Benjamen Walker's Theory of Everything - Not Soon Enough

Episode Date: December 11, 2013

This week your host tries to break through to the other side using the art of John Singer Sargent as a… jumping off point. Also we get an update from our corespondent Peter Choyce. When we last heard from Peter (in “admissions of defeat”) he was heading to rehab, he is now free and living in the woods in North Carolina.

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Episodes every other week at neverpo.st and wherever you find pods. You are listening to Benjamin Walker's Theory of Everything. This episode is called Not Soon Enough. There's this painting that I keep with me, always. It's one of those little postcard reproductions. I've even made a gold frame for it out of balsa wood. The painting is called The Artist in His Studio. It's by John Singer Sargent.

I've brought it with me here to the studio. I have it right here in front of me brought it with me here to the studio. I have it right here in front of me, propped up next to the microphone. The painting depicts a man painting a picture in his studio. But this artist's studio is not an ordinary studio. It is the artist's home. The man has his painting propped up on the bed and the bureau. There is no easel. You get the idea that the only things in the room are the bed, the bureau, and the chair upon which the man sits. The man is confined to extremely small quarters.

The setting is grim, and it contrasts with the painting that the man is working on. A landscape. The man is painting a landscape. Horses meander through a soft green meadow, and the trees are lush and full, and the blue horizon is dotted with clouds. Most Sargent commentators dismiss this painting. They consider it to be nothing but a silly

joke, an artist painting a landscape in his cramped, doleful bedroom. But I consider this painting to be a masterpiece, because it captures the idea that through art, man is able to transcend his dismal, squalid surroundings. This painting is not a joke. This artist is not painting a landscape. This artist is painting a window. Look out this window for a moment. Here, let me move out of this window. I've been told time and time again that I'm wasting my efforts, but I've never given up.

I've always known that there is a way to break the glass and crawl out over the window sill. I've always been certain of it. And I made a vow that I would never give up until I discovered the secret. You're snickering at me. Well, go ahead and laugh. You think I'm crazy for believing that there's something on the other side of this window. Well I'm not. The reality on the other side is just as real as the one we stand in right now.

Sometimes I think it's even more real. But we do not have to go into that now. I have not brought you here to this window to discuss the metaphysics of reality. I have brought you here to this window because I need your help. You see, I believe that I have finally discovered the secret. So, I'm going to go to the other side of the studio now, and I need you to kneel down here in the front. I'm going to count to three,

and on three, I'm going to run towards you, and you are going to lift me into the air. You are going to catapult me through the window. Trust me, this is gonna work. With your help I am going to break the glass and land on the other side. So, on three. One. Two. Three. Three! Oh!

Nothing! Oh! God damn it! Fuck! I had to withdraw from nursing my hand betterment. So, I decided to go into a treatment center. Rehab. I went online, made all these calls, because it was Saturday.

I just took the first person that said they would admit me that day. So I had a friend drive me up to this place, Tarzania, outside of L.A. It's really called Tarzana, Tarzana, but I call it Tarzania because it's next to Jaina. Tarzan, Jaina. But I accidentally incarcerated myself. Tarzania was like jail. I was the only one there on the ward. Didn't have my name written on my neck. And it was no place to withdraw from Crystal. For one week, seven days, I'm withdrawing with no sleep.

People yelling at me. I have to stand in the medline at 9 a.m. Stand in the medline at 9 p.m. I'm not on meds. I'm not on any meds. Why am I in the medline? And it's the world. It's the world. Well, I admitted myself. I'm not on any meds. Why am I in a med lab? And it's the rules. It's the rules. Well,

I admitted myself, I'm not a prisoner. You're in here because you signed this. And now you're in here till we say you can leave. What is that going to be? I have to get out of here. I'm going to stay to withdraw. I can't. I thought I was going to die. I really felt the end was coming. I was in such despair that I actually felt that I was going to lose touch with reality. Did you get the book I sent you? No. Well, I sent it. How did you get out of this place?

I broke out. This is what I did. One morning, I had enough whereforeall to call my friend Tom, an ex-VBC DJ that I still knew that was an ex-mess head that said he put me up for one week and one week only. So I told him to come and get me exactly, it had to be exactly 10 a.m. Why did I say that? Because that's when they wanted to put me in the van to bring me to the 30-day-long sobriety house. What I did was I jumped in the car and I told Tom, drive! He didn't know he was the getaway driver.

