Lost Boy


Dear Corey,


I saw that Today Show gig.


I understand you’re a creative genius. Me, too. I get it. You feel things. You let the muse move you. Yes, totally understand. But let’s role play. I’m going to be your manager, you be you.

Me: Don’t do that interpretive dance at the beginning.

You: But I have to, man. I need to be true to my art.

Me: No. No you don’t.

You: C’mon, man.

Me: Listen you little motherfucker, I’m telling you, don’t do the goddamn interpretive dance! Ok, sorry. A little strong out of the gate.

You: Yeah, dude. Chill.

Me: Sorry. Look, you’re not a professionally trained dancer. You look like me doing interpretive dance, which means you look like anyone doing interpretive dance.

You: What are you saying?

Me: I’m saying don’t do the interpretive dance. Less is more. Let them wonder, ok. Just stand there and wait for the song to kick in. Be a mystery.

You: Ok, fine.

Me: And don’t wear the hood. You look like that Stonehenge scene in Spinal Tap where they’re wearing hoods.

You: But it comes off. That’s the whole bit. I whip it off like ten seconds in.

Me: Exactly. Hoods should not be whipped off. You’re not in the klan.

You: But it’s cool.

Me. It’s not. Don’t wear the hood.

You: Fine.

Me: And stop dying your hair black and getting it so greasy.

You: That’s where I draw the line. It’s my hair, man. That’s who I am.

Me: Do you know who Al Lewis is?

You: Grandpa from the Addams Family?

Me: That’s what you look like.

You: No fucking way, man! Don’t insult me just to-

Me: A younger Grandpa, but it’s not just me.

You: Jesus, really?

Me: Yes, sorry about that. Look, you’re too young to be dying your hair. You’re not Ozzy Osbourne. Just go natural. It would be nice if you cleaned it up and got it cut and-

You: Long hair is my image, ok? I’m a rebel.

Me: Yeah, ok. Listen, wouldn’t it be really rebel to cut it? To show you have no fucks?

You: Hmmm.

Me: Maybe not right now, but think about it. I know it’s a big part of your identity, but it could be a whole new you. Seriously. Think Brad Pitt.

You: Ok, I’ll think about it.

Me: And stop with the dancing. No more dancing. It doesn’t look good on you. Don’t-

You: WHAT!? Are you fucking serious!? Dancing is my trademark! Michael Jackson is-

Me. Michael Jackson! You’re not Michael Jackson! Get over it! You’re Corey Fucking Feldman! Dancing is not your trademark. You don’t have a trademark.

You: What the hell?

Me: You’re basically Spanky from the Little Rascals if the Little Rascals was set in the 80's.

You: How dare you! How fucking dare-

Me: I’m your goddamn manager, Corey! And I haven’t been doing my job and that’s on me! I FUCKED UP! I’m to blame here! I FAILED you! And I’m SORRY, but I won’t sit on my hands any longer! No more goddamn gloves and motorcycle jackets with sequins. Enough! Let it go! Move on! That shit is Merry Go Round from more than thirty fucking years ago.

You: But-

Me: It’s non-negotiable.

You: But-

Me: And what do you mean you’ve been working on this album for ten years?

You: I have!

Me: No, we’re not gonna stop, till we reach the tah op.

You: Yeah, what?

Me: That’s the best you can come up with in ten years?

You: Well, there’s more to it than just that. That’s only two lines.

Me: Really? There’s more to it?

You: I don’t like your tone.

Me: And I don’t like that you cribbed something from your junior high school notebook. You’re forty five years old!

You: I just turned like two months ago.

Me: Yeah, I know.

You: (shrugging)

Me: We need to scrub Ascension Millennium from the internet.

You: But it’s a masterpiece. It was all shot in one take.

Me: Don’t you ever fucking say that again!

You: Which? That it’s a masterpiece or that it-

Me: You got up from your bed, walked around your house, and went to bed again with your pants on!

You: What? People do that.

Me: (staring)

You: (staring back)

Me: The best part of the video was the roll of paper towels on the island in your kitchen because it suggested you were a real person and not some asshole who thinks he’s Slash.

You: Slash? Slash doesn’t even sing.

Me: That’s not my point.

You: Well, what is your fucking point?! Tell me because I’d really-

Me: Corey, stop! Shhh. Listen to me. The best thing you have going for you right now is that you’re not fat. If you were fat, the internet would have completely destroyed you by now. You would be dust and ash. You would be-

You: Yeah, I’m trim.

Me: Yes, you’re trim. And that’s great. It’s so great you’re trim you have no idea. Seriously. But listen to me. You’re that kid actor who everyone loved. You were cute. You were in some big movies. You saved some of your money. But then you got lost.

You: I just never got any breaks, man.

Me: I know. You had some tough times. Some really hard things to deal with. And no really knows but you.

You: You don’t even know, man. You don’t even know. I was a kid.

Me: I know, Corey. I know. And I’m sorry for those things. Those things shouldn’t happen to anyone.

You: (sobbing) I was too young. No one was looking out for me.

Me: I know. But you’re trying too hard now. You’re trying WAY too hard. You know what people say about you?

You: Fucking Twitter, man.

Me: I know. I know. Twitter is terrible. But you know what people say about you to themselves?

You: What?

Me: They say Bless his heart. Do you know what that means?

You: (looking down) I’ve been to the south.

Me: Ok. So you know.

You: (nods)

Me: Listen, you need to not write your own material for awhile, ok?

You: But-

Me: Shhh. Just for a little while. And you need to stop spelling things with numbers, ok? You’re not a teen girl. And you’re not Lil Wayne. You’re Corey Feldman. You’re Corey Fucking Feldman, ok?!

You: Yeah.

Me: So this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to do a cover. We’re gonna strip it down, a la Johnny Cash, and we’re gonna do a cover.

You: What song?

Me: Never Tear Us Apart.

You: INXS?

Me: Yes. It connects you to the 80's, it suggests you’re talking about you and your fans, and it’s a great fucking song. People love that song. It will just be you doing a heartfelt somber acoustic-

You: I can’t play guitar.

Me: I know. It’s you on a stool. A velvet backdrop. Low light, but it shows those cheek bones. And just behind you off to the side are your angels. They’re playing guitar. You don’t even look at them. And you sure as fuck don’t look at the camera. You’re looking off to the side. You can pretend it’s Micheal. Or Corey, ok? And you’re just singing. You’re not grunting or growling, you’re just singing.

You: I don’t know. I don’t know.

Me: Do you know the words to that song?

You: Something something never tear us apart?

Me: Kind of. It goes:

I told you that we could fly
‘cause we all have wings, 
but some of us don’t know why.

You: So the angels would have their wings on, right? It would be like a subtle nod.

Me: Yes, exactly.

You: And a subtle nod to vampires, too.

Me: Um, well, not necessar-

You: That would be so cool! And then what?

Me: We just wait. We put it out and let it do its thing.

You: How will we know it’s doing its thing?

Me: The love. You’ll feel the love. People love that fucking song. And they’ll love you. They’ll love you again. Trust me.

You: Ok.