If I had a quarter for every mile I’ve traveled for this business, I’d have garnered more than I’ve ever earned by traveling those miles for collected paydays and signed autographs.
Doing the work isn’t the problem. I could smile a million more empty smiles, and scribble to the moon on every single napkin/scrap of paper/event program brought to me by any nameless, faceless, heartless asshole with a sanctimonious grin on his face. I’ll hug all your kids, and take pictures with them all, individually, and then together. I’ll shake your hand while you forget for a second, that later that night you’ve got message boards to fill with hate.
Now, try not to let our little moment there dictate the star rating of my match that you’ve jotted down in your little notebook. Because God knows we mustn’t compromise integrity. Honesty is at a premium people; and the price? Evidently, more than any of you can afford, so why bother to collect.
I chose this profession, yes. And I take responsibility for the inequity that is the price of this so-called glory. Part of my conundrum, though, is that dreams always give way to a common version of the truth. And in our haste, we lose track of what is avant-garde. If you have the power, truth is what you make it. This realization is how you are unlike us.
The other part of the problem is that I had allowed you, as ordinary people, to infiltrate my psyche. Thus, you had the advantage. Luckily, revolutions make me feel young again. And with this, we are free.
Free from the pitfalls of reality.
Free from you, and your smug articulations.
Free, because when your jaws hit the floor, may it be in Manhattan or Hartford or Detroit or Chicago, the silence will resonate, and silence my friend, is our greatest achievement.
As we amass your honesty, we’ll collect your heads as well.