"Great artists are people who find
the way to be themselves in their art. Any sort of
pretension induces mediocrity in art and life
alike."
- Margot Fonteyn, English dancer
"That's because you don't
know the secret yet," he stated as a matter of
fact.
"What secret?"
"It's more
terrible than anything you can possibly
imagine," he replied.
He was the
roommate of my drug dealer. The following
minutes would change my life.
"Kurt
Cobain, Bob Dylan and John Lennon. They all knew
the secret," he continued with a manic glare.
"Once you know it you can never go back. It will
always be with you."
That was three days
before my first nervous breakdown. Insanity is
not as fun as I thought it would be. Looking
back though I should have seen it coming. One
weekend in high school my bass player and I ate
a hundred-lot of acid. Shortly thereafter,
the panic attacks started.
If you define power as
"the ability to affect your environment",
then life is power. I didn't know that
then. Power is a means of proving to yourself
that you are alive. It is the only way to know
for sure.
***
I decided to
move into an old church that my friend Sidney
had turned into a recording studio. My bed was
located immediately below the studio in the
church's basement. The ceiling was less than
five feet high, which meant I had to crouch as I
moved. There were no windows and my only light
was from candles. I paid special attention to a
steel pipe hanging next to my bed. I had
already banged my head against it
and almost knocked myself out.
In the evening Sidney and I drank wine on
the outside deck and talked about the
secret. I was surprised to find out
that he too had been aware of it. At
five in the morning I went downstairs and
flopped onto my bed. No sooner though had I
drifted into a peaceful, wine induced sleep than
I was jolted from my comfort by thunderous
rumbling and blood-curdling screams. The low
ceiling above me began to shake and angry voices
swore violently in distorted tones.
Upon
concluding that the odds were somewhat in favor
of the above commotion being real, I took a
hockey stick from the corner and moved
cautiously towards the bottom of the stairs.
When I looked up I saw Sidney and his old cat,
Betsy, on their way down to see me. "I'm sorry.
I forgot to tell you something," Sidney
apologized. "I rented out the studio to a primal
scream class this morning."
***
After a couple
weeks I became hardened to my strange
environment. I spent time writing songs with my
new friend, a bat who I spotted banging around
against the thin metal of the air ducts above. I
decided that as long as he minded his own
business I would do the same. Besides, I didn't
really know how to go about getting rid of a
bat. A couple days later though I saw another
rodent, a large rat, digging in a bag of garbage
next to the door. The bat was one thing because
we had an understanding. There was mutual
respect. But with a rat things are different so
I contemplated my next move.
I walked
upstairs and found Betsy on the counter eating
kitty treats. I took her lovingly in my arms,
carried her downstairs and laid her softly on
the concrete floor. At first Betsy was not aware
of anything unusual but soon she sensed
something was up. The aging feline moved
methodically towards the garbage where the rat
was no longer visible. Undaunted, she valiantly
continued forth on her sneaky hunt. Upon first
seeing her prey she backed up and assumed a
ready, crouching position. She then pounced
viciously at her first clean opportunity. With
her teeth, she grabbed the rodent by its tail
and began to smash her squealing foe repeatedly
against the cement wall until its blood
splattered outward staining the surrounding
concrete. After teasing and playing with her
victim Betsy dragged the conquered corpse
towards me and dropped it at my feet. She looked
up and proudly awaited my approval. At that
point I was unsure of what to do. I never had to
dump the body of a rat before. So I took a
shovel, scooped up the corpse and discarded it
into the garbage. "Now," I wondered. "How do I
go about cleaning up all this blood?"
