, though we think we all do. But we all get what we want — at least for a while — and we all get hurt. Isn\’t love great?
So that\’s what I\’ve been up to lately.
Morals? Emotions? Can\’t afford \’em — I\’m a fucking live-in prostitute. \”GFE\” my ass! That line in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere tells Julia Roberts, \”I never treated you like a prostitute,\” and she replies, \”You just did,\” is my goddamn life. My rise and shine every day experience. There\’s nothing that doesn\’t remind me that I am kept here on what is essentially a time share, a lover for hire until my goods expire. Then I have to plan the next move to the next prop to keep my head afloat above the costs of $5,000 a month in health care expenses (not to mention rent, food, and the rest of that shit). I have a broken body that can\’t make it through four hours of a \’regular\’ day without collapsing, no high school diploma, and no marketable skills other than myself: eg, my sex, my face, my body, my charming personality and any bullshit tale I can spin to try and get the next gig booked before the bank account runs dry. I live less than paycheck-to-paycheck, I live penny-to-penny; I attempt to move soda machines to the side when I spot a faded coin half-hidden beyond my reach. I depend on scraps and I\’m a scrappy puppy: I don\’t ask for much to get by. But this my reality, and has been for years, so yes, quite frankly, I\’ve tried to learn to turn my heart off when necessary. To hit the off-switch on emotional responsibility and plow ahead to the next shaky run on the ladder, hoping to high hell that it\’s not a chute I\’m going to end up on. But if you\’re a snake, I\’m definitely a scorpion.
Actually, I\’m in a really good mood right now. When you\’re smiling the whole world smiles with you! Because, just like this — snap — I can break the dyke that separates my real thoughts from the clown on the outside, and then — snap — I can patch it back up again. Mama\’s always on stage, boys! Mama is always on stage.
