Open Letter to a Movie Star.

OK, I miss you...I admit it.

I still can't sleep, and it's 7 months after the fact.

The fact that I left you...but that doesn't make it any easier.
It makes it more...bitter-er.

Like hitting yourself in the face.

You know what I'm saying- you've done it.

I can't rest without your beating heart to hypnotise-slash-drug me.
Without you kicking me and smearing mascara on my snow white pillow cases.

Without you waking me up by talking in your sleep, and not having the slightest memory of our talk the next day.

Boy, did I find out some secrets!

Without you in my tee shirt, and long black hairs.

And while I can act like I'm happy, the sets are starting to fall down, and the techs are busy tending to your new show on a whole other network, where the hours are regular, and they actually get paid.

My funding has been cut, you know.

I don't know what I'm meant to do with all these unused scripts, and untold jokes. And the stars off the dressing room doors.

And as conflicted as I am by it, I like your new show.
I think it's going places.

It's definitely going away from me, but why settle for community theatre when you can have Broadway AND a year in Las Vegas?

We all know the answer, but we all understand why not also. But we still don't blame you.

I blame me.

So I tell myself I did the right thing, and assure myself (read: lie) that I will have another shot at that kind of fame again.

I go shopping for pinstripes to wear at some future awards ceremony, while I'm utterly absent from the Department store of your thoughts, and the muzak is just insulting.

Oh, and I'm broke.

I know, but it's as direct as I get.

I really dug that spotlight, I think I dug it too much.

And this whole thing for me became more about the spotlight than it was about the art of it all.

I liked the sudden simplicity, like "This is where I am, and this is what I have to do".

No more paradigm paralysis.

And while it's weird to see new ads on our old billboards, or worse still, your new ads on our old billboards, the more I see it the less it takes me over.

Like water in a funnel, the more you see, the less you see.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I really hated our show.

I just liked the accolades.

Which is why I keep on playing...in the hope that one day you'll notice me again, and say "You know, that really is something!", and you'll fly back to here, so I can reject you afresh, and suicide when you've cleared 30,000.

Now that, would be a show to remember.

I don't think I've learned a damn thing, except how to lie better.

Smell the newsprint.

You're so fucking International.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.