The Golden Suicides: All about the tragic deaths of paranoid art-media-hipsterz Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake,
Which I discovered thanks to a namecheck by David Berman in Bitchdork, and which, initially, after reading that Jeremy and Theresa were ex-DC-punkx, made me think first off that their lives were a perfect illustration of Why I Never Felt Comfortable Around the DC Punk Scene. Most DC punks in the 80s and early 90s were Going Places, they would become artists or moguls or travelers in ways my provincial, scared mind couldn't comprehend because Ppl where I came from didn't roll that way. I worked my tail off in Flyovernowhereland just to get to the place that was merely the Fugazi set's jumping-off spot for the Bigger and Better Life. I felt bad about myself back then, because deep down I thought it was my own mind imposing those limits on myself, that if I'd simply been braver or more reckless or gave less of a shit (like my mother when she was young, for instance) I too could have gone bopping around, seen the world, tried different careers, not worried so much abt finishing night skewel or how I would pay rent, been an Entrepreneur instead of some flunky in a factory. I wanted all that and yet I must have Not wanted it at least 51 percent cuz I dint do it. My nerves simply couldn't handle any further expansion. I shot my wad just getting and staying out of Ohio.
Oh sure, I'm all over the place Now, I'm bad, I'm real cool, but look how many years it took me to get to that point. I didn't have the tools when I was young, and I was jealous of all the middle-class-and-up people down here who did, who seemed to have emerged from the womb as pre-fab Douglas Coupland Global Youth. Some, perhaps many, of them had rich daddies or connections to an Ivy, but enuf of 'em didn't. It was just a different mindset...
But Theresa Duncan...she didn't appear to be born to it either. She was from frickin' Podunk, Michigan. Which is undoubtedly why she mocked the DC punk chicks of the late 80s, buncha frumpy asses that they were. I remember quite well how terrible they looked compared to back home, where everyone was beautiful on a Saturday night, because Beautiful and Dressed-up were important things to be in the midst of the waste land, where before I had a boyfriend I could be mesmerised just looking at all the lovely underground girls. (And yes, there were girls, in droves. The Clepunk guys don't remember half the time cuz I imagine they were too drunk to notice. Me, I was always sober then.)
So Theresa must have had some resources, some chutzpah that I and a lot of other people from the rust belt lacked. (I haven't checked to see if she had a Rich Daddy at home.) And yet how'd she end up? If this article is to be believed, as a mentally disturbed largely broke part-time drunk whose career was slippin'. Hey, just like most everybody back home in Michigan...or Ohio! And now ded, like a lot of those ppl get. She might as well have stayed home. I'm still here, though, and some days I'm not sure what to make of that, except that the exams, literally and figuratively, never seem to stop.