life story, as per request

Adam Cain (
Tue, 15 Oct 1996 00:39:00 -0500
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I was born a TimesRoman etching in woodgrain with the real
look of woodgrain on the sides of a buick stationwagon. This
was even before I knew how to spell =91mediocre=92 or took pride in
some of my vices. My first memory was impossible. My first
memorable dream involved alligators crawling through the rear
window of the buick while parked in a grocery store. At the
moment of my birth, Angels did sing Neil Diamond covers.

Before long, I had hitchhiked across the country with only a
busted up geetar and the actual story of my life, all rolled up
inside a handkerchief. Once while two-thirds asleep on the side
of the road, dreaming of the dorm rooms in which I would
eventually live and hallucinate that my lover is built of triangular
trusses, I was gently kicked by a scruffy, older gentleman with
pockets a=92jingling. That was my first big break. I never
suspected that it would be so easy to become a parking meter
attendant'=92s apprentice.

I rose quickly through the ranks. Graduating from the academy
with top honors and =96 oh hell, who do I think I=92m kidding here?!
You have probably already guessed that I slept my way to the top.
You got the goods. I=92m but a big fish sandwich in sheep=92s clothing.

Clothing has been my only friend through the years. It has
remained by my side through spic and spam. And if there=92s one
thing I=92ve learned from all this, it is that I haven=92t learned one
damned thing. Sure, you can wear your sheriff=92s badge to
kindergarten, but if you=92re going to compete in this highly
competitive competition, you can=92t afford incompetence. And
that=92s where YOU come in.

Well? Come in! Have a side of beef with a side of slaw on the
side. We=92ll steal each others=92 favorite sentence fragments and
hide them in the toy cement mixer, adding water and chocolate
chips, fully expecting chocolate milk laced with infomercials by
dawn. And then we=92ll go public. Come on, let us be livers
we=92ll carry our four tuna to Guelph! (sing along as we) =93Log
on=85 to look for America Online=85=94 You can=92t just, I mean, you
don=92t expect me to just let you leave? We=92re you lying when you
told me I was the only status quo you could ever reinforce?
Look me in the eyes.

Eyes continue to flow out of my fingers, even today. But I have
now learned to control my destiny by basing my decisions about
the future solely on furniture layout. Because I ended up with a
drawing table in the back room, I shall be a tortured artist. But
enough of the future!

Real composers have called me composer. I=92m fairly sure that I
have never done anything creative. Another lover became
composed exclusively of circuit boards and wire wrap wire piano
player piano protocol. Shaving at intervals of roughly four days,
wishing I were born ZaphChancery, knowing I am not Robin or
Robert or Rick or Fred, I try to convince myself that =91helping
people=92 makes some amount of axiomatic sense. All the while,
idiotic thoughts are claiming squatters rights on my head.

The only singular moment was when, in the dank basement of
1990, suddenly my thumb declared independence. So it=92s pretty
garsh darned digital that I am haunted to day by fingers in the
early morning, whispering of impossible splendor while further
parodeedeedying the paradigm, dying.

Make no mistake, I=92m a very shiny turd. If I ever stumble across
some integrity, I=92ll have my people call your people. Like it or
not, the smiling nods are in firmware, the knobs cannot help but
gravitate toward the center detent, and who really cares when I=92m
monophonic anyway? Two-bit=85 half-wit=85 somebody please
scrape this aggressive pun-handler off my screen.

I have been very fortunate and have gone with the flow, piecing
together an easily understood story. No jump cuts, no pieces of
quarter-track eaten by the pinch-roller thereby creating the most
interesting passage. Sorry.

Hopefully, this will all look different soon.

-- A Mac and I