Throughout the night Lidia, Chelsea and Chuck read their potent pieces and throw out souvenirs to the crowd–teddy bears and baby dolls and just the heads of baby dolls. And somehow toy intestines (see image above).
One million times I think of yelling Mommy! Mommy! to Lidia, my child-like fascination with her echoed by the toys they toss.
These people don’t need a gimmick. They’re gods, not people. They’re not like us. They should know just their presence is enough. But I guess they have to get their kicks too. All these shows feeling the same after time.
You should’ve seen the way these kids were clawing and begging for more toys. Lidia told one girl, You’ve have enough. Look at you, you have like fucking five.
Mommy! Over here! I scream inside my head.
Later, I leave the show with nothing but my covered-up shaven legs, and Dora: A Headcase, unsigned. I hadn’t even caught Lidia’s eye.
I round the west corner of the WOW Hall, thinking of how I’d taken Chuck Palahniuk for an uber-eccentric, maybe a little self-centered at the worst, I mean he was famous and all that…but that wasn’t Chuck had come off. Not at all. He came off as a gentle spirit, more than just a writer, but quietly charismatic too…
there’s Chuck in my peripheral vision, exiting the back door to escape the crowd…both of us in our silk robes, his–red, mine–black.
Lucky. Fucking. Me.
“Thank you,” I say, gesturing with a nonchalant nod.
“Have a good night,” Chuck tells me.
A bum sitting on a nearby tree stump parrots Chuck’s words as I pass: Have a good night, Have a good night. My mind is already doing the same as I head home sober as a whistle and starstruck.