Whispers to Shouts

My apartment, The 'Pent, was once a wonderful place to interact
With all the people I loved and admired.
They spoke to me through the cameras/microphones in the sprinkler heads above
Watching my every move, every shower, every masturbation
And admiring.

My lovely psychiatrist, with the runner's body and kind smile, was madly in love with me
And wanted to move quickly down to the Berkshires
Once she got a divorce from her surgeon and we settled on a house.
She told me so through the sprinkler. It's true.
And Tina Fey wanted to hire me for her new show "30 Rock"
"Don't worry" she explained, "All writers are weird", so she knew I'd fit right in down there in Manhattan.
Al Franken once told me, direct,
That "If the internet is the most important communication device and (I) was the most important voice on the internet,
Then it stood to reason that (I) was the most important person on the planet."
His words, not mine.

And I was shining.
This is 2006 and early 2007, the height of my drinking days.
President Bush was in Kennebunkport for a family member's wedding one of those summers
And patched himself through to The 'Pent.
"Hey King", I said to him, trying to be funny by echoing Jim Thorpe.
The President laughed at my wit and thought me a good guy.

All in all, pretty fucking cool to meet and greet the most famous and talented people on the planet.
And they all liked me, thankfully.
At least now someone knew how damn nice I was.

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The voices generally disappeared after I gave up the beer and wine following my arrest in the spring of 2007
But sometimes they come back.
If I catch myself hearing people talking about me when I am home alone, I scold them/me for being crazy.
Tonight is one of those nights.
Just now: "He's got a nice body, but he's no bodybuilder", I heard from the Barron Center next door.
I know this is not real, is not happening.
It cannot be reality, which I want to remain a part of
Despite the attraction of my past madness.