Things We Tell Ourselves
POETS
1. I am not crazy.
2. People really want to read seven lines of experimental language detail the mysterious growth on my ass and how it relates to the coming of spring.
3. My poem will influence novelists to write great stories about uncomfortable cysts on the left ass cheek.
4. I will never be rich writing poems, but I may be lauded a great genius after I die. At least I will not be working at the Coffee Cabana, copying Leonard Cohen lyrics in my journal, and starving on five dollars an hour for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to upgrade from word processor to computer soon.
5. Prose writers have it so much easier. If I can’t drum up any interest in my chapbook, I’ll move to New York and write a novel about my tortured adolescence instead.
FICTION WRITERS
1. I am not self-absorbed/ I am not an alcoholic
2. People really want to hear about how Bobby/ Jeannette locked me in the bathroom stalls after lunch when I was twelve, written in high post-modernist style with plenty of Freudian allusions.
3. My book will make a great movie.
4. I will become very famous and pretty rich writing novels. At least I will not be stocking books at Barnes and Noble, writing dissertation length manifestos regarding the similarities between Tolkein’s Ring Trilogy and Jacques Derrida’s Transcendental Signified, and chain-smoking instead of eating for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to buy a Playstation 2 soon.
5. Screenwriters have it so much easier. If I can’t sell my novel, I’ll simply move to Los Angeles and write an existential thriller about a pedophile priest who becomes a cult leader instead.
SCREENWRITERS
1. I am not, have never been, nor have any desire to be, a starfucker.
2. People really want to watch movies with no discernable plot and really fascinating dialogue about getting fucked up the ass by organized religion.
3. My script would have been a great play . . . back in the days of Shakespeare.
4. I will become very famous and very rich, writing movies. At least, I will not be working at Blockbuster video, spending all of my money on DVDs of HBO series and eating Macaroni and Cheese for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to buy a flatscreen tv.
5. Playwrights have it so much easier. If I can’t sell my script, I’ll simply move to Chicago and write plays instead.
PLAYWRIGHTS
1. I am not a theater person.
2. People really want to watch a 12 hour epic cycle about how my great uncle Horace may or may not have invented the first Cheez-Doodle (which is a metaphor for the fascist theocracy in this country today) using Artaud’s Theater of Cruelty as prevailing theoretical medium.
3. My script is too good for the movies. This is art, people.
4. I will become very, very famous writing plays. They’ll be begging for my ass in Hollywood. To which, I will give them a haughty “Pshaw!” At least I will not be doing Performance Art pieces at the Coffee Cabana’s open mike nite for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to buy a vintage typewriter soon.
5. Directors have it so much easier. If I can’t get produced, I’ll simply pull together all the incredibly talented people I know, move to New York, (but don’t necessarily hang out with . . . remember I’m not a theater person), and do a killer revival of “Doctor Faustus” with lots of neato pyrotechnics and shit.
DIRECTORS
1. I am not an egomaniacal control freak.
2. People really want to feel the fires of hell when they watch Christopher Marlowe restored to stage and/or screen with super FX and Harvey Keitel in the leading role. In the meantime, I will starve the actors and subject them to daily torture sessions so their pain can be more real.
3. My directing skills are much better than any actor could ever imagine.
4. I will win and Tony and an Academy Award. Suffice to say, I will be richer and more famous than you can possibly imagine. One day, I will be held in higher regard than Scorcese, Welles, Hitchcock, and Bergman all put together. At least I will be able to quit this shitty PA job and afford to buy liquor instead of wasting all of my money on overpriced microbrews and Tofurkey franks.
5. Actors have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a director, I’ll lose thirty pounds, get some hair extensions and earn a starring role in the new Kevin Spacey vehicle.
ACTORS
1. I am not vain, superficial, and phony.
2. People really want to know how I starved myself for six months and ate only cabbage and boiled potatoes in preparation for playing a leprechaun in a television commercial for “Irish Spring” soap.
