Elizabeth Hanson

My Poor Arthur

Michael Springer

(Since Goodreads doesn't have much info on this, I'm gonna have to be non-meta for a moment and mention this is a biography of the poet Arthur Rimbaud.)

***Hello?

*Is it you?

***Umm, you'll have to be more specific.

*Christina Ricci?

***(Laughter) Ah...no. Sorry. Seances can't communicate with the spirits of living actresses. Actually, this is YOU. Twelve years from now. Hi. 

*That's bizarre. How do you know who I am?

***Because, twelve years ago when I was 17, I held a seance with some friends and tried to communicate with Christina Ricci. It didn't work. 

*Ah. That makes total sense. Let's not analyze that any further. So, 29-year-old Michael, what can you tell me about my future?

***Without fucking anything up? Probably nothing. But we'll test our luck. First off, unless you start doing even more stupid shit than you're doing right now, you're gonna make it to 29. 

*That's a bit of a surprise. Will I be a famous published writer?

***Nope. You'll be writing in your free time while you work at a bank.

*Oh, god. A bank?

***Yep. Out in Arizona.

*A bank in the desert?

***Yep.

*Will I be part of a commune in Arizona? Like, growing my own food, brewing my own beer, writing nature poetry?

***Uhh . . . No. You will eat organically, though.

*That sounds totally lame. I sound like. . . well, I sound like The Man. The Establishment.

***Well, you won't be nearly as infatuated with Jim Morrison or Arthur Rimbaud. Self-destruction won't seem like a valid way of NOT BECOMING The Man. You'll end up thinking Jack Kerouac is a bit of a hack. 

*NO! NEVER!!!

***Oh, yes, young Michael. Yes. Think about it: are you more interested in Rimbaud's life, or in his poetry?

* . . . . 

***That's what I thought.

*That doesn't mean his poetry isn't brilliant!

***You haven't even READ most of it. But you've read complete biographies of his life, and written reports on him. 

*But--

***Think about it this way: Rimbaud ends up throwing in the towel and getting a job, doesn't he?

*Well, yeah, he sells out!

***What does that even mean? Are you a sell-out?

*No!

***You work at Kay-Bee Toys, stocking shelves. You live at your parents' house, and you write a lot of poetry. Granted, you have big dreams of ridin' the rails, and taking peyote, and becoming some kind of mystic . . . instead, you'll go to college, get some poetry published, switch to fantasy fiction, fall in love, get married, and . . . be happy.

*I'll be happy?

***Yes. Eventually, you'll discover they have drugs that make you feel better.

*Ecstacy? Heroin?

***Zoloft. 

*Hmmm. Zoloft isn't very badass.

***Speaking of "not very badass," you're also going to quit smoking. 

*Fuck, man, you're gonna make me cry! I mean, the "happy" part sounds good--

***Suddenly, when you hit twenty-one and realize your age doesn't stop going up, and it really sinks in that you are going to get older, you'll realize you don't want to be Jim Morrison or Rimbaud. You don't want to be strung out at thirty, not to mention that isn't really a valid way to fight the system.

*Then, how can you fight the system?

***Political activism. Knowledge. Being a contrarian, and never believing something just because it's what you've been told. Or trying not to, at any rate. 

*That sounds too much like dad.

***Maybe he knows more than you think he does.

*Just SHUT UP! Holy shit! 

***Don't worry: you'll never be conservative. Just remember that it's easy to feel like a rebel when you drink yourself stupid and idealize self-destruction. But it's cowardly, when you get down to it. What did Jack Kerouac accomplish? He wrote one book that people remember the name of. 

*It was the IDEA of Jack Kerouac that really mattered, though.

***Thanks for proving my point.

*What?

***Image is nothing. Thirst is everything. Remember that. 

*Is that supposed to be a joke? 

***Take my advice and skip the next few years of your development by realizing that you don't get closer to reality by taking chemicals that alter your brain chemistry. 

*I'm sorry, but I'm done listening to you. I can tell you aren't really me. You're some malicious spirit, prank-seancing me.

***Ah, so that's why this doesn't cause a butterfly effect . . . 

*What?

***Oh, nothing. Anyway, good talking to you, younger me.

*Whatever, evil spirit. Bye.

My Poor Arthur

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