{((The Sellout Scene))}i{((One-Shot))}
[Listening to Taking Back Sunday, felt a bit inspired. Sucky one-shot. Exams are this Tuesday for me. I'm not exactly excited. I know, I should be studying, but I decided to... take a break?]
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I stood, baring my soul, my fragile soul for all their eyes to see. Days went by like this now; I was wearing “her signature smile”. It was no longer mine; it was no longer true. I can’t remember the last time I could close my eyes and just pretend I was normal again. Prying me, judging my every movement; cell phones raised in the air, trying to catch some proof they’d actually been here, snapping photos between my blinking eyes. They’d all be bragging to their friends tomorrow about the concert they’d been to the night before.
I can’t remember the last time I actually wanted this.
This used to be what I thrived for; the crowd, the stage, the music. It was like a child growing up, our child. The former small town band was now appearing on the cover of every emo, rock, punk, guitar, or just music magazine. Was this making it big? Losing all those late nights playing at some obscure club with only the bartenders watching us, we used to always say, “one day we’ll be the next big thing, and every band playing at some obscure club will wish they were us.” I guess we just got that faster than we expected.
I pranced around the stage, singing with every and anything left in my lungs. The guards had to constantly run around keeping the teens high on adrenaline behind the barrier. Things like this became shoved into my peripheral vision; call it an ego, but truthfully, I just wanted to believe we were back in the garage playing to our own heart beat and shouting to the cold night air that one day we’d become something.
Oh MTV, look now! I think you’ve created a monster.
“You’re going to be the next revolution, just wait. You’ll show them who you are.” I used to say to my mirror when my mom began complaining about futures and careers. She just didn’t understand, this was what I used to want with all my life. Slowly, people began coming out to our shows. It started with one or two fans listening to crappy demos and watching our hardly professional demeanor. We talked to them, told them how we wanted to prove small towns could bare amazing people. And then, a few more people trickled in. The crowds grew so slowly, we never even noticed when one afternoon –the week after releasing the first single from our first album- while watching TRL announce the number one video, between making a sandwich, I heard the others scream in my living room followed by what sounded like our single.
“Guys, if you wanted to hear our song, you could just pla-”
I stopped mid-sentence. There on the TV with the obnoxious TRL logo in the corner was playing the number one video, our video.
Things took off from there; people began approaching us at the most random times –in the bathroom at the mall, while buying cold medicine at the local drugstore, standing in front of an electronics store watching them show a movie we love- insisting that we sign something for them and what seemed like all of their dead and alive extended family. We were still so young, barely adults mentally and legally. And worst of all, on every tabloid cover, guess who was front and center? The lead singer, of course. Me. People began coming to me with their problems, people that were older than me.
I guess you could say that my revolution came much sooner than expected, or maybe I just never expected it to happen.
Music began to take my everything. Back from one of our biggest tours, I caught my boyfriend in bed… attached to some girl that looked like a two cent whore. After a bit of calming, all I could say was, “why?” And his one claim was, “all I ever see of you anymore is your pout on the cover of some magazine.” Of course, he also claimed to love me. My family, they began to act like an actual family, but soon I found out it was only because they had no shame in stealing from their own family member. Fucking gold diggers. There’s no one else for me now. Every boy just wants to date me for my name, my money, my connections. I guess love is only for the normals. Talking to the rest of the band was completely ruled out after the first time. I told them that I felt like someone had placed their hands around throat. The worst part? They smelled like over-priced perfume, plastic surgery, and a whole lot of teen angst too. The band just claimed I only wanted what I didn’t have. We fought for a month. So, I just dropped the topic and pretended they had changed my point of view.
I’m just a monster with everyone a mirror, looking back and idolizing me.
No other bands could stand against our ruthless fan base anymore; they all fell. And it was millions of albums sold out every new release we had. Everyone was tearing me apart. I couldn't walk out the door without people grabbing at every limb I had. Eventually after a few albums, it was no longer the emo scene, rock scene, punk scene, or what other label you prefer. It became my scene.
