Playing Dead for Fun and Profit
How to carve out time to move your work forward
Playing Dead Death Notice, “Busy Getting Shit Done Quarterly,” Oct. 2024
Janeen McCrae started playing dead several times a week (at hours convenient to her workflow) for short periods of time (whenever she could slot it into her work and life schedule) in Santa Cruz, California, 2024. A private service will be held on those days by Janeen at her desk in her office (that’s also her bedroom), or also sometimes at a cafe. This service to the work will be followed by a cup of coffee and maybe even a donut with sprinkles. After the wake she will be, like totally available for coffee catchups, chin wags, lunches, love-life consulting, and freelance writing assignments. If you would like to honor Janeen’s fake death events, which will be occurring on the sometimes regular, she requests that you rejoice in her productivity rather than mourn her absence from your social circles. When you do finally see her (post-resurrection), feel free to donate to her favorite charity, her Ego Bank, by directing the following success confirmation in her direction: “I haven’t seen you in so long, I thought you were dead!”
No cards.
Tonic immobility, thanatosis, playing dead, whatever you call it, you should know this—it’s not just for snakes.
It’s not just for snakes like the Eastern Hognose Snake which, upon fearing for its life and inevitable ugly dispatch at the hands of a predator, will writhe and contort and manipulate the danger noodle of its being into dramatic displays of curly wurleys, snek swirlys, and general reptilian wigglery. Behold its gaping mouth, freeze-framed in the yowl of silent agony as it flips over and plays dead, sticking its tongue out to really ‘sell it’ to the room. Its forked mouth spaghetti dangles from its fraudulently deceased jaw, as if to say: “It me. Here am. I ruly ded. Hizz.”
Dial it back, champ. Playing dead for fun and profit doesn’t need all that snake drama. I’m just letting you know—it’s not just for snakes.
Playing dead is for anyone trying to carve out time in their day to work on their art. Playing dead is less about the fake act (you don’t have to put on a show), and more about the real result (you remove yourself from the narrative and timeline of those around you to go work on your work).
Play dead. Metaphorically. You can writhe and contort to help sell it if you like—weirdo—but know that the whole faux death throe show will always begin with the word no.
“No, I can’t come to breakfast on Saturday. I will be writing that day.”
Begin the play dead sequence with a no, end it with a go, then shuffle off to mortal toil. Play dead-not-dead.
In your time of dying, live the work.
Playing Possum. It’s not just for possums.
It’s not just for possums like the Virginia opossum which, when highly stressed, will attempt to convince a predator to “jog on, yoga pants!” by flashing its Julliard credentials, flexing its claws, twitching its possum lips, and foaming at the mouth. This will signal the beginning of its “I’m-dead-no-really-I-am” performance. Watch as it turns its glassy eyes to cloudy, slacking its jaw to gape the death gape of a Deadybones-for-reals, and in one final run for the animal acting Olympics, release from its anal glands a foul and evil odor thus feigning the stench of death. With drool stringing from its morgue-bound mouth, the telepathy of this vile message will ring loud and clear: “It me. See me. Truly expired. Uh-huh.”
Slow your death roll, buddy. Playing dead for fun and profit does not have to involve a catalepsy or excretion of fluids, which proves that it’s not just for possums.
It’s for anyone trying to win the war on procrastination by setting a time and a place in which to pretend to be dead to all outside forces and eaters of time.
Playing dead means you are laying down in the garden of your brain, allowing the fertile fluids of your mind to nourish your ideas. Metaphorically. Ick. But not as much ick as that anal gland thing.
If you make things, you will know the impulse to make is terminal. Think of playing dead as a mechanism, a tool, a time allocator. A prioritizer.
You don’t have to be a possum to play possum. Play dead.
Kill yourself off metaphorically to do the work for real.
Lights out, drawing the final curtain, playing dead—it’s not just for actors.
It’s not just for actors who, when fearing the approach of a harsh critic, find the gentle line between too far (overacting) and not far enough (unconvincing) so as to navigate their barely breathing body deftly along it. With a chest that neither rises nor falls—imperceptible! —and makeup so incredible the swell of maggots cannot be far off—check the pulse! —they set their unblinking eyes—so dry, surely! —upon the words of an obituary—sometimes called a review—soon to appear in the Sunday fire starters. The theatre of the mind’s marquee flashes: “It me. Check the credits. I play Dead Guy #2.”
Dial it back, Brando. Playing dead for fun and profit has no audience and it’s not just for actors or understudies.