3. My acting ability is more impressive than my pert tits.
4. I will be very rich, very famous, and may also get to date Ben Affleck, Gwyneth Paltrow, and/or Ryan Adams. At least, I will not be wearing this fucking furry bear costume and running around a theme park in the middle of August suffering from heat stroke while posing with a bunch of bratty kids and living off other people’s drugs and stale nachos.
5. Models have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as an actor, I’ll lose another thirty pounds, get my boobs/nose/ass done, and become the new Calvin Klein model.
MODELS
1. I am not stupid/ anorexic.
2. People really should know how hard it is to hop around a tropical beach in a string bikini when it is a frigid 72 degrees outside. I am a tortured person. Really. I am.
3. Did I ever tell you that I had a 1600 SAT score and turned down Harvard because they wouldn’t let me attend the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition shoot?
4. I will be very rich, very famous, have incredible clothes and may get to marry Johnny Depp or an aging rock star. At least, I will not have to justify my existence by pointing at the foot shot on the Sears flyer and admitting that I was the sock model, nor will I have to pose naked for anymore of Kevin’s “art projects.” I will also likely be able to afford food, though I still won’t eat it. It’s nice to have the option though, right?
5. Pop Divas have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a model, I’ll hire a really great producer and move to Orlando so I can become the next Britney Spears.
POP STARS
1. I have real, discernible talent.
2. People will thrill at my ability to sing “OOOOHHHH BABBBBY OOOOH” with back up vocalists in three part harmony while doing the Roger Rabbit with glittery Kalamata olives balanced on my tits.
3. Is it my fault the real singers aren’t as attractive as I am? Lip synching is just my way of preserving the mass hallucination that really talented singers also have perfect teeth and pantene hair.
4. I will be so rich and so famous; everyone else on MTV Cribs will be green with jealousy. Wait til you see thousands of teenagers cutting class to hang out in front of TRL screaming my name. At least, I will not have to do anymore Marilyn Monroe singing “Hava Nagila” impersonations at the Weisbaum Bar Mitzvah backed by a Karaoke machine and a Casio keyboard. I will be able to afford medical insurance which will curb those unfortunate accidents caused by uninsured ankles on stiletto heels.
5. Singer-songwriters have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a pop star, I’ll buy an acoustic guitar, move to the Pacific Northwest, and throw out my shoes.
SINGER-SONGWRITERS
1. I am not a frustrated pop star.
2. People will get chills at my saccharine sweet melodies and visceral lyrics about the time I was almost went out with the guy whose ex-girlfriend was anorexic and was almost date raped by a heroin addicted singer songwriter . . . I mean, asshole musician, I mean, oh fuck, I don’t know what I mean.
3. It’s not that I’m afraid of amplification. It’s just that I think my songs require nothing more than a simple six string acoustic guitar and the entire string section of the New York Philharmonic to maintain their power.
4. I will be a headliner at the Lillith Fair, if they bring the Lillith Fair back. At least, I will not be forced to sleep in a dumpster behind the seven eleven and sometimes I may be able to shower before playing Open Mic Night. Maybe I’ll buy a piano.
5. Rock stars have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a singer songwriter, I’ll buy an amp, record an album in London, and develop a heroin addiction.
ROCK STARS
1. I am not a total asshole.
2. People will think I’m attractive despite the fact that I have no teeth (because of the crank) and no nostrils (because of the coke) and absolutely no feeling left in my upper left thigh (complicated)and it’s true the millions want nothing more than to hear an experimental double concept album about getting gravel extracted from your nasal cavity.
3. Just so you know: I did get laid, before this. I had serviceable relationships with nice girls/boys who thought I was a rebel because of my vinyl, I mean, leather pants and I really do want to pay child support for all those women who . . .fuck it, when Winona wants you, she wants you, savvy?
4. Career longevity? Sure the odds aren’t in my favor. But I’m an outlaw, man. All about fucking beating the odds. And one day I’ll be bigger than Jesus. Hell, I’ll be bigger than John Lennon. And no one will notice the gut. Swear.
5. Poets have it so much easier. If I don’t make it as a rock star, I’ll move to some small, Midwestern town, rent a garret, and start writing epic poems about the mysterious growth on my ass. (Replay cycle)
1. I am not crazy.
2. People really want to read seven lines of experimental language detail the mysterious growth on my ass and how it relates to the coming of spring.
