Originally posted October 1st, 2005 at 9:02AM
I was sitting by Micheal's front door smoking a cigarette, when Megan, the cute unstable stripper blond who was supposed to be our singer, arrived. Michael was inside with Almasi playing with some of the equipment we had. I could see that she wasn't happy. Actually, I knew she wasn't happy. After exchanging a few words with her she started kicking and scratching me, while I was trying to protect myself on the floor the best I could. Michael probably heard the commotion and came out, and got her off me. My shirt was ripped and had lots of blood on it. After Megan left we decided to go to my place so I could clean myself and get another shirt. When I got to my car I discovered that it had this white powder all over it. It was sugar. I imagine that Megan had tried to put sugar in my car's fuel tank, but because it was key locked she got frustrated and poured all the sugar all over my car. Once at my place, I was examining the wound Megan had left on my neck in the mirror. It was a deep long scratch. All this happened only a few months after arriving from boring Caracas. I remember looking at Michael and Almasi from my bathroom, smiling, and saying: "Damn, that was really rock n' roll!".
If I ever become famous enough to gather enough interest in the world for me to write an autobiography, that first paragraph is how it will begin.
The last eight days have been some of the most intense and emotionally exhausting days of my life. Yesterday I thought I was living the worse day I've ever lived. If you wonder what happened, you're probably going to keep wondering, because I won't write it here. It will take me at least two hours just to talk about one of the problems I had to face. So invite me for coffee, and perhaps I will talk a bit about some of the events. What happened during those eight days is what one normally lives in six months. I can tell you about some of the stuff that came out as a result of all the drama and some of the other odd things that happened at the same time everything else was falling apart. The support and loyalty of some of my friends was tested, my own support and loyalty toward some of my friends was tested, I gained good new friends, some of which got to see a side of me that normally would take years to discover, and angel who barely knows me got to hear me cry over the phone when she called me to inform me about something unrelated she was doing for me, a cute little girl in the middle of America who knows nothing about this, or about me, said she wanted to visit Texas and hold me, narcotics were abused to deal with the anxiety, an old friend decided anything I said was intended to hurt, I listened to Hard Candy by Rialto around a thousand times, I discovered the magic healing powers of touch. Those are just a few, because I cannot remember them all.
All I can say is that I'm probably partly responsible, but we all are. It would be unfair of me to say I'm the good one, but nowadays you don't have to be the good one to be the hero of the story, so it doesn't worry me. I chose to live this life, and who wants a normal life anyway? Today everything feels distant, like something I read in some of the crazy biographies I like to read. I cannot even say this is the end of all of this. There might be an encore, or even a second part. This is only rock n' roll, and I like it. Nothing will stop me, I know that, and even when in the end we all take the risk of losing, there is always going to be a winner: music.
Right now I'm shirtless, drinking coffee, alone, smoking a cigarette, about to watch a Suede DVD a friend gave me. Yesterday I was depressed because of everything that happened, and now I'm just sad because Kroger didn't have my dear Half Baked Ben and Jerry's ice cream.
Cesar
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