Most stories start at the beginning, but mine, God knows where it starts or ends.
My name... well, we won't go there just yet, but let's say...it'll make sense in the end.
This story isn't about anything important, like global warming's not important.
The shit in this story is far from conventional, and isn't really the kind of talk
you'd have at the dinner table with family. Various instances of profanity
or scenes of obscurity and vulgarity would make your mom spit out the
food she had fixed for this evening's supper. What a waste of food too.
I mean, what a bitch, who spits out food when kids in Africa are starving?
It's funny because I think I'm right and she's wrong. That's how the whole
world is though. We all think that no matter how fucked up we are, the
ones who disagree with us are the assholes. Sometimes, they are.
Sometimes the people who ridicule us are more than just the
bullies we faced in school. They are a big turning point
or a main character in a story, and while we're not sure of the plot,
they are plotting against us. It's always important to watch
your back, especially if you have no fucking idea where you are.
Mentally or physically. Self-Awareness is the key to creating,
inventing, and reinventing your life. If we don't know who we are,
then how do we know what makes us happy?
How do we know what the best parts of our lives are?
This story is about recovery, reinvention, redefining.
Along the way the story may include a few things
such as: bipolar disorder, split personalities, fashion,
fame, explosives, or maybe it won't include any of those.
This won't be one of those watered-down novels with all of
the good parts taken out, or those kid Bibles where it only says
God made the earth, Adam and Eve were bad, God punished them,
Sodom and Gomorrah was a place where bad people had sex with
each other and animals, they were destroyed, God sent Jesus to
Earth, he loved little children, he was killed, came back to life,
went to heaven, then he'll come back, happily ever after.
Well what about all of the bullshit in between.
Fuck happy endings, there aren't many to begin with, and
the ones that are happy are because somebody thought
it would be cool to lie to little kids instead of telling them the truth.
This is the truth, and it's starting now.
Benton Burns, one of my former friends, now turned famous
fashion designer/entrepreneur/center of attention/medicated psycho
schizophrenic/mentally unstable/whatever.
I remember when we first started to become friends. At the time,
he laughed at the idea of ever becoming famous.
"Fame is for fags" that's what he'd say. But now, as famous as he
is, he must take it up the ass everynight.
You see him on everything now. Bravo Channel, MTV, Oprah,
Maury. He was just on the news today, his upcoming fashion show,
Fashion Freakouts, would be hitting televisions everywhere in the next few weeks.
"Everyone will be watching, will you?"
Unless this is Benton's secret way of encoding his apology to me
all while maintaining his pride and popularity, then fuck that.
It's noon right now, and I'm flipping through endless channels
of what seems to be absolute shit with cameras filming it.
I thought shit was for toilets, not TVs, but I think I'm wrong again.
There's a light spring rain misting outside, and I'm stuck inside
watching reruns of Jerry Springer. I mean come on, God knows
you can only listen to the repeated chants of "Jerry, Jerry, Jerry" so
many times before you felt like you were in the middle of some wierd African
voodoo ritual and you were some pissed off tribesman. Well, the pissed off
part is true, but if by some tribal voodoo ritual you mean my room,
only then you'd be right. That's when a commercial comes on.
It's a commercial for Benton's fashion line Arrivederci.
The bastard's head is so far up fashion's ass he thinks
he's Italian. Texas is definitely not synonymous
with Italy, unless you count the local Olive Garden,
but if that's the case, then everyone's Italian.
So back to the commercial. I'm looking at models
walking down runways that look big enough for airplanes.
Models wearing dresses, skirts, pants, and shoes from
Benton's new spring line-up. I can't seem to pick out one
real person in the commercial. I swear to God it looks like
they've started letting display window mannequins model
the clothes. Maybe it's cheaper than buying crackers for
all of the high maintenance models who would usually
appear in these types of commercials. Back to Benton's
bullshit you can wear, back to the trainwreck that is
Arrivederci, back to the future of fashion Benton
would say. Ten years ago Benton would say "All men
who are fashion designers are fags, no matter what they
say, none of them is straight." Back to now. Benton must
have turned gay I guess. Benton was as fake as the models
he had strutting down the catwalk, the only difference was,
they atleast got free merchandise. Of course he designed the clothing
so I imagine if he wanted free shit, he could get it. I couldn't really picture
Benton wearing a dress or ladies' underwear, but hell,
as I said, he's not the same the person he was 10 years ago.
First, he becomes famous. Then, he's a fashion designer.
To top it he's changed his name. I knew him as Benton.
The world knows him as....Alfredo.
Any other name, but Alfredo. This whole fashion thing has
really gone to his head. Not only does he think he's Italian,
but out of any Italian name, he picks something you buy
in the TV dinner aisle. Benton, i mean, Alfredo, used to be smart.
I guess in the couple years I haven't talked to him, things changed.
I could say the same for myself. Things had definitely changed.
There were so many times that something happened that changed
who I am today. Just ask the pill bottles on my kitchen counter.
Antidepressants were everywhere. It was like a social gathering
of all the over-the-counter brand name prescription drugs.
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