3. My poem will influence novelists to write great stories about uncomfortable cysts on the left ass cheek.
4. I will never be rich writing poems, but I may be lauded a great genius after I die. At least I will not be working at the Coffee Cabana, copying Leonard Cohen lyrics in my journal, and starving on five dollars an hour for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to upgrade from word processor to computer soon.
5. Prose writers have it so much easier. If I can’t drum up any interest in my chapbook, I’ll move to New York and write a novel about my tortured adolescence instead.
FICTION WRITERS
1. I am not self-absorbed/ I am not an alcoholic
2. People really want to hear about how Bobby/ Jeannette locked me in the bathroom stalls after lunch when I was twelve, written in high post-modernist style with plenty of Freudian allusions.
3. My book will make a great movie.
4. I will become very famous and pretty rich writing novels. At least I will not be stocking books at Barnes and Noble, writing dissertation length manifestos regarding the similarities between Tolkein’s Ring Trilogy and Jacques Derrida’s Transcendental Signified, and chain-smoking instead of eating for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to buy a Playstation 2 soon.
5. Screenwriters have it so much easier. If I can’t sell my novel, I’ll simply move to Los Angeles and write an existential thriller about a pedophile priest who becomes a cult leader instead.
SCREENWRITERS
1. I am not, have never been, nor have any desire to be, a starfucker.
2. People really want to watch movies with no discernable plot and really fascinating dialogue about getting fucked up the ass by organized religion.
3. My script would have been a great play . . . back in the days of Shakespeare.
4. I will become very famous and very rich, writing movies. At least, I will not be working at Blockbuster video, spending all of my money on DVDs of HBO series and eating Macaroni and Cheese for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to buy a flatscreen tv.
5. Playwrights have it so much easier. If I can’t sell my script, I’ll simply move to Chicago and write plays instead.
PLAYWRIGHTS
1. I am not a theater person.
2. People really want to watch a 12 hour epic cycle about how my great uncle Horace may or may not have invented the first Cheez-Doodle (which is a metaphor for the fascist theocracy in this country today) using Artaud’s Theater of Cruelty as prevailing theoretical medium.
3. My script is too good for the movies. This is art, people.
4. I will become very, very famous writing plays. They’ll be begging for my ass in Hollywood. To which, I will give them a haughty “Pshaw!” At least I will not be doing Performance Art pieces at the Coffee Cabana’s open mike nite for the rest of my life. Maybe I can afford to buy a vintage typewriter soon.
5. Directors have it so much easier. If I can’t get produced, I’ll simply pull together all the incredibly talented people I know, move to New York, (but don’t necessarily hang out with . . . remember I’m not a theater person), and do a killer revival of “Doctor Faustus” with lots of neato pyrotechnics and shit.
DIRECTORS
1. I am not an egomaniacal control freak.
2. People really want to feel the fires of hell when they watch Christopher Marlowe restored to stage and/or screen with super FX and Harvey Keitel in the leading role. In the meantime, I will starve the actors and subject them to daily torture sessions so their pain can be more real.
3. My directing skills are much better than any actor could ever imagine.
4. I will win and Tony and an Academy Award. Suffice to say, I will be richer and more famous than you can possibly imagine. One day, I will be held in higher regard than Scorcese, Welles, Hitchcock, and Bergman all put together. At least I will be able to quit this shitty PA job and afford to buy liquor instead of wasting all of my money on overpriced microbrews and Tofurkey franks.
5. Actors have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a director, I’ll lose thirty pounds, get some hair extensions and earn a starring role in the new Kevin Spacey vehicle.
ACTORS
1. I am not vain, superficial, and phony.
2. People really want to know how I starved myself for six months and ate only cabbage and boiled potatoes in preparation for playing a leprechaun in a television commercial for “Irish Spring” soap.
3. My acting ability is more impressive than my pert tits.
4. I will be very rich, very famous, and may also get to date Ben Affleck, Gwyneth Paltrow, and/or Ryan Adams. At least, I will not be wearing this fucking furry bear costume and running around a theme park in the middle of August suffering from heat stroke while posing with a bunch of bratty kids and living off other people’s drugs and stale nachos.
