Okay. You wanna talk about
dualism? Is that where you say
one thing and mean a mother?
Paging Doctor Freud!
You’ll have to forgive me I’ve been
hitting the Michael Chabon again. His
latest book is denser than Friday south
Seattle rush hour traffic, has more
metaphors than a… well you fill in the
blank, I’m tired.
You wanna talk about being in two
states at the same time?
I tour so goddamn much I think
that’s actually physically happened to
I tour so goddamn much I passed
my own self the other day! Ba dum Cha!
It’s like, I want to be a writer but I
don’t want to write right now.
Hardly ever, in fact.
Though, I can spend hours
fantasizing about receiving The Award
for The Best Writing of All Time without
ever picking up a pen or even eating
corn on the cob typewriter style.
It’s like, I spend all my time
fantasizing about ruling while actually
I dream of being fit while eating chile
relenos and that’s not all.
I want to be proud of myself which
gets hard if all you do is drink wine and
I hate money but I hate not having it
I feel bad for not speaking the
prevailing language wherever I’m
traveling yet do very little to learn it and
must mumble shyly like a fat pink gringa
I came here to relax only to realize
how much needs to be done.
I am prone to fantasy whilst having
comparatively little troubling to escape
Dualism is trying to find the seedy
bar in a tourist town.
It’s 2 showers a day in a third world
It’s resenting the maid because she
fucked with your morning.
It’s working for the man who’s
always bringing you down.
It’s missing your friends even when
you are in the same room.
It’s just that when it comes to
memories, contents may have shifted
during the voyage.
It’s putting on your own mask before
It’s knowing that it’s your turn to give
the blow job but pretending you forgot.
It’s when it’s all over and going
I mean, if people said the things they
say on Facebook to peoples’ actual
faces? Oh, let’s face it, they never
It’s like being a cat person in dog’s
It’s like a free ride when you’ve
already paid… Get the fuck OUTTA
here, Alanis! (Clearly we are close to
wrapping up here.)
It’s sitting in a hammock playing
ukelele perfectly relaxed, save for the
impulse, nay COMPULSION, to have to
tell somebody about it.
It’s the punishment of forgiveness.
It’s if our friends weren’t here we
totally would have voted for you.
It’s wanting to write that new hit song
but only having Under the Boardwalk
stuck in your head.
It’s the unfortunate mirror syndrome:
I hate her. She reminds me of
Can I get an amen up in here?
Yours in Show Business,
Author’s note: This was written when I was too hot and postponing the inevitable in Sayulita, Mexico.
Words by Carolyn Mark, photography by Ilijc Albanese.