Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Please leave a message...
Like A Puppet on a String
… Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. BEEEEP…
Look, you told me to call so I know you’re there… I just don’t know where THERE is… this phone number is new to me. Where are you?
So don’t pick up! Maybe you’ll listen to me this way since you haven’t listened to me yet.
We’ve talked about this. Don’t be a blockhead… just listen.
Show business is a hard, compromising life. Nothing is real. Sure, you’re good now but they’ll string you out. That old song and dance wears thin. You are floating on air one-day and swallowed up the next. They’ll say you’re one of a kind… the best... anything to make a buck at your expense. They don’t give a damn about you… you’re just their meal ticket. They’ll suck the sap out of you, I promise.
Those so-called friends of yours… don’t they have a home? That’s a bad bunch you’re hanging out with… bad influences, all of them. The world isn’t your own private carnival. And that con man you call the big boss… he’ll make a jackass out of you, ears to tail.
You smelled of smoke when I last saw you… SMOKE. Don’t you know cigars will kill you? I knew you were drinking too… I saw it in your eyes… heard it in your voice. Sometimes I think you’re dumber than a stack of sticks.
You are adrift now… and soon you’ll be swallowed up by a monstrous ego; overwhelmed in the belly of the beast you call the real world. Is that what you want? I can’t believe you would say yes.
You wouldn’t say yes, would you?
Are you listening to me? Pick up if you’re there… or not.
And don’t be sticking your nose in everyone else’s business. That nosey thing of yours will bring you nothing but trouble. These people don’t care about you… but we do. I’m your best friend. We are family.
The path you are on will NEVER set you free. It will never make you real. I’ll promise you one thing for sure… if you don’t change your ways, you can kiss your maker goodbye.
You are so naïve… greener than a limb from that fruit tree in your own back yard. Look… I don’t want to be your conscience. I want to be your friend… no strings attached.
We’re worried sick about you… waiting for you to sand away those rough edges of your life and get on with it. We pray you’ll find your way home. We’re going crazy looking everywhere for you, but we really don’t have a clue.
So a little help please. Give us a hint… where are you? It hurts to know you’re awash on stormy seas and totally sucked in. Talk to us… if you can.
FOR GOD’S SAKE, PICK UP THE PHONE…
Geppetto, Figaro and Cleo miss you terribly… and I do too. I remember the first time we met:
“Did you say your name was Jiminy Cricket?” you asked. “I didn’t know crickets could talk.”
And up to then, Pinoch, I didn’t know puppets could either.
It’s time to get real Pinocchio. We love you. We miss you. Come home.