I escaped. I escaped out of Tanzania Treatment Center. I had had it. And where did you go after this discharge? I slept 24 hours a day for seven days at Tom's house. He knew what was going on and he let me do it. Then I did what I said I was going to do. I gave him money.

He didn't ask for any. I gave him money. And then I got a trailer. I got my stuff that I threw into storage. And I put the two cats in the car. And it took two weeks, 15 days to go from Los Angeles, 3,400 miles to Asheville, North Carolina. Wow.

This is so amazing, Peter. So what was it like when you started driving away and you had Los Angeles in your rearview mirror? Oh, okay. That's a good question. Dude, when I was in the car, half knowing what to do, hoping it was the right thing,

really scared, two cats in the car, don't know how long I was going to get cross-country with them, were they going to behave? When I saw the spires of Los Angeles in the rearview mirror, I felt this tremendous relief. It was unimaginable. And the longer I drive and the more I thought how I should have left three years ago, how I just got out in time. I'm here having this wonderful life now. I can't believe I was ever in Los Angeles. It was L.A. L.A. put me on drugs.

So where are you right now? I'm in a safe house. High in the mountains, Smoky Mountains, North Carolina. You know what's on my front lawn? What? Peafowl. What's that? You know, wild turkeys. They're called peafowls. Like in that Leonard Cohen song, Trolley Hotel Number One, not Number Two. It's a cabin deep, deep in the woods where I can write.

I wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning. I've written over a thousand pages so far of my book. So are you like in the middle of nowhere? No, I'm not in the middle of nowhere.

I'm in the middle of a very supportive community. There's no billboards here. There's trees and there's everything you need, but not repeated. There's one 7-Eleven. There's one CVS. There's everything you need. There's breweries everywhere. Three dollars for beer. You get beer everywhere. There's no crazy laws. You can smoke anywhere. There's no AA groups. But I'm in a house, and I have to get out of the house after I'm okay. When I'm on my feet, then the next guy moves in here that's in trouble that needs a second shot in life. I have been clean for 60 days.

This is so great, Peter. I am so proud of you. But I have terrible mania. Yeah, I was going to point that out. Is there like maybe a doctor you can go and see? I went to the doctor last Thursday because I didn't hear for 15 days before finally somebody returned my call that received, that would take my Medi-Medicare, Medi-Cage. It's some weird political thing. Apparently, the governor

of North Carolina is as lunatic right-wing creep nitwit as Sarah Palin managed to piss off the federal government so people like me couldn't get their Medicaid. So no doctor was accepting what I have, which is Medicaid, which is what everyone accepts, right? Uh-huh. So it took me a long time. Finally, I found a doctor who returned my call. On Thursday, two days ago, I went to the doctor's office. It was hilarious. You know, you have a... Wait, wait.

It was hilarious. What was hilarious? What? Go ahead, caller. What are you saying? I'm asking you what's so funny about going to the doctor. It was hilarious. Because you have only one half hour with the doctor,

and I had to tell her everything, right? So after I told her what my problem was, which is extreme mania, she said to me, you seem in very bad condition, and it seems like an emergency to me. We should put you in the psych ward today. I can hook you up right now. She thinks I'm nuttier than I am.

She thinks I'm an actual psychotic. You say you're on television? You say you're on the radio? They talk about you on the radio? Are you hearing voices now? I am on the radio. I should have let that out. I'm on TV. No, I shouldn't have said that. They're coming to take me away. He thinks he's on TV. I put the cats in the car and I go across country on no medication.

I was on methamphetamines. I was addicted for eight years. Accelerated use for two years. Everyday use for two years. I don't know what kind of damage I've done to my brain. I didn't say done. I know I speak French. This is amazing. They wanted to put you away. They wanted to put me away, but it wasn't because of everything I said.

It definitely wasn't that. Prior to her, the doctor, I was seeing the nurse. The nurse and I are joking around, and everything's funny, until the nurse tells me that she hunts. I said, you're a hunter? And I was just asking her, I said, you mean you're a killer? She goes, well, I said, and the question I asked was, do you look into the eyes of the deer when you pull the trigger?

