looked
in the mirror that morning
I couldn't see my face
ok, so I escaped the state
of yesterday's escapades
and it saved me a shave
but I was worried
I've got used to the booze in my cheeks
the bags crammed to bursting from not enough sleep
I may sometimes resemble a piece of grit
sped out the vagina of a diseased elephant
but it's my grit, goddamn it
that morning- how I missed it…
I felt muted, diluted
if I didn't know better I'd swear I'd been neutered
a smash and grab raid on my inscrutable barricade
and my face looted
no reflection on myself
or so I thought
I just can't place my face
cut to footsteps on floor
cut to knock on door
cut to soap opera producer- tells me I've been replaced
we do it all the time, he says
we've still got faith in the premise of a you- your actual being
but we no longer empathise with what we are seeing
three out of four people surveyed
say/ they've lost confidence in the way/ you're portrayed
you no longer interact well with others
you're particularly unpopular with the elderly and single mothers
people are going off you faster than they are Big Brother
that hurt…
he brings in a guy
who looks like me
the hair, the beard, the clothes
Christ, you'd think it was 1973
he's uncomfortable to meet me and meek
looks about five years younger with a better physique
he's introduced as the new Ash: the 'Flash Ash'
the old Ash, this Ash, is yesterdays news
I've been recast, not up to the task, out in the trash
I take a second to
question
what's left for me, now that I cease to be?
soap opera man puts a pamphlet in my hand
'So you used to be you...'
it's mainly adverts, he says as they leave
but it'll tell you what to do
no hard feelings
but it's all about the ratings
the pamphlet lists
directions to a bar
situated in a part of town like a dead star
where once had been such light
now terminally dark
this is where we go when we’re extinguished
when we’re finished
inside I see a girl
I think I recognise
look past the empty eyes/ to my first girlfriend
before she started importing her moods/ in itty-bitty cubes
"I don't recall when I was last truly myself"
she says and walks away
so this is where we go when we're extinguished
when we're finished
inflicted, unscripted
the alienated, the addicted
those who lost the plot
since rewritten for another's shot
a life misspent, it seems
was merely mine on rent
over the next few
weeks
I view the new Ash through the big bay window
where we all go/ to watch what we once were on the streets below
and I see all the cues I missed
I had some good lines but fluffed them all
came in too late or sometimes not at all
I'd become a walk-on part in my own film
a bad actor in the role I was born to play
write me anew! I shout at the walls
take two!
put me in the arms of the lovers I mistreated
take me back to all the people I cheated
but most of all- return me/ to me
at which point soap
opera man re-enters the scene
tell me I'm redeemed, tell me I'm clean
tell me I can reprise this me
but I can't…
the new Ash is doing
a first-rate job-
he's the ideal depiction
has a lovely, steady girlfriend
and writes engaging adult fiction
eats five portions of fruit and veg a day
but he's also unimaginably hip
he's the person I could have been/ if only I'd read my script
still, it seems an
opening had come up for me
strangely, I'm now my own stunt double
I come into my own when Ash is in trouble
you never see him and I
in the same room at the same time
we still look-a-like
though if he cuts his hair I must cut mine
it's not bad pay and the hours I don't mind
I may not get the acknowledgements
but there's less pressure in being anonymous
I'm binned
but not beaten
as I said to my agent the other day after we'd eaten
this'll do for now, but lets look around
thousands of people having trouble with their lines
dismissive of the signs
drifting, destructing
you think there's room for complacency
you fuck up long enough
there'll be a vacancy
I only found myself
when it was too late/ to resuscitate
took my seat with popcorn for the feature
to find I'd missed the flick and had no future
keep telling yourself you're underselling yourself
this is no screen test or cameo
for when your torpor takes its toll
and the credits roll
you'll realise this is a part you lost all chance of landing
work on your character, my friend
because we're queuing around the block
to be
your
stand-in
copyright Ash Dickinson