WAIT, WHAT?

"You ever hear of this guy, Carl Feldman or Fieldman or something? He died in like the late 70s or early 80s. He lived in Chicago I think."

"No."

"Anyway, I have some of his stuff at home. I'll let you borrow them sometime. Only a tiny bit of his work has ever been published. I think Sean Penn or maybe Tom Waits bought up the rights to the rest, I don't know. I heard someone's working on a documentary now. But there were only like three or four hundred ever printed. My friend, Dan, gave them to me as a wedding gift. They're just these cheap little pamphlets, saddle stapled, you know. You really gotta see this shit. This dude was fucking nuts. He decided to make his entire life a work of art, a performance. He left home at like 16 or 17 years of age and never spoke to his family ever again. He was terrible with numbers but he forced himself to work in finance. He did everything opposite of how he would actually live himself. He pretended to like cats. He hated baseball but he never missed a Cubs game. He ate mostly things he didn't like, you know, all sorts of stuff like that. You really gotta check it out. And so he was a straight man and he got married to some women, I forget where they met, but he didn't love her at all. But then, you know, they had kids and all of that, but then he decides to start having all these gay lovers on the side. And so at one point, he intentionally allows himself to get caught, you know, just to see how it would all play out. I mean, it's incredible!"

"I don't get it. I mean, like how,... I mean, what's the actual art?"

"His whole fucking life was a work of art! Everything! He believed in none of it! It was all a performance. He would listen to like just whatever pop music there was but he really loved jazz. But he forced himself to never listen to it. He never did anything for himself, he never once pursued anything that was inside of him. It's like he sacrificed himself for this crazy art piece."

"But what did he do? I mean, how is that art?"

"Oh, yeah, so, he just sort of did like these simple stick figure panels. They're like sort of penciled comics of just like this every day bullshit. And there's mostly just this mundane dialog that goes along with it. They say he recorded every encounter he had ever had in his entire life since he left home. Every word he ever spoke and every word anyone had ever spoken to him. But there's nothing else. There's no other thoughts on the matter. Nothing. No internal dialog or anything. It just is what it is. It's like the first real reality show sort of, but it's all a hoax in this incredible way."

"But wait, then how would anyone know he wasn't gay? You said he had these gay lovers on the side and all of that, I mean, I don't get it. It doesn't make sense. And then he had kids so I'm assuming he loved his kids right? I mean, I really don't get it. Or how would anyone know he liked jazz if he never tells you he liked jazz?"

"Hmmm, yeah, I guess you're right. That wouldn't really make sense would it? Yeah, cause if you have kids and you love your kids then that sort of messes the whole thing up? I don't know, I gotta really work on this. It's kind of a funny thing to think about though, right? Someone actually doing that?"

"Wait, what?"

"No, wait, I GOT IT! He writes this long letter for everyone to read after his death, a manifesto."

"Dude, you made that whole thing up? I'm serious, man, I think you really need to talk to somebody."

"Yeah, well, I can't find anyone around here that takes my insurance."