Another week gone by and no one’s been murdered by a mentally ill person? The lunatics are off their game, better put God back in his heaven and make all right with the world, slackers.
I’ll tell you what’s been eating me. Some asshat blast from my past 2 weeks ago, after shaking through this I go over to Pandagon for my daily visit and oddly enough see a post up about WOXY, a freeform modern rock station I worked at for four years. Now I’ve been a crusader for commercial radio since age thirteen and set out to rehabilitate every station I’ve ever worked at, with deliberation, cards on the table and signed contracts ensuring my unquestioned creative freedom.
If you’re wondering how I got away with how it should be it’s not due to my charm and persuasion but because I had an engineers license and in those days the FCC required an engineer to be on the premises of every radio station 24/7. That was my unique selling proposition, if a station hired me they could make me chief engineer and save a ton of money, but I came with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds as part of the deal, maaaan. Being both a disc jockey AND engineer was near unheard of, and I used it as leverage in medium markets throughout the midwest and we had a good run, but decent radio is dead and I deplore its corporate takeover and the pigstains who destroyed it. So I rant vengeance at Pandagon about the demise of WOXY, next day the program director shows up, and with his first post at Pandagon huffs and puffs that he has no idea who the fuck I am. I play there, idiot who the hell are you? He says I can see by your blog you have a screw loose. I tell him there are 8,000 radio stations in America and I’ve shit on none of them, sleep well, wrecker.
He pats me on the head, behave, calm down, WOXY is in the past, 1989, time to let it go, You’re upset Robin, sorry I upset you. Try not to kill anyone, mental patient, cuz after all was said and done there was a reason management had to change the locks.
There it is, stigma, upfront and without apology. He may be a smarmy sumbitch but he is far from easily dismissible, he’s a mirror, the paper that brings the news. Speaks to why we are on our own, and why so few of us are out of the closet. I don’t want to calm down. Prejudice is based on ignorance and ignorance is more dangerous than I’ll ever be.
I’ve never wrestled with coming out of the closet, back in ’89 I was a public figure and so disturbed coming out of the closet met me halfway. Let me share with you my criminal past, how things were for me the week they changed the locks.
This comes from my one-shot titled Good-bye Radio, Hello Happiness, written a month after leaving WOXY. A note before reading–I’m okay, don’t worry about me, I have had remarkable therapy and this unbidden turbulence was a part of it, and no longer happens, at least not to the nth degree, but it did, day after day and for fucks sake had I known then that people found me dangerous I would have blown my fucking brains out.
i saw memories today tumbling speeded up like when you shuffle a deck of cards it was like fifty fast images no sequence just flashes it lasts about three minutes and then it stops til the next time when it’s a new deck i’m in all the pictures i can see everything in exact detail but i still don’t have any feelings about any of it lucky me i feel bad for wanting to write about it i am ashamed for just thinking about it why can’t i let sleeping dogs lie i have been walking around in shame even though none of it was my fault i don’t think if being a writer means opening up these channels then maybe i should be doing something else as if i could kneeling between ricky’s legs him slapping my face back and forth back and forth mom pulling my head up from under the faucet slamming my head now against the bathroom wall screaming no running water after ten o’clock me naked standing over ricks face spreading my labia as he beats off babbling “cunt pussy whore stink” etc seven years old lots of hiding under tables and beds cutting myself it seemed like the thing to do shredded draperies fourhundred dollar brand new drapes hanging in jagged strips because someone broke into the house someone was always breaking into the house and doing that stuff she never called the police because SHE was doing it me throwing a kitten against the window screen age twelve wanting to hurt it not knowing why gunbullets flying through the picture window mom yelling hit the floor and we crawl around like that until they stop speeding cars heroin sessions hospitals pacing someone in the room always pacing back and forth sometimes me but usually rick mom kneeling in front of me with a butcher knife begging me to kill myself like I was killing her fucking our german shepherd rickrickrick i saw that age nine letting my hair grow into a massive tangled knot age sixteen i refused to cut it she fixed that me and mom at the emergency room trying to convince the doctor i fell mom shows no remorse but babbles to herself all the way home mindtricks witchcraft black magic deprivation training because “pain makes you strong little girl” rituals constant mindfucking rituals afterwards i’d have to tell her what i learned from them she’d come home after two in the morning wake me up and we’d count the towels together she’d beat me with a broomstick because there were never enough coming home from school and seeing UNFIT MOTHER chalked on the sidewalk in big white letters so we’d throw garbage in all the neighbors yards the boys would light fires rick would light himself on fire sometimes cops breaking into the house at all hours beating my brothers we fought back it made us closer in car with bestdad he pulls onto shoulder moves next to me and wordlessly pops the whiteheads on my arms and legs then resumes driving ricky always in the hospital in restraints ricky in prison for life sexparties sexshows insidious sexmomsex even the good-dads coming after me mom jealous not protective jealous accusing me age eight age nine ten etc sexsexsex mom not protective not safe not good but sometimes with her index finger she’d trace idle invisible circles on the back of my hand over and over we’d look into each others eyes and i knew i could tell that she KNEW in that odd moment drawing concentric circles on my hand it gave me lots to think about like why doesn’t she stop maybe she cantstop in other words i’m dead, no no i’ll make her stop i’ll be good.
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