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Getting to know: Sean Thomas Dougherty.

December 3, 2010 \am\31 10:00 am

[In which WWAATD asks vapid questions culled from various teen magazines to non-vapid, non-teenager types.]

Full Name: Sean Thomas Dougherty
Age: Ancient Sage of the Third Way
Height: Taller than a fire hydrant, shorter than a stop sign’s rim
Currently Live: In the underground
Hometown: Born inNew York City, raised by One Nation under a Groove Instruments: My lips and my fists to twist the verb split
Car: Black
Secret Talent: Ask your mama

What is the best thing about your job? I’m “temporarily retired.” Got anything else wiseass you want to ask for an ass whooping?
What was your most embarrassing audition moment? I don’t audition, I cause ignitions. Fissions. Word incisions. Here in the underground we eat shadows, we sing fados cut with cough syrup, we dream in stained glass windows. We weave words with spindles.
If you could live in any past era which would it be and why? I’m alive NOW, the past is the past, the NOW is the time to fight the forces that have consolidated to make prisons and rob us blind through debt. Now is the time of most needed resistance.
Who is your role model and why? Muhammad Ali. When was the last time you saw ANY celebrity go to prison for their political convictions. Or any artist for that matter? Lately I think we live in a country of cowards.
What do you do for fun? I watch my children run. I twirl leaves with my daughter, who eats stones and gathers twigs. I write sand letters sand script with my son. I count grass blades. I watch old woman three leg walk across sidewalk weeds. I help old drunks count dimes on bar counters. I sing. I sing.
Do you have a good luck charm? Box cutter.
Before I die, I want to: See the three strike felony law rescinded.
If I had to spend $10 at my favorite fast food joint, I’d order: Brother when I have ten dollars I pay a pack of cigarettes and a coffee, then if anything is left I buy my wife a lottery card.
My coolest article of clothing: Hands down: My hats. Particular my fly cap. Although my leather from 79 is pretty close.
My first financial splurge was: Drugs, duh.
When friends come over, we: NO ONE enters the underground.
If you could interview any celeb whom would it be and why? I’d interview Glenn Beck to find out his fascist heroes. Second would be the Emperor Nero. I can appreciate his urge to make the city burn.
Anything about yourself you wish you could change? I wish I wasn’t such a bad ass. Wait, no I don’t.
I’ll eat sushi, but not: Meat.
What are your best and worst subjects in high school? I didn’t really go to high school. For real. I dropped out at seventeen. I didn’t appreciate having to ask someone’s permission to take a piss.
Where on earth are you most dying to go? To Uzzhgorod in the Ukraine where my grandfather rode a hay cart with his uncle, where my Hungarian Jewish ancestors were carted off in 1944 to the death camps. I want to push my face into the black earth. I want to smell part of my blood.
What’s the last thing that made you cry? Being poor. I cry a lot when I have to count to see if we have enough for groceries or diapers. I cry for my brothers and sisters jailed in privatized prisons from communities with no work. I cry for the cold and the alone. I cry for Mal Waldron dead, for Abby Lincoln no longer singing. I cry for the ghost of Roberto Clemente. I cry for Che. I cry for those clubbed by cops and I cry for the cops who are so brainwashed they clubbed them. I cry for dead Palestinian children and young Israeli soldiers turned into murderers. I cry for boys who shoot each other in Watts, Camden, Detroit, Harlem, Brooklyn, Roxbury, East Cleveland, Gary, and Atlanta. I cry for the gang dead who I see as political deaths, when despair takes our young, when the country offers no alternative but a gun and a jail cell. I cry for single mothers trying to make it on government checks and the absent space of fathers. I cry for stolen land, stolen teeth, small pox blankets, fingers cut off in stamping machines, workers scalded in steel mills, women fitting piecework till their hands turn to crow’s claws, I cry for the orphan trains, for the bar fly at the Beer Mug and the counter girl at Wal-Mart, who can never quite pay her rent. I cry. And then I get angry. And then I get to work.
Do you ever wish you could just be a normal kid? I gave up trying to be normal only recently, I got tired of failing. I was finally free. Now I hide here in the underground.
What would people be surprised to know about you? What I’m packing.
If you had to name one song as your theme song, what would it be? Send in the Clowns.

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One Comment
  1. shenandoahbreakdown permalink
    December 3, 2010 \pm\31 3:38 pm 3:38 pm

    Thanks for this bad ass interview

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