Playing dead is for anyone who hopes to one day find a crowd who will stomp their feet and laugh their joy or cry their triggers or cheer as they applaud your art. Will they throw flowers at the feet of the things you make on the side, in the dark, and in the wings of a dream stage where your secret soul resides?
To fake or not to fake, that is the question.
Fake. Play dead. Remove yourself from the program and into a sort of creative purgatory to purify your work in the state of alone. Metaphorically. No distractions of life. No nothing but the do—the move the work forward procession.
Move the work so far forward the procession becomes production. Fake die if you want to real live. Simple. Call it making a schedule, or managing time, or sitting at the desk if you like. Call it playing dead if you want to give it heft. Play dead in rehearsal and in the real and withdraw yourself to run your lines and hide in the props closet alone. Dream of the life you had after making it. Play dead and eulogize yourself. Use theatre of the mind to set your intention.
Play dead.
Because you don’t need to be an actor. Making art isn’t an act.
If you’re not serious about it, don’t play dead. If it’s just a lark, don’t play dead. If you could live the rest of your life without creating something new of your own, don’t play dead. But if you want to live for it, you must die for it. Metaphorically.
Carve out a time to die. Disappear. Progress the work, drink the invisible poison, fire the finger guns, and kick the bucket right into the fire of your ambition.
Epitaph reads: Not dead. Just thinking.
“Playing dead (metaphorically) is selfish,” you say. “Saying no and carving out time for silly little hobbies that won’t go anywhere is rude,” you say.
First of all, if you have time to train for a marathon, you have time to play dead. If you have time to doom scroll social media, you have time to play dead. If you have time to ignore the dishes and binge a season of something on Netflix, you have time to play dead—to make art—for fun and for profit.
And second, if it’s just a hobby, playing dead is not for you. Playing dead is for people who are serious about being serious about being a serious artist. A writer. A painter. A singer. A whatever. Serious.
Art—the arts—is not a hobby.
Playing dead. It’s not just for snakes. It’s not just for possums. It’s not just for actors. Playing dead is a strategy. It’s just code. It’s a time out for creative folks trying to move their projects forward. Playing dead is as much for you as it is for the work. Play it with conviction. Haunt your work while you’re at it. Scare it into the best thing it can be while you’re still alive. But you know, while playing dead.
The rumors of your death will be greatly exaggerated. Close the windows to the world. Shut the doors to distraction. Slow your breathing and focus. Become a shut in, a never go out, a loser of tan lines, and a selfish maker of things.
Play dead.
Wait…. Wasn’t there a profit part? Fun AND profit?
Hmm. OK. How about this?
When you play dead, you will—again, if you’re doing it right—you will also collect something that could be deemed profit: your Life Assurance policy.
This policy gives confident assurance that you are on the right track and of the right mind and skill and talent to take a swing. That you are committed enough to the cause to sacrifice your life for it. Metaphorically. That you can declare, with no hesitation or impostor syndrome present, that you are a professional. A professional artist.
Consider this your proof of life payout. There’s your profit.
R.I.P. Rest in Progress.
Watch the Video about the themes in this post 👇
This week’s amends…
"A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance... You have no choice but to accept things as they are, or to seriously seek something else... But beware of looking for goals: look for a way of life. Decide how you want to live and then see what you can do to make a living within that way of life. But you say, 'I don’t know where to look; I don’t know what to look for.' And there’s the crux. Is it worth giving up what I have to look for something better? I don’t know...is it? Who can make that decision but you? But even by deciding to look, you go a long way toward making the choice."– Hunter S. Thompson
Man, woman, whatever. Make your choices. I do like ‘look for a way of life’ rather than a goal. Take all these things you read with a grain of salt. Hunter S. Thompson didn’t know. No one knows. That’s what the purpose of life is, surely? To find out.
Via Nitch
On Rotation: “Pretend We’re Dead” by L7.
And a reminder that all songs I’ve ever featured in this newsletter are added to the giant mega super playlist of magnificents and magnificence which you can access with the easy depress on this button. 👇
If you’re in London, and a Tim Burton fan, this is something to look forward to. Opens October 27th.
Via Meanwhile
This site, “Found in a Library Book” showcases things people have found in, as the name suggests, library books at the Oakland Public Library. From rando lists to objects to art.
Via The Guardian
Shameless Podcast Plug
Listen to audio versions of early issues of The Stream on my podcast, Field of Streams, available on 👉 all major podcasting platforms 👈
Here’s Apple