As I stand in front of peering eyes, lips parted just to scream my name, lying to my fans and band; this didn’t seem so dreamy anymore. What has fame done to me?
I never made a scene; they came to me.
I can’t remember the last time I actually wanted this.
This used to be what I thrived for; the crowd, the stage, the music. It was like a child growing up, our child. The former small town band was now appearing on the cover of every emo, rock, punk, guitar, or just music magazine. Was this making it big? Losing all those late nights playing at some obscure club with only the bartenders watching us, we used to always say, “one day we’ll be the next big thing, and every band playing at some obscure club will wish they were us.” I guess we just got that faster than we expected.
I pranced around the stage, singing with every and anything left in my lungs. The guards had to constantly run around keeping the teens high on adrenaline behind the barrier. Things like this became shoved into my peripheral vision; call it an ego, but truthfully, I just wanted to believe we were back in the garage playing to our own heart beat and shouting to the cold night air that one day we’d become something.
Oh MTV, look now! I think you’ve created a monster.
“You’re going to be the next revolution, just wait. You’ll show them who you are.” I used to say to my mirror when my mom began complaining about futures and careers. She just didn’t understand, this was what I used to want with all my life. Slowly, people began coming out to our shows. It started with one or two fans listening to crappy demos and watching our hardly professional demeanor. We talked to them, told them how we wanted to prove small towns could bare amazing people. And then, a few more people trickled in. The crowds grew so slowly, we never even noticed when one afternoon –the week after releasing the first single from our first album- while watching TRL announce the number one video, between making a sandwich, I heard the others scream in my living room followed by what sounded like our single.
“Guys, if you wanted to hear our song, you could just pla-”
I stopped mid-sentence. There on the TV with the obnoxious TRL logo in the corner was playing the number one video, our video.
Things took off from there; people began approaching us at the most random times –in the bathroom at the mall, while buying cold medicine at the local drugstore, standing in front of an electronics store watching them show a movie we love- insisting that we sign something for them and what seemed like all of their dead and alive extended family. We were still so young, barely adults mentally and legally. And worst of all, on every tabloid cover, guess who was front and center? The lead singer, of course. Me. People began coming to me with their problems, people that were older than me.
I guess you could say that my revolution came much sooner than expected, or maybe I just never expected it to happen.
Music began to take my everything. Back from one of our biggest tours, I caught my boyfriend in bed… attached to some girl that looked like a two cent whore. After a bit of calming, all I could say was, “why?” And his one claim was, “all I ever see of you anymore is your pout on the cover of some magazine.” Of course, he also claimed to love me. My family, they began to act like an actual family, but soon I found out it was only because they had no shame in stealing from their own family member. Fucking gold diggers. There’s no one else for me now. Every boy just wants to date me for my name, my money, my connections. I guess love is only for the normals. Talking to the rest of the band was completely ruled out after the first time. I told them that I felt like someone had placed their hands around throat. The worst part? They smelled like over-priced perfume, plastic surgery, and a whole lot of teen angst too. The band just claimed I only wanted what I didn’t have. We fought for a month. So, I just dropped the topic and pretended they had changed my point of view.
I’m just a monster with everyone a mirror, looking back and idolizing me.
No other bands could stand against our ruthless fan base anymore; they all fell. And it was millions of albums sold out every new release we had. Everyone was tearing me apart. I couldn't walk out the door without people grabbing at every limb I had. Eventually after a few albums, it was no longer the emo scene, rock scene, punk scene, or what other label you prefer. It became my scene.
As I stand in front of peering eyes, lips parted just to scream my name, lying to my fans and band; this didn’t seem so dreamy anymore. What has fame done to me?
I never made a scene; they came to me.
posted by Going.On.Extinct at 5:50 PM
1 Comments:
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you're writing only gets better erico <3 mwahhhhhhhhhhhhx482573
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