Friday, May 22, 2009

look at me

hey there gang,
In a world where every creative type demands attention and fame -- I too desire to be loved... by millions. All the comedians in midtown deem the blogosphere passe, but I too want mass success and I realized that with all my reading of those old tangible dusty things called books I missed the cyber explosion that has wiped out the dreaded fear of anonymity. Now is my time. This blog is for all of us with no real skills but the constant memory of our mothers calling us special. Tendinitis has started in my right hand due to my severe clutch on the specific memory of my dear mother tickling my back and calling me pretty in a sweet Irish brogue.
I have a fire in me that needs its match... but I simply don't have anything on the special skills part of resume (or really a resume for that matter.) Does ultra charm count?
Listen up my beautiful babies. Did you go to college during an economic upturn and feel obliged to study something more interesting than resourceful -- queer theory anyone? I mean who in this financial conundrum really needs someone who can deconstruct a metaphor stuck in a metonymic trap? Or did you spend years honing a special talent in the small pond of your hometown only to grow up constantly at war with doubts and self loathing, and most of all shock at your mediocre success? If you are reading this and you can relate take comfort. While I keep a brave face for my small but growing public, misery is my middle name -- and I need company. It's lonely at the top, or at least I'm told it is.

1 comment:

  1. Lacy, reading text left to right against oblique neon rainbow stripes is making me feel seasick. Call a graphic designer!



About Me

I'm your average New Yorker with a dead end day job, dutifully plugging away and keeping the ennui at bay as I crawl slowly but surely to the top