The mule held no authority on this given day, everything seemed unbelievably flawless until then.
By the time the curtains opened up for the audience everything seemed translucently clear: my failure was inevitable, my suffering inglorious. What I have foreseen at that particular moment crushed my inner core as if lifeless and all the while frail. My resolve was uncanny but could no longer withstand the ill treatment of indifference from the talentless freaks that accompanied my every step. It is not as if I depend on them on things, but it is really not making things all the more better. I first walked into the studios with wild intentions to succeed and procreate neat ideas for the development of my soul soup. Call me weak and a coward I can deal with that, but frankly my resolve lies somewhere different now. Better divert my senses into somewhere rational in advance than deal with the scrutiny in the future. I besmirch my own potential with my monochromatic imagination. An embarrassment to my pride and even to the dedication and trust given to me by the ones who gave me breath, and to think I had to grind tooth and nail up my own ass just to stand up for my own humanity, or whatever is left of it.
My talents, if I ever had one, waver like charred paper blown off a cliff, never going to see the light of day again. I cower behind the guise of a grin as I normally do on mild occasions, gritting my teeth soonafter. Not a tear or sweat dripped from my head, not a particularly good sign if I was to be asked. Setting fire to the rain is not exactly my God-given gift. I watched my own body quiver in shame, beatboxing in thin air, claws scratching my nose unaware that it starts to bleed and form scratches. The beat slowed down without momentum, it just did. It wasn't supposed to be that way either.
I woke up from the reverie with intentions of kicking it up a notch. The mule was absent in my eyes even though she was up to her own scheming ways once again. Just as Madonna fainted to the ground the beating hearts of loons began to echo throughout the wide-open space. I instigated everything, everyone was taking my lead for once but no one seemed to bother anyway. It was a slight provocation to the mockery, a mercy shot. My built up body bent like hard metal on a hard canvas. Dazed and afloat, I swam like a goose back into my reverie without a care in the world. Everything is different once more and that was going to be the end of that. I slowly close my eyes and opened it immediately once more, a runner taken away from the tracks is what I felt at that curious moment. Disgruntled all the more, the failures walked up and began piling up like pillows of bricks. Not a single reaction from the audience was felt, I did not even bother checking at that moment, that event was preposterous and redundant.
I wanted to hide my face in utter shame and I'm not even shy.
Everyone posed for the flashes but to no avail. The verdict was settled. My head can't even look at the mentors straight in the eye. My own were fixed to the ground, on my own toes, clinching my fist wanting to smash someone else's. There it was. The torturous soothing words of reconciliation. I need not hear such mockery. I intend to want to hear the hearted truth, not the rubbish, 'good', 'great', and 'wonderful'. Those words are as ubiquitous as my self-pity, heeding them actually leads to nowhere.
Wanting to shed a tear to the mockery, chaos once again erupted after the resolution and post-thematic group sequences. Left for dead in the corner the selfish, mindless zombies pushed forth with their brain-eating pomposities. 'I want this,' 'I want that,' 'you're wrong,' and the worst of all, 'that's a bad idea.'
I listened to the market-like banter echo back and forth waiting for someone, anyone, to ask me an opportunity to work with them. None received.
Walked home empty-handed stuck with the frustration of having to deal with both myself and a handful of twitchy buffoons. At least there love awaited for me in the form of Danish salami.