The Theater of Unbecoming -Act XI
In the ruins of Man.
Ever watched the burning of a weighted cord that holds the world together from the corner of a sofa?
The thrill of watching a foreign movie with no subtitles, that is being rehearsed right in front of you, with fists flying and people fuming over a snotty drunken cunt that said one cuss too many. It is that moment when the night wakes up and you go to sleep, on the first and “where the hell was I for that” avenue, right across from “pass me that bottle” café.
Nights get darker, and the wind gets colder as you’re tottering on the way home. But then the bed is warm and lonely, while the toilet never seemed more hug-able. You fall to your knees in a prayer to the Rock’n’Roll gods to spare you the humiliation of someone walking in on you regretting doing that last bit of awesome and drinking some of that liquid courage. They listen, and your calls are answered with reddened eyes and an imbalanced walk back to the corner of that sofa.
For a moment there, you realize that you are not home, and this is not the sofa, but a cloud carrying your soul out of your body. You fasten your seatbelt with another drink and watch out for low-hanging signs. When you arrive, the cloud disappears, and you arrive at a familiar place, HeartBreak Hotel at 5th and “it’s been a while.”
Did you believe for a moment that you weren’t going to end up here? Dancing with the best of them and watching o’er the enchanted make their booking for the night. Some of them were checking in for the first time, and some were regulars like you. But what are you if not a wanderer? If not a regular of these hotels, where the glass never dries, and the music never dies.
The surroundings were never what you cared about, but the internal struggle was different this time, you played the “Should I stay, or Should I rock the Casbah?” for too long that you had to change the act last night. So, it was more of a Hamlet monologue, rather than the usual Rocker Fuckery.
You walk by the sea, just to see if it still scares you, but you forget to remember to forget about your fear and stand there for a moment to watch the might of the night drill inside your head to take you further into the pit of terror.
So, next time you play Rockstar, make sure you have a good band manager to spare you the heartache of the next morning.
Yours truly,
Mr. Bad Example