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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


07.28.02

Sigh. As editor of an online magazine, I hafta get used to being assertive. Pursue the story, ya know? Sometimes I worry about my naivete toward etiquette, the result of many years of a movie called mother flickering in my head.

Am I just too much? Am I asking too much of your time? Am I saying too many inappropriate things? Do I make you feel uncomfortable? These are the questions running through my head, even as I plough through muddy ground. Aw lawdy. Joe notes that my performances get better by the hour. I am learning my lines quite well, thank you very much.

To those who know me up close and way too personal, this job seems rather unusual for someone so shy as I, the one that surprises everyone when I get likkered up, dancing high on high heels amidst the proximity of bodies lovely and lively.

Now no more may I wait for the liquor to kick me into ease; no more may I pretend to be poker-faced, waiting for the other to approach.

Yet, as the lines between personal and business blur, I wonder what becomes lost while I look for a new story to explore, turning every conversation into fodder for print and blurb. Remember to play, I scribble on my arm, hiding it under sleeve.

(I long, I suppose, for one moment, just one moment, of the dream-time, when I am alone with my own fiction and the people that I have created in those moments while wandering anonymous among the living.)






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