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you want the truth, right?
or what's left of it.
i'm too exhausted to care what others think anymore, about me or this meaningless life. the time, space, spacetime, and energy wasted on whether or not i'm good enough for love has weakened my body to the point where i can't make love properly anymore.
an incident at The Store yesterday highlights my many problems with the world and myself. i'm strolling along the frozen-food section, minding my own business, i rarely speak in public, do everything in my power to avoid being noticed, the anxiety has become my permanent hat. hehe, yeah, and i want to become an actor, do i? long way to travel.
suddenly, like a blogspot lurker who suddenly takes control of your entire blog and becomes a commenting vise on every post, a dude with a snarky smile and a menacing iphone with that microphone icon recording every one of my few words strolls up alongside me and asks if i could answer a few questions. you have got to be kidding me! i mean, seriously? buddy, this is the wrong time, and i am definitely the wrong man. do you know who i am? i am the famous blogger the late phoenix. do you realize you've sauntered up unknowingly to the guy who taught internet trolls how to be trolls, who is anonymous and Anonymous for a reason? i don't do this for publicity, if i did, i'd be Tom Cruise...well, okay, Johnny Depp, someone i can indie-cred respect.
why did i get targeted? i'm a soft target i know, i'm vulnerable, it's just me trying to make my way in this world, through the damn aisle grasping for my ridged french fries, wanting to make my entrance and exit out of this nightmare of scary people all over the place talking about food, expensive drink, and their lives which will forever be better than mine 'cause they don't contend with my demons. i wanted to imprint my tiny presence at The Store that afternoon like a magician who wears a mask and never signs his work, quiet as an atheist mouse.
maybe if i had other/human protection, a mom or a girlfriend clutching my arm, people would leave me alone. but no, the loner is ripe for ridicule and an unwanted spotlight. actor, ha! miles away. okay, i thought, well, maybe this is a good thing, i've painfully avoided controversy and human interaction explicitly for this reason, the mealworms of nerves in my stomach from decades ago are starting to bubble up as this guy won't let it go and is determined to talk to me like i'm any other joe on the street. does he not see my pain and discomfort? no of course not, i hide it well, have had to from my folks and "friends" all these years, he doesn't know me, i don't want him to ever know the real me, i'm an actor. time to confront, whether i want to or not.
"so can you answer a few somethings?"
"um," i stuttered, the first time in ten years i've talked to a non-family-member, a stranger, first time i've literally been FORCED to talk to a strange man, some nondescript dude on the street, i have to speak to move on with my life, "will this take long?"...okay, still have a somewhat listenable voice, cadence is still okay after all these cobwebs, the youtube vids i did recently really broke the ice, "i need to...", i stopped there, but man, i really wanted to just get my fries.
"what do you think makes for a great treasure-hunter?"
"oh, treasure-hunter!" i retorted. yeah, this isn't a useless, ridiculous question or anything. sure, i felt for the dude, his stupid boss at the newspaper saw his worth, a rookie wet behind the ears, the boss is laughing and snickering to his face as he sends him on this idiotic assignment to stalk members of a food establishment and ask them about treasure-something, this article will definitely reach the next-to-back page, if it was on the back page it would be seen, but the next-to-last page, that's where your little report on the left-hand inside corner of the page on the attitudes of this community on whatever it is---scuba-divers' rights, the hidden gold near the sea where we live, environmental concerns, or perhaps just speed freaks looking for a thrill after the bath salts wear off---shall land.
i didn't think, if i would have thought, i would have sunk into the ground on the spot. i assumed my blogging persona, the take-no-prisoners, don't-give-a-fuck-about-anyone-and-anything person i wear when i type furiously and stream-of-conscience, without a conscience, letting my extensive vocabulary fly as i describe the creative things in my brain, always clever, lying my ass off like any good actor does, always doble-entendre, filled with the loads of sex and lust i wish i could indulge in in real life IRL, snarky, rude, telling it like it is, i fucking hate that term "telling it like it is", that's the fakest thing you can do...and always inscrutably weird and nonsensical.
"well, you know, i know treasure-hunters, i was once a treasure-hunter myself, but my wife left me when she caught me licking that piece of silver instead of the dime-piece she thought she was..."
dude cracked a very creepy smile, and that disturbing mic icon on his iphone, it wasn't just capturing my voice, it was capturing my essence for when God had to decide Heaven or Hell for me later.
"what are the traits of the best treasure-hunters?"
seriously, what the hell was this for? "a good treasure-hunter must be..." i was thinking hard for the cleverest responses. man, this is like me trying to come up with youtube ideas and on the first take, i'm jabbering away about...something...nothing...and always have to take a second take, that first take is always a jumbled mess even by my standards..."a good treasure-hunter must never give up, must persevere through the bad times, must be a monetary genius when he cashes in later, must have a James-Bondesque eye for the ladies or it gets boring, and must love his family when he goes broke and gets his leg torn off from a shark's jaws and must live with Mom the rest of his life."
was he liking this? was the recording red light on? when will this torture be over? is this the end...of me? is he gone yet? by the way, after this was over, he strangely disappeared from out the store, nobody seemed to recognize that he was there, no one remembered him, he was out of sight, he literally vanished into thin air, did he talk to anyone else about this? no, just fucking me and gone. "um, can i get your name?"
"i use an alias, i like to remain unknown, i have this blog, see..."
"oh, you're a blogger, is that your profession?"
"yes, that's my "profession"."
"what have you had to persevere through in your life?"
oh, now i get it. this wasn't about treasure-hunters at all, that was just the gateway question. this guy was actually auditioning me for a cult. "i'm really depressed, i don't want to get into the long ugly history of it, but i don't know if i'll make it."
"what's the one thing that will get you out of this hole?"
"a loving girlfriend, a good woman..."
stone-faced, non-responsive from him...story of my (love) life.
"can i get your name?"
"just use my blog alias."
"but it's not a real name."
"okay, use...Matt Smith...y'know, The Doctor?"
he laughs...but you can tell he's no sci-fi geek, he really has no clue what i just said.
"can i get a pic of you?" suddenly a bulky old-school camera unknown heretofore pops out from behind his back, he grasps it with his bulky man-hands and menacingly tries to take a shot of me before i can say no, he's trying to capture my soul...
FUCK NO! i thought. can't he see that i'm a wallflower, i shun the spotlight though i want to be famous? can't he see my contradictions? "no, bro, no bro, i just don't want my picture taken. i like to remain anonymous."
"oh, well, then, bye." he walks off. total waste of time, misspent energy, and nerves...story of my life, i'm racing around in circles, deepening my overall paranoia of other humans, wondering about ulterior motives, all i fucking wanted was my god-damn ridged fries in peace.
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