You pervert, you think you're starving. Handfuls of empty calories all afternoon and yet you think you live in times of famine. Everything makes him hungry. He goes for a walk in the middle of the night and like a sun rising in his belly he discovers a craving for the discarded tinsel on so fucking many dead christmas trees, on the curb. He wants to chew on them, pull trash out of the gutter and shove it into his mouth because it's definitely easier than talking and the foil might do some good. You know, being what you eat. Some tinsel, aluminum foil, snorting glitter and mixing ground glass into your food. You think: get some shine in you. Get a little sparkle in there, huh? Are you hungry now?
You think that these things, food and nutrition and light, are scarce. You think that things like attention and fame and affection are limited. That someone else having this thing means that you will have less of it. And you know that you're wrong, you understand fundamentally that this is just not true. The resources of, like, stardom and complex carbohydrates, are technically infinite. They will grow back.
But try explaining that to him. That the rows of well-fed high-heeled cabbage patch kids all living the high life are not a threat. That wanting what someone else has is futile. It is, I know, but I am like someone learning a new language: I didn't know they had a word for this. To see so many things that seem to be mine the second they are articulated as someone else's. I don't want to find a new way to put this I don't think another metaphor is going to help. Lover the sad fact of today is that things are just not important enough. I am so tired of being anybody. Of guys coming up to me at fag bars or even worse the internet and trying to get me into bed by saying how they'll fuck anyone. Who wants that? Who wants to be reminded of the fact that we are anyone? The truly successful folks, the ones who can actually stomach my company? We all know that a certain amount of imagination is necessary to keep me from turning into anyone, the faceless mass of your exboyfriends who you avoid and honestly you should keep avoiding because I probably will do something stupid. So gulp mercury pull out all yr metal fillings and make a necklace out of them. Dig really deep (advice to self) and if you don't have a little light to let shine then either fake it or take someone else's. Where is the audience, huh? Where is the reader? There was a time when it felt sexy, voyeuristic to live on both sides of the curtain but I just want to go to bed and not with Anyone. Tell me, come on, that I don't have to worry about this. Congratulate me like I'm winning. Cheer Me On.