Growing up with my real name

after Vic Chesnutt

That’s right, I never gave a shit about the Contras…or about saving the whales or farm aid or poor baby Jessica trapped down in that deep dark hole.

(i might have been a little jealous of all the attention she got, however)

The TV was on, but I was more interested in riding my bike down the old abandoned roads. Or getting some junk food to eat. Or reading a magazine.

Basically, I wanted to be left alone.

I had my stuffed animals who were in love and had big families and lived on islands such as my bed or the TV stand—when the rain fell in their world, I had them huddle in the area underneath where my mother saved the fat, impossibly glossy catalogues that came from stores where we couldn’t afford to shop.

I let them take shelter until the storm had passed.

I made a magic symbol appear in the sky, when it was safe for them to come out

(i craned the necks of my animals and looked up along with them at the crack in the plastic ceiling lamp. i stared unblinkingly as the exposed bulb singed purple lightening bolts across my vision)

i wasn't interested in the kids in my class.

i dreamed of a person coming along who had the same qualities as a plastic toy.

Of course he’d also be rich.

The other kids at school started going to parties. They were French kissing and taking down their pants behind the cinema.

They asked me to come along, but really I wanted no part of it

It has always been the case that I’d rather dream, dream, dream,

than fuck.

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