To hell with “living well.” Revenge is the best revenge.
Some say creativity is fueled by sublimated lust, but what gets me into the “zone” is the juvenile, ultimately soul-destroying desire to give the world the metaphorical finger.
Maybe its’ the “revenge of the nerds” impulse, mixed with a Napoleon complex, and an unhealthy sprinkling of free floating, anti-authoritarian resentment. Whatever.
I know full well that if I were to really go back to my high school reunion the way I always did in my cheesy Grade 10 fantasies — stepping out of a limo, wearing a floor-length mink – the fact is, nobody would even remember who the hell I was anyhow.
I still don’t care.
(And those stunts can backfire, as Janis Joplin discovered. What she didn’t get is that letting yourself die means the losers win.)