I just went back to things I’d written in 2006. In doing this, I’ve found myself quite humbled. Is that the feeling I have to look forever forward to? Will 2018 (provided we survive, of course) leave me wishing I had kept my fingers busy doing something that couldn’t be read on the internet for eternity?
Regardless, we might as well call this what it is.
You influenced my life long before I ever knew your name. My fingers danced to your heartbeat, my toes tapped to your time. I never had a chance with your music like an IV straight into my veins. How did I even get here? How did this happen? Sitting alone at the “hippest” coffee shop in LA, somehow down the street from Hollywood, contemplating life and death as if this all comes naturally to me.
I had another audition today. “An audition a day keeps the confidence away”… that’s my new motto at least. They may want to photograph the curve under my a$$, the one that holds it the large mass up like a shelf. She left that last part out, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. They want the flaws, the too big, the too small, the awkward. For once, I’m the total package. I keep this to myself. This town is full of sharks, no reason to cut myself to bleed and start the hunt early. I pretend to fit in. I tape my shark fin right behind my shoulder blades every morning and walk with the same posture of someone who wants everyone to believe they’re someone special, only they don’t even believe it themselves. Shoulders back, head down. So concentrated on keeping my identifying fin above water (I’m one of you, I swear it….) that I forget to breath.
Only Hollywood could dress up you up as a predator, but still keep you as prey.
Just one more day,
Just one more day.
But what the F*** am I waiting for?
I snap back into my environment and look down. All I see is word vomit covering pages I don’t remember filling. Perhaps this city with make me Bulimic after all, after all, I’m ripe for the killing.
…and the crowd goes wild.