It all started okay. I was in love with everyone secretly, including
all of the members of Duran Duran. My best friend, Carrie, spent
most of her time time wrapping both of us up in her shit, but at
least it kept me occupied. At least she was around, then.
While my previous summer was spent going to church camp (even
though I was an atheist) and getting high on the adrenaline of
sitting next to a boy in the dim light of the bonfire while we all
sang "Kumbaya" (literally), the summer of '83 started in Carrie's
basement, experimenting with every "gateway" form of rebellion
we could find. We listened to the Sex Pistols, "Never Mind the
Bullocks, Here's the Sex Pistols", Psychedelic Furs and The Tubes -
or Robin Plan on our local radio station, WRBA. We smoked
menthol cigarettes, popped caffeine pills and diet pills, and tried
altering our hair color with bleach, peroxide, and lemon juice.
And we decorated ourselves with safety pins like rhinestones on
Elvis.
I made progress in the pursuit of boys - even had a real boyfriend
for a while - but it didn't exactly come with harp music and fairies.
By then, I was already too punk for love. Besides, the field was
too wide. It was hard for me to distinguish between the guys
right in front of me and all the other shiny objects that sparkled
in the distance. Adding to that confusion was a brush with fame
on the set of "Grandview U.S.A.", a motion picture that was
filmed in nearby Pontiac, Il. I was hired as a dancer for a music video
scene, and spent three days on the set. A real kiss, off-camera,
between myself and up-and-coming John Cusack, reinforced my
belief that all things were possible. It also shot my head so far
up into the clouds, it was impossible for the other, (hopefully)
more grounded people around me to get a lock on my coordinates.
By the end of the summer, everything started changing and falling
apart. My brother headed to college in Urbana, leaving me alone
in the house with my dad. That was okay, but ultimately pretty
lonely. Carrie dropped out of school and took off for Urbana as
well. That was the beginning of the end for us. So I started
making my own trouble, instead of living vicariously through
her. For entertainment, I had moved on to clove cigarettes, pot,
and alcohol -- mostly in a weekend warrior sort of way. I still
held my own in school, to varying degrees of success. True, I
had alienated some friends, but I had no trouble finding others
who were willing to dance in altered dreamtime with me.
By November, however, depression had taken root. Too much
had changed, in too short a time. Then the poems came. Different,
this time. Much more raw. And every day, just pouring out of me.
The vision had arrived. It held me, consoled me, screamed for me,
witnessed me, and carried me through to a better day. 1983 had
come in as a unicorn, dancing on a rainbow of Dionysian pop
fantasies. It went out on the razor's edge, in a haze of confusion,
at a loss for explanation, but not a loss for words...
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