“This... is an abundantly confusing world we live on top of, today. We got no faith, no vision, no direction, no valor. To be somebody, genuine" pausing briefly, my eyes feeling heavy as heart, I inhale more chemicals, binding me to terra-firma. “.. .But then I take a look at you fellas. I see a path not many have the guts to traverse."
"I tell you what, lads. I don’t care to fucking work as a slave, making some fat piece of shit rich while I get my hands dirty, wiping his ass with money im gonna put back in his pocket."
I lift my head. "Fuck that. I wasn’t born for that noise. Not even temporarily."
The shoddily dressed room begins to spin. The wires, aerial stacks of drum, glow of pedals for hot rod guitars, exotic bass et al, become a maelstrom of lit thought.
"Now I can’t live your lives for you. I am blind in my own veil of existence. However, I can tell you one thing, with whatever grain of talent or inclination for determination that courses through your veins or mine, we can’t do a bloody thing without this; a loyal family."
The volume of excitement, the walls boost a ferocity of maroon, courage ebbing, eyes transfixed on some entity within their own souls. They don’t need to look at me. They know it. They got it.
"We need a little faith. A little vision. A little direction & a little valor to be somebody, genuinely. I need you to tell me, right to my face that you got the guts to traverse this path with me," my voice loudens, raspy with tenor.
The ceiling becomes alive with high spirits, extending it, ripping the very seams of the roof with potential.
"I need you to look at yourself in the mirror & say 'I got the fucking balls to be what I wanna'," I shout, all burden hoisted from my spine.
Their weapons brim with music. My canzone has become theirs. I whip the mic-stand to the floor.
"I need you to tell yourself that you're worth being number one, that you're worth being a leader, a force to be reckoned with, beautiful, healthy, strong, & worth every god damned preparation of this!!!"