5. Models have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as an actor, I’ll lose another thirty pounds, get my boobs/nose/ass done, and become the new Calvin Klein model.
MODELS
1. I am not stupid/ anorexic.
2. People really should know how hard it is to hop around a tropical beach in a string bikini when it is a frigid 72 degrees outside. I am a tortured person. Really. I am.
3. Did I ever tell you that I had a 1600 SAT score and turned down Harvard because they wouldn’t let me attend the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition shoot?
4. I will be very rich, very famous, have incredible clothes and may get to marry Johnny Depp or an aging rock star. At least, I will not have to justify my existence by pointing at the foot shot on the Sears flyer and admitting that I was the sock model, nor will I have to pose naked for anymore of Kevin’s “art projects.” I will also likely be able to afford food, though I still won’t eat it. It’s nice to have the option though, right?
5. Pop Divas have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a model, I’ll hire a really great producer and move to Orlando so I can become the next Britney Spears.
POP STARS
1. I have real, discernible talent.
2. People will thrill at my ability to sing “OOOOHHHH BABBBBY OOOOH” with back up vocalists in three part harmony while doing the Roger Rabbit with glittery Kalamata olives balanced on my tits.
3. Is it my fault the real singers aren’t as attractive as I am? Lip synching is just my way of preserving the mass hallucination that really talented singers also have perfect teeth and pantene hair.
4. I will be so rich and so famous; everyone else on MTV Cribs will be green with jealousy. Wait til you see thousands of teenagers cutting class to hang out in front of TRL screaming my name. At least, I will not have to do anymore Marilyn Monroe singing “Hava Nagila” impersonations at the Weisbaum Bar Mitzvah backed by a Karaoke machine and a Casio keyboard. I will be able to afford medical insurance which will curb those unfortunate accidents caused by uninsured ankles on stiletto heels.
5. Singer-songwriters have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a pop star, I’ll buy an acoustic guitar, move to the Pacific Northwest, and throw out my shoes.
SINGER-SONGWRITERS
1. I am not a frustrated pop star.
2. People will get chills at my saccharine sweet melodies and visceral lyrics about the time I was almost went out with the guy whose ex-girlfriend was anorexic and was almost date raped by a heroin addicted singer songwriter . . . I mean, asshole musician, I mean, oh fuck, I don’t know what I mean.
3. It’s not that I’m afraid of amplification. It’s just that I think my songs require nothing more than a simple six string acoustic guitar and the entire string section of the New York Philharmonic to maintain their power.
4. I will be a headliner at the Lillith Fair, if they bring the Lillith Fair back. At least, I will not be forced to sleep in a dumpster behind the seven eleven and sometimes I may be able to shower before playing Open Mic Night. Maybe I’ll buy a piano.
5. Rock stars have it so much easier. If I can’t make it as a singer songwriter, I’ll buy an amp, record an album in London, and develop a heroin addiction.
ROCK STARS
1. I am not a total asshole.
2. People will think I’m attractive despite the fact that I have no teeth (because of the crank) and no nostrils (because of the coke) and absolutely no feeling left in my upper left thigh (complicated)and it’s true the millions want nothing more than to hear an experimental double concept album about getting gravel extracted from your nasal cavity.
3. Just so you know: I did get laid, before this. I had serviceable relationships with nice girls/boys who thought I was a rebel because of my vinyl, I mean, leather pants and I really do want to pay child support for all those women who . . .fuck it, when Winona wants you, she wants you, savvy?
4. Career longevity? Sure the odds aren’t in my favor. But I’m an outlaw, man. All about fucking beating the odds. And one day I’ll be bigger than Jesus. Hell, I’ll be bigger than John Lennon. And no one will notice the gut. Swear.
5. Poets have it so much easier. If I don’t make it as a rock star, I’ll move to some small, Midwestern town, rent a garret, and start writing epic poems about the mysterious growth on my ass. (Replay cycle)
posted by Alison at 8:19 AM
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