GQ claims that it has found a rare volume of poetry, apparently self-published in the early 1990s, of a little-known actor and well-known public spectacle named Charlie Sheen, titled “A Peace of My Mind.”
The style of the poetry seems to have been more inspired by Alan Ginsberg than by Tennyson or Browning. While one leaves to other people to make any judgment of the literary quality of the verses penned by the younger Sheen, the often gross and violent imagery offers a glimpse into the mind of Charlie Sheen.
Part one of the GQ article offers the following from “A Thoughtless Soul”:
“As he pulled his head,
From the drool stained pillow,
His eyes blood red,
His oxygen shallow.
“Feet on carpet,
That pain to fight,
These are the effects,
Of another night.
“A night of drink,
A night of hate,
A night as dark,
As last nights date.”
This is clearly not the portrait of the man who is winning all the time, thumbing his nose at convention, and puffing himself up to the amazement of various interviewers and the gap-mouthed astonishment of the television audience. The last stanza of the poem is especially brutally honest.
“Yet masking truth and hiding pain,
Will surely take it’s toll,
Will he unto others, or to himself,
Remain a thoughtless soul?”
This is clearly a self-portrait of a man who knows that he is on the highway to Hell and is not certain whether he is going to get off or not. It is not the Charlie Sheen we know today, filled with denial and self-absorption. Sadly, the subsequent years seem to have answered the last two lines of the verses.
Part 2 of the GQ piece displays a poem called “I.D. Blues” in which Sheen describes the annoyance of being a public celebrity.
“‘Excuse me, aren’t you…?’
‘Hey, you look just like…’
‘Oh my God, that’s…’
‘Sorry to interrupt your dinner, but aren’t you…’
‘Look, I never do this, but, my wife thinks you’re…’
‘My friend is so convinced that you’re…’
‘I’m so embarrassed, but, aren’t you…?’
‘I know you must be tired of this, but…’
‘WAIT!!’
All eyes held in stare, all mouths locked open in shock, as he pulled the latex Charlie Sheen mask from his head, revealing the rotted skull of President Lincoln.”
What is Sheen trying to tell us with the last two lines? The lead up clearly is a self-portrait of what he has had to put up with in public from adoring fans who believe they have a right to his time whenever he eats out or goes shopping. Is he expressing a wish to be dead? Or to be President Lincoln? Or is he suggesting that the adulation he gets (or at least got) is more deserving of a dead President Lincoln than a live Charlie Sheen?
Maybe this latest course of self-immolation is nothing more than a middle finger pointed toward the people who have accosted Sheen in order to gush over the years. Self-loathing and self-doubt is somewhat common in the famous, especially in those who act or perform for a living. This may be a reason that so many find themselves in rehab. They get so much in the wages of fame and they think they don’t deserve it. So there is only one way to tilt the balance and that is to publicly destroy themselves in full few of their adoring public. That may well be the secret to the Hell Charlie Sheen finds himself in.
Sources: The Selected Poetry Of Charlie Sheen (Yes, Actual Poetry He Actually Wrote.), GQ, March 2nd, 2011
