  Perhaps we're not so dead as we thought. After sitting there playing the wonderful song about a thousand times in a row, I believe we have finally come to be a musical power, a force uncontained. I believe we are fully ready...I can hear Alex constantly insisting on our talent show dominance.
I've been over here since after school Friday, think of nothing but this song, perhaps slacking off for long periods of time, but nevertheless, my brain is in these notes, my thoughts are in my voice screaming into that microphone decorated with a black ribbon and Rosie's bracelet, surrounded by a thin veil of the unused yellow duct tape from the DI competition. Everywhere I step there is rubber or metal, everything smells like machine or burning or oil or something to that effect, the smell of mechanization, the scent of our music, I suppose. It's invigorating, actually. And after so much hard work, there is still so much to go wrong. Tyler goes to Georgia tomorrow, what if he becomes stuck there? What if I cannot pull off a prerecorded bass track before the time? My amp permanently shorted out today, so we're taking the Marshall...supposing, in getting it, we take too long and show up too late?
We have up to 4:40 to show up, which means we must be gods in our speed, o Hermes, I invoke ye. Whatifwhatifwhatif...I think too much. Chances are things are going to go off without too much of a hitch and we either fail to get in or go for the glory. Sort of scared, I've too much confidence that we're going to make it...I have a lot of faith in this song, I always have.
And now... God, preserve me. I have so much on my mind. Yesterday my dad came over, I decided to dump the woes of my agony at our finding Tyler inept. That was about the point I started screaming every obscenity I have ever known for the entire world. At the top of my lungs, with Alex and Tyler and my dad standing close at hand laughing. And after, so did I. And then, I foolishly accepted a shot of chocolate liquer and passed out drunk at about 11 last night.
No alcohol tolerance. But that's besides the point. I was screaming as loud as I could, exactly the words no one wants to hear, and I have never ever felt better. And this weekend, I have been more tired than I have ever been in my entire life. So much work...so much, and for what? To win? I don't think that's what I've been after all this time. I think it was all just to prove that I could do it, to get up on stage and stare down a hard-ass crowd.
To prove myself. To prove to even myself that I can do it. And winning is simply an extremely necessary byproduct. To feel that adrenaline rush. To take in the crowd and make them mine. Basically, to feel that selfish and piggish desire that I'm better than everyone else because I have a band and I wrote a song and I sing and play guitar, not the best, but shit you can't do it .
And that's what I feel like right now. Everything else is forgotten. Were you to call me right now, anything you would say would be answered by a line from My Solution . "Hello, Josh? ""BANG MY HEAD AGAINST THE STONE COLD FLOOR,""What? ""Asylum was the answer,""What the hell are you talking about? ""That I break free from this cage," Someone help me. Heheh, a pleasureful pain. urlLink Nitokris nitokris . I dunno. 