I just wanted to know. It was an honest question. She got all offended. Like I asked her about Jesus or something, you know? Oh, my God. And then I got my blood tested. By the killer nurse or someone else? Yes.

I get another nurse who's just trying to be professional. So I don't do any chit-chat with her at all. Except she's taking out this needle to take blood. And I just have a reaction. And then I said off the top of my head, is that a dirty needle? That's clean, isn't it? She goes, of course that's clean.

She gets all insulted again. I'm just asking. I don't know. I don't know where you've been. You know, I'm not into needles like that. Okay, so you have two nurses now telling this doctor that you are a psycho who needs to be committed immediately. So how did you not get carried out of this place in a straitjacket? I became very firm with her. I said, I've been in and out of mental hospitals plenty of times, and they are not very good for you. They stress me out.

They make me worse. They raise my heart. All they do is shove medication at you, and they don't know what they're doing. I know because I used to work as a mental health professional myself. Another thing that makes me sound crazy, but it's true. I said, I'm doing fine. I'm in a cabin six miles deep in the woods. I have pre-fowl on my lawn, wild turkeys and deer. I have two cats to sleep with me in bed and I have my music. I'm fine there. I'm not going to be fine in a mental institution. I'll be going crazy because you take away

the laptop, you take away the music, you're supposed to just sit there, you're supposed to wake up when you, you know. Wait, wait, wait. You have nothing to do all day. I know what a mental institution's like. So how did you get out of the office? How did you get out of the office without getting your ass kicked or getting put away?

Why are you laughing now? The Medicare didn't go through and they wanted me to pay $34. You didn't even pay your bill? How did you get away with that? The receptionist was kind of nasty and said, you owe me $34, sir. My name is Peter Joyce. You can drop the stirrup, ma'am. So, $34.

I'm sorry. I don't have any money on my card or with me. Can you just bill me? We don't bail people. Ah, okay. And I'll just sit here and what do you want me to do? It was a little struggle, but I finally had her relent because the doctor said it was okay to send a bill to me.

They wanted you to leave then to send a bill to me. They wanted you to leave then. They wanted you to leave. $34? What do you want to do, arrest me? Thank you. The problem was the painting, and so I've replaced it with a new one. Well, a new postcard reproduction. It's called View from a Window. It's also by John Singer Sargent.

He painted it about seven years after the one that used to sit in this gold-painted balsa wood frame. I have it right here in the studio with me, propped up next to the microphone. The painting depicts a view of a window, an artist's window. The frilly lace curtain is pulled back and held in place by the artist's paint box, and on the chair in front of the window rests an open portfolio.

The paint box overflows with watercolors, pencils, and oils. And on the pages of the portfolio, there are undefined swaths of color, light, and energy. The messy portfolio pages stand out in contrast with the tranquil view out the window. Out the window, there is a harbor, and in the harbor, there are boats. Most of the boats are anchored and still, but a few are poised, ready to set sail. Most sergeant commentators don't know what to make of this painting. Most consider it just another oddity produced by the master after he stopped painting portraits of wealthy aristocrats and businessmen. But I consider this painting to be a masterpiece

because it captures the idea that through art, man is able to transcend his surroundings. This painting is not an oddity. This is not a view of a window. This is an actual window. Here, let me move out of your way. Take a look for yourself. You'll find the view is breathtaking.

I am determined to make it through this window. Before the boats have all left the harbor, I'm not sticking around. Besides, I'm not really a painter. I wouldn't know what to do with the watercolors or the oils. I can't really even draw. But I do know that there is a way to break the glass and crawl out over the windowsill. And don't worry, this time I won't be asking for your help. No, I am sick and tired of waiting around for something to happen or someone to help me. This time, I'm taking matters into my own hands. All I need from you is to step

out of the way. You're snickering again. Well, go ahead, laugh. But I'll say it again. The reality on the other side of this window is just as real as the one we stand in now. Perhaps even more real. But we don't have to go into that now. Like I said, all I need from you is to stand back. Thank you. So, on three. One. Two. Three. You have been listening to Benjamin Walker's Theory of Everything. This episode was called Not Soon Enough. It was written and produced by Benjamin Walker and featured Peter Choice.

The sound design was done by Bill Bowen. You can subscribe to the podcast at toe.prx.org and if you are interested in sponsoring this podcast, drop a line to sponsor at prx.org.