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“I hate reality but it's still the best place to get a good steak.”
Woody Allen
Not being John Wayne.
Nobody ever asked me to play John Wayne.
I got to be Indians quite a lot.
Indians said 'How' and died.
Not a Western.
The missionaries were those ones clothed in black and white photos looking a lighter shade of grey.
The Indians were those ones clothed in black and white photos and a loin cloth looking a darker shade of grey.
The missionaries were vaguely heroic, this much I had learnt from stories of David Livingstone in Africa.
I was never quite sure what to make of the Amazonian Indians.
They were aphone and alien.
They looked sort of scared.
I was never quite sure how I would play being an Amazonian Indian.
Did they say 'how'?
I suppose they probably died.
I never really thought about it.
I had never seen Amazonian Westerns.
Being John Wayne.
I was between jobs, an actor.
That always made doing crap jobs a liveable fantasy.
I suppose it would not have been liveable if they had not been short enough to be the between.
It was always a miracle to me that the person on the end of the line would actually sign a contract as a result of me burbling away at him for three minutes about how advertising could work for him.
The contract, signed, was a proof of existence, a sort of message from the other side.
Perhaps, I hadn't been in contact with the spirit world after all.
Telesales is real...really.
Not being John Wayne.
I sort of knew that my parents had not actually ceased to exist when I was at boarding school.
Their weekly letters, I suppose, were supposed to be proof of a deep attachment.
I was deeply attached.
I was not actually sure whether to be happy or to cry.
I became aphone.
They became aphone.
I have proof that they have ceased to exist now...of sorts.
They still talk to me.
Maybe I am in touch with the spirit world.
I am still deeply attached.
Maybe Amazonian Indians are in touch with my parents too?
Not being John Wayne.
I used to change my name.
Nobody used to challenge my alias.
I was another.
......
I am another now.
I am insaisissasable. (oh dear I can't spell that b. word)
I can't think of another word for NOW.
French will have to do.
I am not what you imagine.
I am not what I imagine.
I am not John Wayne.
I am not a missionary.
I am not an Indian.
I have no proof of my continuing existence.
I live in a spirit world.
I will be your Indian.
No!
Really!
Indians say 'How' and then they die.
Footnotes.
This piece was inspired by many close distant friends and two great blog posts linked here:
Autumm Caines.
A Sort of “In Love”: What is it About Play?
Maha Bali
I wanted to copy a quote via Catherine Cronin here for future reference. (can't remember why).
“The internet does not produce a new kind of identity, but has instead been instrumental in raising awareness that identities were more multiple, culturally contingent and contextual than had previously been fully appreciated.”
Ah yes, now I do...
