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- [ Starving In The Company Of Beautiful Women ] [ By Michael W Dean ]
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- Part of my novel, Starving in the Company of Beautiful Women.
-
- By Michael W.Dean
-
- An excerpt from Chapter 10; Healthfood and heroin.
-
- The world is fond of the image of the starving artist. People love the
- archetype of the struggling, brilliant young man or woman, garrisoned away in
- a garret, slowly going insane while producing a dazzling body of work, and
- then dying or consigning themselves to skid-row or the madhouse. We pay our
- artists to live these lives that we daren't live. The rock fan who works in a
- gas station can't afford to trash hotel rooms and snort coke off a
- supermodel's breasts, so he pays Motley Crue or Two-Live Crew to do it for
- him. The yuppie consultant cannot leave his job to pursue madness, so he
- finances madness in others by purchasing a painting. When you buy a great
- rock record, you are purchasing more than music; you are procuring a
- lifestyle.
-
- I hate this crap. I am too busy living it to buy into it. "Fuck starving
- artists! Here is to selling out with style!" I said as I raised my glass to
- Jack, the bartender in "The Hill-top Pub."
-
- The Hill-top is my favorite bar to drink in, whenever I am in town. In
- actuality, it is pretty much the only bar that I'll drink in. The fact that
- it is on the first floor of the 6-floor brownstone that I live in not
- withstanding, I like the anonymity that the place offers. The clientele is
- mostly Chinese and Filipino well-to do types who don't know who Cash is and
- didn't care. I am often recognized at the trendier bars in San Francisco,
- places in the Mission District or the Haight, where the latest crop of
- 21-year-old, cigar-smoking brats congregate to sip Martinis and drink micro
- brews and be nostalgic for an era that occurred thirty years prior to their
- births. I used to like being recognized on the street, but after fifteen
- years of it, it is a hassle. I am not popular enough to enjoy the financial
- rewards that could buy the isolation that big-ticket rock stars can afford. I
- am popular enough, however, to attract a lot of idiots. The interactions that
- they foist upon me in public range from doe-eyed adulation to, more than
- once, a slap in the face for no manifest reason at all.
-
- Nope, I like to drink undisturbed, write my music alone, and cash my
- occasional royalty checks. (From 27 records on almost as many labels. I have
- trouble playing the music-industry game. I make music. If the industry wants
- to get involved, they have my number.) I tour Europe three months of the
- year. (I hate touring the states. I make more money and am treated better in
- 90 days of playing 1200-1500 seat theaters in Europe than in nine months of
- bars in the states. I usually only play two gigs a year in the states; New
- Years Eve, and my birthday.) It's nice work, when you can get it.
-
- When I get lonely, I just call a woman from my rotating Rolodex (Actually a
- single sheet of paper stuffed in the back of my amp.) of willing
- tragic-Beauties, and have my fun. Most of them fall in love with me. They all
- know that the others exist. They are all disturbed by the existence of the
- others, and they all act like they didn't care. I seem to have the ability to
- love a gal so completely, to look them in the eye and mean it so intently, to
- focus my attention so strongly, that I am capable of making any woman feel
- like she is the only being in the universe. And at that moment, she is.
-
- Some of my royalty checks are substantial, but the smaller ones, I simply
- sign over to Jack , in exchange for wiping out my massive bar tab. Jack knows
- the drill; I sign over the check, he hands me all the twenties in the till,
- wipes out the bar tab, and starts another one, a couple hundred dollars in
- the black.
-
- Jack doesn't drink. He is a Recovering alcoholic. He goes to "those darn
- meetings" every day before his shift, but he never preaches to me. It is an
- unspoken bartender-barfly confidentiality: Jack will help me if I ever ask,
- and there is nary a word about it otherwise. Jack is a kind man, quiet and
- physically imposing. At 6'3" and 185 lbs, he towers over me. (All the best
- singers are short. We have more to prove.) Jack is very good looking,
- Irish-American, red hair, with boyish-good looks. He works out and eats well.
- He is married to Sue, a Beautiful little 21-year-old gal that he met at a
- meeting. They live nearby, and she brings Jack a sandwich every night. She
- sits in the bar and talks to Jack and me for a half-hour or so.
-
- I am fond of telling my friends that "behind every great man is a good woman
- that he steals all his ideas from." I may have even stolen that sound-bite
- from an old girlfriend. I'm not sure. For such and intelligent man, my brain
- is kinda scrambled from drugs and alcohol. I can remember things that I did
- two years ago better than I can recall what I had, if anything, for dinner
- last night.
-
- It doesn't matter anyway. One of my other sound-bites is, "Everything that
- can be done has been done. Being a great artist simply consists of being a
- good editor." I certainly operate on this principle; I am as likely to
- include an uncredited line or two from a "Dear John..." letter in one of my
- songs as I am to brilliantly pull the other 23 lines out of the ether. I
- believe that songs come from the air...But I certainly didn't mind cashing
- the check at the end of the day. Thanks, air.
-
- I guzzled some more beer and soliloquized to Jack and a few others in the
- Hill-top; "Anyone who gets his dick sucked for playing rock and roll, and
- thinks he actually deserves it, is sorely deluding himself,"
-
- I love to dispense such pseudo-wisdom to my less-successful friends and the
- to press. (In the believable, almost religious manner that all rock-stars,
- politicians and priests can get away with.) Then I will turn and let some
- 20-year-old, low-self esteem Beauty crock on my knob backstage, or in my
- Russian-Hill apartment, and believe that I am special because she is there
- for me. Like most 3rd-rate rock-stars (and less attractively so, most
- would-be rock stars.) I either think that I am the best thing in the world,
- or the piece of shit on the bottom of God's shoe. I rarely just think, "I am
- good at what I do, I am a small yet important part of this world." My mind is
- a closet jammed with contradictions. The worst part is that I know it.
- Self-knowledge hurts. Sometimes I envy stupid people.
-
- "Any man who claims to be a feminist is just trying to get laid." I yelled
- out at the bar last night while buying red-wine for a room full of
- well-wishing strangers.
-
- I often speak in quotables like this. I feel that I should be remembered,
- that my purpose on this earth is first to feel, and secondly to be
- remembered. People are good at remembering about 10 words, tops. So I tend to
- speak in bumper-stickers, in pop-song hooks. Actually, I think in slightly
- more contorted and layered parenthesis-within parenthesis, (A syntax
- perfectly suited to web pages, but I am a rocker, not a web page designer.)
- but, I've gotten quite good at distilling these serpentine soups of reasoning
- down into little prepackaged thoughts. At age 15, I practiced being
- interviewed with a tape player and a mirror. I had lived in many houses as a
- child, dragged and bounced-around in a divorce. In the closet of these
- houses, and in any hotel, and in some strangers houses, I was fond of writing
- little snippets of thought on the underside of shelves in closets and on
- walls behind dressers. I always followed these little quotes with the four
- dots of ellipsis to indicate that these words were a snapshot out of a short,
- important life. I was writing my own, "Cash slept here..." I have always felt
- that if you don't believe your hype, then no one will....
-
- I knew I would be dead by age thirty, I have always known that. Legends
- always die young. So it was quite humbling to actually celebrate my thirtieth
- birthday, and be relatively healthy and somewhat happy, and facing the future
- with a childlike, naive, enthusiastic optimism.
-
- kittyfeet@earthlink.net
- http://home.earthlink.net/~kittyfeet/
-
-
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- uXu #394 Underground eXperts United 1997 uXu #394
- Call X-TREME -> +31-1675-64414
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