by Robert Jevne
Fame is a magical cloak that we as observers of one sort or another put upon performers of one sort or another whether they like it or not. It is a projection of our own mostly irrational desires and bears no relation to the quality of the person we project it upon. It is extracurricular of their chosen profession and I imagine for some, it must seem like a burden at times, while for others it becomes an entitlement and an excuse. Fame’s perverting influence is a disorder not exclusive to the famous but in fact more endemic to and virulent in those I would call the fame-ish. It is a form of madness in those hovering around the fringes of success which manifests itself in bad behavior in public places.
We didn’t have time to acknowledge that we recognized him although I‘m sure we both did. The steps we were standing on were narrow, we stood aside, smiling, I’m sure, as we had nothing against him, to let him pass. In order to show his appreciation of our exemplary manners and doubtless to acknowledge my sport-coat as well he pointed past us and said: “The street’s that way, ya fags” And kept on walking without a worry in the world.
Fame? Some people can wear it well, I guess. On others it hangs like a cheap pink striped sport-coat.
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