Relying upon the tiniest fractures in my mental health, I compare myself to born rock stars and insist that I, too can be an artist. My companions and their personalities loom over my memory. Drugs isn’t what makes a starbaby. However the ones I remember who did no drugs are the most frightening. I believe drugs helped me separate myself from them. Fucking superartists. Thinking about starbabies is tiring. Since the 70’s more children have been born with extra strands of DNA, and psychic abilities, so I heard. I’m the starbaby among starbabies who chose to go in as 100% human, so awareness of the truth is like a memory to me. I’m afraid to draw on the magic of the world around us, afraid my touch isn’t delicate enough, that when I try to reveal the painting of energies beneath the vision my eyes see before me, that it will only tear like plastic wrap. The fear of sobriety is the fear that my cherished insanity has burned down to the embers. Feelings of inadecquacy stem from the sensation that I have quite unfortunately found myself to be whole.
My friend seems broken within, harmed irrevocably, in one massive strike, early on in life, so by now she’s become a vertibable legend, and I have adored her. The energy that surges within her does so continuously because of an error. Cirucuits were burned long ago when her brilliant mind couldn’t compute the loss she suffered. As of now she is the incomprehensible incident that we in the world cannot compute.
I’m glad that nowadays I can at least envy my friends their glamor. Back when dance clubs were overwhelming and awe-inspriring I could stumble right by the stars and starbabies without believing we really coexisted. It took years to observe that indeed, it is the abused who rise to the top in these temporary worlds where the people make the laws. I used to believe everything about them. Two dudes talking in a bathroom mystified me to the point that I didn’t even overhear them as I pissed. One of them was rumored to be Belgian nobility, the other some kind of crystal meth general. A decade later it came as no surprise to me that they were both a couple of geeks just like me who understood all the same role-playing game references. The difference lies in the extra degrees to which their spines were twisted when they were young. We’re so similar in most every way you could probably extrapolate the exact nature of the derision each of us dealt with observing our posture in different social situations. Do I stand up straight at a club? Do I stand up straight at work? I have enjoyed a bit of proper mystique by this point. I know what had to happen, that is what I had to do to myself in order to gain access to the power within. There is an inner being of light that is protected within a shell that is ultimately vulnerable. Some of us have been sheltered. The egg is cracked, battered from the outside and light escapes. Pure, evolutionary drive is poured forth, of a nature meant to be contained, even if not indefinitely and people become superbings limited only and particularly by the state of their imagination.
The wise among the surviving starbabies have learned. It’s nothing less than the imagination that makes anything meaningful possible. Their lives have been determined by the wishes they managed to make in the distant past. Those among us who do not prefer bitterness may remember what our wishes were, the old ones, from when we wished hardest.