Curse of “Celebrity”
My life holds a duality, two frames in one. The first part is me, the second, a dragon in the lair. Both selves exist simultaneously, assuming the same frame, holding the same place in time and consciousness. However, one holds significantly more power than the other. For perception is the lens through which light passes.
“So, what do you do?” The classic American question. The D.C. gambit to categorize, extract, co-opt, and consume. How do I answer this? Of what should I say?
It always depends on the answer, for Schrödinger's cat is an ever present phenomenon in my life. If I say “I’m a writer, I’ve written 40 books,” the insanity begins. The clinging on, the obsession, the probes, the assumption of wealth… it’s always the same. Dismissal or obsession, indifference or opportunistic elation, whichever should I choose? Then I hear the cat, it scratches silently in the box. It is contained, safe, non-violent, but if I tell the truth, it flips, somersaults, becomes unstable.
Look, I just want money, not celebrity or fame… I need to run away. Flee the society that constantly coerces me to do that which I have no interest in doing. The goal is to write books that do not sell. Society’s goal is to extract as much as possible from me until I gain a terminal disease, whereupon at which point, the merchants and bankers will pillage me at maximum capacity until I am dead, or can no longer produce interest bearing payments to their insidious, debt ridden institutions.
The only way being a celebrity could even be remotely useful to me, would be through the acquisition of printed money controlled by the Federal Reserve, enforced by the IRS, and backed by the U.S. Military. Yes, the rigged dominance game cloaked in, “civility” and “opportunity.”
“You might just have to play the game,” is something I’ve heard many times from various people in my life. This is a statement of fact, not a fairytale. Yet for some reason, I continue to resist reality. Resist the cold plunge into the river. Resist the despotic beating I’ve sought to avoid for so long. My hair is pulled, I am being dragged. Paws and hind legs scrape the concrete as I resist the inevitable. I’m biting now, but they’ve knocked out my teeth. Hissing and spitting blood, recoiling as the collar grows ever tighter. I slide, I slide upon my hide. The fur is peeling, and I am squealing from the agony of it.
This is not how things were supposed to turn out. I was supposed to work as a contractor in New Mexico, get a small house with a one car garage, and ride in peace upon my motorcycle through the Sierra Mountains. Every day, this would be the way life would be lived. This is how life should be lived. Not the nasty air polluted city that I currently find myself in. It would seem that I’ve started to make a variety of left turns in life. Left, left, left, left, and there I go again, back where I started. What the hell is going on?
Hello! We’re D.J. Hoskins
We are Davena and Jason Hoskins, co-authors of 40+ books and siblings who write under the pseudonym D.J. Hoskins. Three years apart and in our twenties, we have been fascinated by stories from a young age. Davena is a student attending Princeton University, and Jason attends Georgetown University.
