Wednesday, March 10, 2004

The Show Must Go On

You've all stood in this line before. It's the longest line you'll ever see. Goes on forever and ever, infinitely, never-ending.

So we're all here. Maybe if I see you we'll wave to one another, or go latching off in pairs. I see it all the time: I see people in pairs, holding hands, so they can make their time waiting for the show to go on. And we all know it. We just don't want to say it.

The Show Must Go On.

We wait in line to get our ticket. How you're all put in this line, I don't know. I know it has something to do with a Mother and a Father's pairing up in the line. Has to do with natural tendency.

I've been in my line seventeen years now; this October it'll be eighteen. Soon to be eighteen, and I'm already ready to just step off this line and stop waiting. It's getting lonely in this line, you know. The only thing that keeps me going is the comforting hand of music, and what I can escape to with my writing.

What do you have?

I don't know what you have. All I have as I'm waiting in this line is what I have. Not much else.

I can see more and more of this wall in the distance each day. Right now it's really far away. But that's just the bigger wall.

There's other walls I see. All around me. I've went past some already--just climbed over them. I'm sure you've done the same.

So many heads. I'm sick of them all. So many heads in this line. Waiting to get into the show.

This show's not a movie. Well, maybe it is. Maybe it is a movie. Maybe all I see here, and all I am, is just the projector projecting me, shaky, on the screen. I don't know.

Let me tell you one thing: this show's not entertaining. It's draining. It drains you.

What's beyond the wall? I don't know. What I've heard is that to get beyond the wall, you must first have a trial. The trial will decide where you go. I've heard the honor is a worm, a real worm of a man. Likes to yell.

I've had dreams about what's beyond the wall. I've seen them in the thin wall of sleep, speaking to me. I write them down when I can, when I'm not being slaved forward in the line.

You know, I'm weighted. I have many things on my shoulders, and it's hard to move. So they whip me to move in this line. They do it to you too, wherever you are. They whip you more than with a whip, too; they hit you in the mind, and expect that you're going to do what they say. Going to go to their places of learning and learn.

So, I take my load. But I write things when I can, I write down my dreams. In my dreams, I've seen the honor, the one that's a worm. He's not a nice guy. I don't like the way you looks, and acts, much at all.

I've dreamed what's beyond that wall, I've seen it. It leads to a bloodsoaked fan. The fan is covered with flesh, the offal and skin and you can see it all hanging on its blades; on the sleek, rotating blades.

I've written it down. No one believes me. I don't even know if I believe myself. All I can is keep going.

Some people in line waste their time with a book written by someone. They say the book is the word of God, their Lord and Savior. They are fools. But it is not bad to be a fool at all, it is good to have something that makes you stronger even if I'd disagree with this practice.

What do you do with your time outside the wall, waiting for the show to go on? I do what I can, feel lonely some of the time, but writing keeps my company, and so does my music.

I'm about sick of walking in this line. I want my ticket at the ticket booth, and I want to get the stub of it back. And I want to go beyond the wall. Sitting outside here is a cold war that I could care less for. Sitting out here, separated from the wall, is very limiting. I just want to be inside that large wall already.

All in all I'm just another brick in the wall. I can see it. The wall spans out. It never ends. But somewhere, past where I can see, I"ll be just another brick in there, put in with a mortar and pestle. I'll fill in another gap once I'm in.

There's nothing I can do but keep moving. It's either that or sit down, give up, and be left behind. Left here alone, really alone, with just the ground.

Each day I have to stop my trek in line to step into various buildings built around, where there's teachers who teach you. It feels like a chasm. A waste of time.

I could be moving along to the wall faster if they didn't slow me down.

Do you think so, too? I don't know. I know I do.

We don't need no education
We don't need no thought control

Know thoughts are chasms in the classroom
Teacher leave them kids alone

All in all it was just another brick in the wall
All in all you're just another brick in the wall

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl year after year

Running over the same old ground of how we found the same old fears
Wish you were here

All alone, or in two's,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall.

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I wrote that all just now. Good stuff.

Too bad I have to go now.

I'm screwed in Geometry and Chemistry today. Bleh.



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