my stories, chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
When would I be able to leave?
Could we withstand a monumental protest against the good of the country?
The problem was nobody cared. No one had the will to just revolt against the system. I had lost track of the day. I had lost my mind in a binge of drugs and illegal herbs.
Would we make it out alive? I hoped so. We have to go to New York city to play out a local bar. The following night would be one to be hard to remember.
I recall thinking, ‘our generation is horrifying man’, as I rolled throughout the barren waste land looking like a freshly ironed piece of flesh. The band’s spectacular lasted about 20 minutes and then CHA CHING! There’s your money, and this is mine. We all had our shares of the desolate island. You fuckers, we need more time! More time to revolt! Well… we are all told to shut up and smile so more perverted humans (if you could even call them that) would buy our records. Why?
I’ve had enough from these bastards. No more for me. Shit, I can’t even get laid in this city that never sleeps. I had to explain to the band that we would not be returning alive. This place had a reputation of sucking the souls out of foreigners and giving them to the I &hearts NY locals with their NY Yankees hats and all-important “jabs”. What am I doing back here? I have a love/hate relationship with the big apple. I grew up here once in a while, yet the environment is far too violent for any decent human being to survive, and I am no decent human being. The rest of this band may seem so, and for this I fear for their lives…
A great politician recently decided to run for president, I hope he is not going to be killed by the deceiving government. You would never feel your face bleeding until you see it. My horrible manager, Bob Huston, was trying tell me the tricks of the business. “you cant let em’ in ‘till you got the money man.” Or “ you son of a bitch, that’s my ether” the awful jackass. Sometimes I wonder why we still even play shows with this prick, or why we even play shows at all. Why don’t we just become like the Beatles. They’re still hot, even after two of ‘em died.
Lord knows how the four of us are still alive, how we haven’t become vegetables, fucked off by the government until someone wants to make our passing of a meat-shit brain easier. As I recall these events, the last statement will scream in all of your minds. You will wonder on, and on, and on about how we managed this.
As we came to the end of our twenty minutes of fame, we began the phase of every show and trip, the drugs. Drugs should not be used for the sheer case of pleasure. This use may result in death or simple but hard hitting brain fucks. Out usage was of a different kind, the musician who has to push it to the limit. No stops. No worries. Only if you can be assured of death, and not feel anxious about receiving it, should you become enthralled in a drug frenzy like this. This night might be the end for some. The grim thought only passed through the minds of new comers to the crowd.
Not all of our troubles can be solved by the usage of drugs. Grass only lasts a few hours, what’s the point in wasting life times away? We used it to dysfunction our brains from our lifeless bodies. We used these lifeless bodies to show protest on how dumb the world was becoming. The sick people who watch us ruin ourselves also like the little girls, then they turn old, and they’re still doing this perverted shit and not noticing the body count.
The least we did to stop it was ending the band, otherwise two of us would be underground already. “it’s called money man…” my manager raved, “we could all use a couple grand here and there…”
His talking was still diluted by my thoughts on humanity’s collapse. This is always on my mind. I turned to the beautiful sunset and realized that none of this matters anymore. There is no need for anymore panic. There is now a need for “chillin”.
In the middle of central park, we did chill out. The sun set. The music turned up. And chill time was over. We then headed towards the streets. all of the night ahead was to be one of images and nightmares combined…
An old man in a bar was screaming because he had been scammed out of all of his money. No one cared, yet I wondered why this occurrence was to be. Why did no one care for this hobo? We are all mental maniacs, careening down highways of sludge made of our own incompetence of intellect.
When would I be able to leave?
Could we withstand a monumental protest against the good of the country?
The problem was nobody cared. No one had the will to just revolt against the system. I had lost track of the day. I had lost my mind in a binge of drugs and illegal herbs.
Would we make it out alive? I hoped so. We have to go to New York city to play out a local bar. The following night would be one to be hard to remember.
I recall thinking, ‘our generation is horrifying man’, as I rolled throughout the barren waste land looking like a freshly ironed piece of flesh. The band’s spectacular lasted about 20 minutes and then CHA CHING! There’s your money, and this is mine. We all had our shares of the desolate island. You fuckers, we need more time! More time to revolt! Well… we are all told to shut up and smile so more perverted humans (if you could even call them that) would buy our records. Why?
I’ve had enough from these bastards. No more for me. Shit, I can’t even get laid in this city that never sleeps. I had to explain to the band that we would not be returning alive. This place had a reputation of sucking the souls out of foreigners and giving them to the I &hearts NY locals with their NY Yankees hats and all-important “jabs”. What am I doing back here? I have a love/hate relationship with the big apple. I grew up here once in a while, yet the environment is far too violent for any decent human being to survive, and I am no decent human being. The rest of this band may seem so, and for this I fear for their lives…
A great politician recently decided to run for president, I hope he is not going to be killed by the deceiving government. You would never feel your face bleeding until you see it. My horrible manager, Bob Huston, was trying tell me the tricks of the business. “you cant let em’ in ‘till you got the money man.” Or “ you son of a bitch, that’s my ether” the awful jackass. Sometimes I wonder why we still even play shows with this prick, or why we even play shows at all. Why don’t we just become like the Beatles. They’re still hot, even after two of ‘em died.
Lord knows how the four of us are still alive, how we haven’t become vegetables, fucked off by the government until someone wants to make our passing of a meat-shit brain easier. As I recall these events, the last statement will scream in all of your minds. You will wonder on, and on, and on about how we managed this.
As we came to the end of our twenty minutes of fame, we began the phase of every show and trip, the drugs. Drugs should not be used for the sheer case of pleasure. This use may result in death or simple but hard hitting brain fucks. Out usage was of a different kind, the musician who has to push it to the limit. No stops. No worries. Only if you can be assured of death, and not feel anxious about receiving it, should you become enthralled in a drug frenzy like this. This night might be the end for some. The grim thought only passed through the minds of new comers to the crowd.
Not all of our troubles can be solved by the usage of drugs. Grass only lasts a few hours, what’s the point in wasting life times away? We used it to dysfunction our brains from our lifeless bodies. We used these lifeless bodies to show protest on how dumb the world was becoming. The sick people who watch us ruin ourselves also like the little girls, then they turn old, and they’re still doing this perverted shit and not noticing the body count.
The least we did to stop it was ending the band, otherwise two of us would be underground already. “it’s called money man…” my manager raved, “we could all use a couple grand here and there…”
His talking was still diluted by my thoughts on humanity’s collapse. This is always on my mind. I turned to the beautiful sunset and realized that none of this matters anymore. There is no need for anymore panic. There is now a need for “chillin”.
In the middle of central park, we did chill out. The sun set. The music turned up. And chill time was over. We then headed towards the streets. all of the night ahead was to be one of images and nightmares combined…
An old man in a bar was screaming because he had been scammed out of all of his money. No one cared, yet I wondered why this occurrence was to be. Why did no one care for this hobo? We are all mental maniacs, careening down highways of sludge made of our own incompetence of intellect.