Character Interview by Rosalind
Channing Cutler Jacobs (A.K.A – C.C)
“What is it in life that makes you the most angry?”
“Depends on the day really. Your grudges can crawl over one another like wild rats in a fish tank, but I find that waking up with something new is what keeps my anger from becoming too stale. After awhile emotions like fury get too old to be passionate, especially when you let two things overlap. I’m not saying I forgive and forget, but I suppose I push things back to where they don’t feel as deeply. It’s like a storage locker, you fill it up and you make room for more, but that payment still keeps coming out of your wallet each and every month.”
“What is it in life that you fear the most?”
“Fear is something that takes effort I don’t have. You always hear about people being afraid of falling ill or dying young, but death rarely scares those hopeless in life.”
“What is your biggest problem?”
“What isn’t? Or does that sound too lazy? Hell, I don’t care. People tell me it may just be myself. I believe it’s my mother and my father; though it changes which one of them is worse by the day. Sometimes the anger I hold is the stone I wish to throw at my mother, but other days the hate all comes to gravitate to the old man. Maybe it’s because they’re the reason I’m here, and gratitude doesn’t come often for this life. They always seem too carless about my problems. As if my anger is my own fault, which everyone always seems to agree with. Maybe I place blame, but I think that’s just human nature.
“Who is your biggest enemy?”
“Myself? Yeah, that’s a question, not an answer, because maybe I’m not sure because I don’t want that responsibility. The easy answer is all my brothers, my whole family on a bad day. My brothers are the ones to take the cake on a normal day. The problem is that we’re cutthroat. These people sit across from me at the dinner table each and every evening, I sleep below one of them in a bunk bed at night, but I’d never be the one to take the bullet. I think that I can speak for just about all of them when I say this. We are brother’s by genetic default, everything else just doesn’t seem to matter that much. My family has in fact been known to prey.
“When you find yourself lying awake late at night, what is it that you believe is keeping you up?”
“I have been known for my covetous nature, and sometimes this gluttony can be awfully consuming. Many of the nights I have been stricken with spouts of maddening insomnia, I find the causes behind it simply vary based upon what it is I yearn for into my pillow under that specific moon. I’m not satisfied, because my middle class life is quite low. Or maybe, I just have been cursed with greed, and I will always linger on what I want, even if it means losing sleep.”
“Who is your greatest love?”
“Zoe Juliet Martins; more beautiful than Aphrodite the goddess of beauty herself. Nothing on or off this earth could be as sweet. She’s like the waves of the ocean. She’s powerful, but sacred. She is as precious as stone, and she is my greatest love. I feel in love with her for the fact that she is everything I barely will ever be. She is every element of the earth, and when I kiss her I taste life. She is animated; she is lit; as if she’s a firework, a sparkler, a bonfire. I don’t believe I will ever be able to prove this to her, so maybe this makes my love a sham. She certainly doesn’t believe it now. She’s life and I’m death, she’s awake when I’m asleep, she may not always love me, but I will always love her, even if she doesn’t know it.
“What about yourself do you hate the most?”
“I think sometimes I get too caught up in the secondary things of my problems. Like, I could say that I hate my weight, because I do, I really do. I could say I hate my thoughts, because the things I think can hurt. I could say I hate my vices, my addictions, my obsessions, because they’re part of this hell. I really suppose I could say I hate a lot of things about myself, but what I hate the most, I just can’t seem to figure out right now.”
“If you were asked to paint your life in one picture, what would it look like? What colors would you use? Why?”
“Shut your eyes while I explain it, so you can picture it better. I think I might do the same. It would be a picture drawl either in pencil or ink. A family of nine black rats would be sitting at a dining room table. The one at the head of the table is holding a knife and fork, carving up a dead bird or something that was scavenged from the street above. The setting is a sewer, dripping with green gunk and human waste, and the carpet is made of newspaper while the chandelier is made of spare change and paper clips. That fat rat with the pitiful look on his face, you already know who that is, and he’s got a plate full of garbage. None of them look to one another, but each of them hold one knife, while also baring a second one right in the center of their backs placed there by the rat next to them. The perfect representation of my family and my life really. Just a bunch of savaging rats, stabbing each other in the backs.
“Whom do you pray to at night?”
“And why would it even matter? Most nights I’m too busy in hazy discussions with inner demons that only I am able to hold enough understanding of to worship. Maybe as my brother always states, I am my own God, only because I am unable to accept the formula of anything above what is working for me right now, and it sure isn’t a God or prayer. Maybe I feel as though I can’t be helped, or maybe faith exhausts me. Or quite possibly, maybe I just think much too highly of my own humanity to believe in anything that may sit in a bigger throne. Whatever the reason might be, the form of this answer that could be taken more simply is no one. I pray to no one at night.”