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| Art by Dan Bacich, after Gil Kane |
SADMAKING
Crashing, crashing, touching the sky, DEAD. "Stop the presses!" Headline: PLANE CRASHES IN TIMES SQUARE; 5 DEAD, 16 INJURED. Details at eleven. In other news this hour: it's just another day. Detyails at eleven....
Flying.
Flying, still.
And down, DOWN (I'm really down) HOW CAN YOU LAUGH WHEN YOU KNOW I'M DOWN? (The Beatles, circa 1965, the flip side of the "Help!" single. Written by Lennon and McCartney. Don't bother questioning me about WHY; I'm slightly burned out right now.) Even a Sears Diehard runs out of power--dies--eventually.
Please allow me to introduce myself (quoth Mick Jagger): my name, at the moment, is probably Solomon Grundy (born on a Monday, today's Thursday, and prospects don't look so hot).
Let me become incredibly pompous for a moment: Ladies and Gentlepersons, I am. I wanted to be sure you all were aware of that. That is, I live, I exist, I be; some of you may not have realized....
Ah, my friends, that condition shall soon change!
(Sober again; woefully so. My head feels like it's been used, fused, boozed, perused, abused and confused. No, I just said that for effect; actually, my head just hurts like hell.)
Straight, now. straightstraughtstraight---
Awake?
Awake?!
I don't believe it! A dream about getting high and coming down?
Far out; everyone was right when they called me crazy. Now, now that I know I'm insane, certain things are going to be somewhat...easier. And with that little foreshadowing of "sinister things to come," I get up and go to school. Just another day....
(Heh-heh-heh!)
**********
All of a sudden, I'm in a good mood. I really can't explain this uncharacteristic feeling of good cheer; thus far, it has been a characteristically lousy day. Wishful thinking, maybe. God, but I hate it here!
I'm smiling now; people always tell me I smile too much. (Better than crying) It--my smile--is usually an indication that I've begun to get philosophical about circumstances that would make a normal man go somewhere to punch walls, or else some small good thing has happened to me that serves to counteract the bad (hope springs eternal, and all that). GOD, BUT I HATE IT HERE!!
There may be yet another reason for my smile--an old reason, really, another hassle added to my life:
I'm in love.
Again.
Weird, isn't it? In spite of my various hassles and shortcomings, who would think that I could be so easily laid low by the mere presence of a pretty girl? Who would think that I, who has withstood the slings and arrows of cruel misfortune (not to mention the slings and arrows of certain overzealous and slightly barbaric congenital idiots), would be so totally overcome by a girl who has shown me nothing but kindness? The mind bogglewoggles.
Deja vu: I've been here before. This situation doesn't really seem to be unique. That's because I've had crushes on literally scores of girls, from my early days to the present time, from the sublime to the not-so-sublime (to coin a cliche). Still, this girl is different (oh, stop laughing already you idiot). I have known her for several years and my feelings about her remain the same.
I'm in love!
So that is why I'm smiling because, after all these years, I have finally reached Nirvana, Shangri-La, the end of The Long Hard Journey To Now. My relationship with The Girl is about to flower and reach its final climax (stop smirking; get your mind out of the gutter), an' ain't nobody gonna stop me.
Not the jerk who asks me the inane questions.
Not the girl who looks at me with a mixture of revulsion and disbelief.
Not the tunnel-visioned morons who think I'm "weird."
Not any of them, the masses!
Not a chance. When I see The Girl again, I'll--hey! Here she comes now
...with
...another
...guy?
Him?
--done?--
Crashing, crashing....
Yeah.
Funny thing about illusions, man--they're really great while they last, but they don't last long, and when they fade, you're worse off than before. really a great experience.
Man, it's over! Logic don't help me none now; I loved her! And where do I go from here? Down? Further down?
C'mon; it's not over. She's just a girl, like any other. World's full of girls, prettier than her! I've still got my friends: the superbrilliant science major; the would-be Eyetalian hit man; the Elton John lookalike; the burn-out scholar; the popular girl who shifts from friend to enemy to friend/enemy/friend/onandonandonandon. I'm not alone!
Hell, yes I am. She was my reason, man; ain't nothin' but a void there now.
What to do?
Insanity makes certain things...easier.
I do it all the way I'm supposed to, the tried-and-true Hollywood formula: farewell note, alone at night, a hangman's noose dangling from the rafters. Perfect.
Hesitation; just a moment's indecision. It passes quickly.
I put my neck inside the noose.
Kick the chair away, and--
The rope breaks.
The rope breaks!
I guess there's some kind of irony involved in a situation where someone is such a loser he can't even end the life that torments him so much. I really can't think about such things right now, as I lie bruised on the floor, sobbing.
And I start pounding, pounding on the floor, my knuckles turning bloody, my mournful groans disturbing the mustiness of my little attic.
How can I be cheated this way? How can this happen?
WHY DON'T I DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE- -DIE--DIE--DIE--D--DIE--DIEdiediedi-***
A young student was found dead today in his attic, the victim of cardiac arrest. Details at eleven....
Well, he was just a crazy weirdo, anyway.
A moment of forced silence, please, for the crazy weirdo.
Nobody sent flowers, either.
2018 POSTSCRIPT: I was proud of this piece when I was 17; forty-one years later, it's more of an embarrassment. But it's a snapshot of who I was, the misfit I addressed recently in A Letter To My 17-Year-Old Self. And it's a part of the roots of this blog's 1000th post. Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do) # 1000 will appear on Wednesday, August 1st.
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