In the gray dawn before day, when the world looks black-and-white, and the glamourous trappings of the night seem frightening and remote, a sobering plane of vision slowly comes into soft focus. A window looking out into the yard frames a scene of sparkling frost: the insidious creep of winter, tapping gently at the glass, quietly at first but no less insistent.
The snow and the blow, the white snuff and fluff, the crystalline powder falling from the sky before droplets of blood fall from your nose. The messy slush of what’s true and what’s not will only get murkier as the see-saw of the freeze-and-thaw heaves and cracks the ground beneath your feet.
And yet it was all a game, a ruse, a dramatic posturing so that he wouldn’t have to really go there. He wouldn’t ever truly destroy himself; he was too smart for that. Too clever and too resourceful and too stubborn to really ruin anything. He expected others to know that too. That was his only flaw.
When everyone begins to believe the myth you have made up, it’s very hard to make them see anything else, even when it’s the truth.
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
{Continuing Next Weekend in New York City…}
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