29 years ago I escaped from my self-chosen cocoon
To allow my body and mind to melt – to turn into goo –
To erase myself from who I was and to protect myself from others –
my silk self-spun web kept me safe – and the time within allowed me to change –
to become what I hadn’t been – what I was not –
to become who and what I wanted to be
I broke through my web - sticky, naked, and afraid –
I did not know how to accept my newly-formed wings –
I, initially, flapped them sloppily – and without skill or experience -
And did not understand how to present myself,
Now presenting magnificently (even if I flap them sloppily) -
with my new, multicolored (and beautiful) butterfly wings –
I was no longer the man I was before -
before I spun myself a web – and escaped within it –
for as long as I needed to –
long enough to begin to forget the man I was before
- to become something different – to become something better
My new wings flapped and they flapped and they flapped –
And they caught the attention of a photographer –
They caught his attention quickly
It was then I entered the world of porn
____
I opened my wings widely – allowing all of the debris from the incoming and violent and demanding winds to violate them –
to brush, uninvited, against them -
I allowed others to touch the colors upon my wings –
I allowed others to teach me how to fly
The magazine was released and the party ensued
I was a dead (and evolving) caterpillar – turned into a butterfly –
My dick hanging towards the floorboards as the camera lens focused –
and then it shot me –
Pages 15 -19 - me. The party continued –
Pink champagne on ice as the music pumps loudly in the VIP Room
Me in a tuxedo – me in a motherfucking tuxedo –
The epitome of class [how classy] -
I celebrated alongside other caterpillars who had recently become butterflies –
We spread ourselves – we spread our magnificent wings –
To become what we had not been before
We spread ourselves for others – to become what we had not been before
Autographs don’t sign themselves, so that is what I did
I spread my wings wide and allowed the world to enter
____
I sit on the uncomfortable and ridiculously upholstered long couch in my therapist’s office –
[throw-pillows placed within unequal distance from one another]
[if she could just wear an outfit that somewhat matches –
my OCD would greatly appreciate it – for real, though]
[I then distract myself from the mismatching garments and the fucking uneven throw pillows in order to remain focused and sane]
“Good afternoon” she says – and I notice her slip is showing slightly beneath her fashion-backwards paisley skirt -
“Good afternoon” I say, with a practiced former sex-worker’s smile
“What a lovely skirt”, I mention –
and she blushes red, like her face is the top circle of a traffic light
“I think I need to spin myself into another cocoon – a new cocoon”, I tell her
and she begins writing within her therapist notebook -
“I need to become something different – I need to become something better”, I continue,
as I present one leg at a 90-degree angle over the other because I am working on perfecting a more masculine and a more testosterone-influenced appearance while I sit in the presence of others
I painfully exhale as my tired, faded, and heavy wings rest themselves uneasily and uncomfortably against this lumpy (and ridiculous) couch –
they no longer appear brilliant metallic –
the confetti is no longer dropping upon the party floor at midnight –
there is no place for me to autograph my photos -
my muted wings are no longer shiny or worthy of attention
“Do you miss being a sex worker?”, she asks
And I tell her I do
as I sit upon a ridiculous couch that is decades younger than I am
____
My dick naturally hangs slightly to the right (only slightly) –
in my younger years I learned to mention this to the men who carried tape measures –
who measured my inner pants seams for high-end occasion slacks or other dress pants –
if it’s a formal occasion – it’s important the right side of my pants area allow a bit of extra room for my hanging dick …
and I’ve never understood this
The man measuring my fancy trousers brushes against my member very briefly with his hand (and then again – and then for a third time) so slightly I suspect it may be by accident –
This is the viewpoint I was taught -
This is the viewpoint I learned to live by –
This is the viewpoint I maintain so I don’t punch others in their fucking cock-violating faces
“In what way do you miss it?”, my therapist asks me –
as she sticks the tip of the filthy pen she is writing with temporarily into her mouth –
“I miss hating it”, I say
and she writes these words (or her reactions to them) into her therapist notebook –
and I wonder what it must be like to have to listen to the rambling retellings of a former sex-worker –
with wings less vibrant and colorful than they were in previous years
“I want to spin a new cocoon”, I interrupt
because she is writing for far too long for the little bit I’ve said
“I very much want to become something different –
I very much want to become something better”, I say
____
[Scene change]
The man sitting in the chair across from me does not write anything down as I tell him about my goals
- he looks at me in a way not much different than people look at animals who are trapped in cages –
“Do you really want to change?” he asks me, as his bulging and ridiculous muscles and toned body attempt to break-out of his too-tight (and very unprofessional – if I may say) shirt
“Yeah, I think so”, I hesitantly reply as the alcoholic devil on my right shoulder pokes my right ear with his pitchfork in disagreement
40 grams of protein 4 times a day
Frozen bananas and wild frozen blueberries –
and pumpkin seeds and almond milk –
and a TON (12, to be exact) of added supplements daily because I’m a stubborn vegan –
“and, you’ll need to join the gym immediately”, he tells me -
- and I will need to “decrease my alcohol intake”
What the fuck?
I need to decrease my alcohol intake (?) …
I need to decrease my alcohol intake (?) …
(I hesitate – as I remain seated – though the devil on my shoulder tells me to bolt – to fucking leave right now – RIGHT NOW!) …
and I, painfully, do not leave
12 additional daily supplements to get my body and metabolism back to “normal” [to healthy]
I’m ordering shit off Amazon I’ve never heard of –
Gaba and taurine and creatine – and a blender that pulsates at 1200 watts –
so the fucking ice for protein smoothies can be destroyed in record time –
and I don’t know what the fuck any of this means
“Do you want to change?”, my new nutritionist asks me a second time –
because he notices I didn’t answer him the first time he asked …
“Are you willing to change?” –
and I notice he isn’t asking me for my autograph –
he isn’t asking me for a copy of my latest book –
“Do you want to change?”, he asks for a third time –
realizing I have not answered because I’m struggling –
because I do not know the answer that is the right answer
“40 grams of protein – 4 times a day?”, I reply
“in a blender with wild blueberries [or strawberries – or motherfucking mangos, for fucks sake], almond milk, frozen bananas, pumpkin seeds, and a splash of agave nectar for sweetness
and I join the motherfucking neighborhood gym immediately – like tomorrow morning”,
and then I shake my head up and down, reluctantly, to let him know I understand
Does he not know or understand I grew up punk? It is who I was – it is who I am – and why the fuck would I want to be anything different than that?
He looks at me seriously – and I am familiar with this look. He’s looking at me wondering if I truly want to change or if I will choose to slowly die
(multi-decade alcoholism is unattractive – but, it is habit)
[and I don’t fucking yet know which way I wish to decide]
“Fucking hell”, I say as unwanted tears involuntarily well up in my eyes.
[my wings were once brilliant – and multicolored -and magnificent –
do you want me to autograph that photo of my low-hanging dick for you?]
I feel as though I may cry-out every insecurity and reluctance I’ve held onto for years –
and I might cry it all out right fucking now –
at this very fucking moment …
____
– and he replies - “yeah, I know”
Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.
