HUNZINGER PROXY
MAKE ON HAND
All that the poor girl ever could be I guess
that she turned out to be. In this life, disregarding
all else, we have few other chances. Even Kennedys
constantly die; or so it once seemed anyway.
-
"I was never one person, but many." The guest
star said that while sitting in a straight-backed
chair. Her hair was chopped, and yellow. "I was
the 'good little girl' who never challenged her
parents. Then I became the intimidating woman
at the loft party : with harsh make-up and
amazing punk hair."
-
She'd changed her name three times, she said.
Two names she never used, though others did
about her, were, 'Fragile,' and 'Childlike.' Then
she leaned forward and said, almost quietly,
"That was all part of my schizophrenic quality.
It made my life what it was - I was sex worker,
artist, cherub, singer, an office temp, a college
student, then a college instructor, and, finally,
like here and now, a famous London writer."
-
"I mean, just look, go ahead, for yourself:
fourteen novels, sundry short stories, and
one essay collection. I took out after villains
large and small - neglectful parents and
abusive boyfriends, hard-driving bosses,
Nixon and Reagan, and capitalism itself.
Where else you gonna' find shit like that?"
-
The show-host coughed, and gagged then
on his cigarette (they still allowed that on
TV shows). I figured he didn't know what
to say. Why say anything anyway. Let the
lady talk. She claimed she was an early
adapter to her autism, and little after that
mattered. Then she found a way, also, to
use it as another' pose.' Very good for art.
-
Deep at night, she'd go far, into the
hand-drawn maps of her dreams, trying
always to break through the things that
usually confined people. Stolen ideas.
Stolen words. Stolen dreams. It led her,
yes, to ask not, 'Who am I?', but instead,
in a more philosophical key, what it
meant to have an 'I' - or several.
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