They're singing "Happy Birthday"
You just wish you could run away
It feels much more like Doomsday
But 30/90, seems
Like I'm in for a twister
I don't see a rainbow, do you?
Turn 30 1990, boom, you're passé
What can you do?
-Jonathan Larson's "tick, tick...BOOM!"
Sometimes, he really hated himself.
No, that was not true. Definitely not (well, maybe not "definitely not", but not). Not exactly, he could say. He did not hate himself, the person. At least, he did not hate himself much. The one that he really hated (well, that he really hated sometimes) was the "genius Sakuma". The god. The idol. The instant sensation. The...did he really have to go on?
Of course, he did not hate his stage alter ego (he had several) all of the time. Not even most of the time, in fact. Most of the time he liked his stage self. He had heard that he was not supposed to enjoy fame, that fame was supposed to be the bane of every artist, that fame was the worst thing possible. Himself, he thought that that idea was stupid (or maybe he had just never quite been an artist. There was that option too). He loved fame, most of the time. He loved walking down the street and having people recognize him (oh, was he supposed to be disguised? Oops). He loved hearing everybody talk about random details of his personal life on national television, even if it was sometimes (fine, most times) creepy. He loved singing to packed concert halls, to screaming fans (he was never quite sure why he was singing when they were screaming, but whatever). He had the feeling that he was supposed to love touching people's lives, but...maybe that was another "artist" thing. He could not tell.
But even though he mostly liked his stage self, he hated him as well (much like everything else in his world). He loved it when he was asked what convenience store he preferred (7/11, as it happened), but hated it when he was asked where he got his inspiration, or how he strengthened his vocal cords, or anything to do with singing, really. He hated people assuming that there was a hidden meaning to advance his art in every move he made. And damn it, he hated the word "art"!
How could no one see (actually, he knew how)? Singing was not his art. He had never dreamed of being a singer, or even a musician. Singing was just what he did. He loved it, but he also loved kumquats. It was something that he enjoyed to do, and enjoyed doing well, but it was not his passion, per se. It was his hobby, sort of. "Hobby" was not quite the right word (that was another thing he hated, people presuming that he was brilliant with words. Or brilliant at all, for that matter), but he could not think of a better. The only word that he could think of that completely explained it was "kumquat". And of course, singing could not be his kumquat. That was stupid. That was childish. That was...depressing. Because that was something that his most common alter ego would say.
His most common alter ego was the child one. The one that his friends saw. The one who colored, who giggled, who pouted and whined and threw tantrums when he did not get his way. The one that he probably hated most of his alter egos.
He was just so feel-good and naïve. Everything was happy, sappy, and shiny shiny with him. He was the kind of person that everyone wanted their child to be like. He was the one to whom everyone went when they were depressed (leaving no one for him to go to when he was depressed). And he was about as different from the bitter, sarcastic bastard that he really was (or at least, that he thought that he really was) as it was possible to get.
But that...did not matter anymore, did it? His personal feelings had no place in the music industry, did they? He had his aura, and he would keep it. If he did not like the man (boy) he had become, well, that was just his problem.
That had been the way of things for a long time now (nine years. Since the moment he released that first album), but it had never mattered to him quite as much before. It had bothered him, yes (why do you think he kept arguing with the others? Or wanted a solo career in New York, where maybe no one had ever heard of him? He knew that he would miss the fame, but maybe he could change), but never to this extent. He had no idea why his utter...fakeness (great, he was making up words now) got to him now more than ever (that is a complete and total lie. He knew very well why).
Okay, fine: he knew why. Back then, it had been a (relatively) small price to pay. He had been on top of the world, in every way. All of Japan was at his feet; he had the greatest friends he could want (again, complete and total lie, but he did like them well enough and they tried, after all), and overall, he was happy (or the closest thing thereto). If he hated himself inside...well, it was a necessary sacrifice. Now, though...he was not quite a god anymore. Yes, he was close, but not quite there. He had been replaced (not exactly. He had been...removed). He was no longer the lead singer of the hottest band around; he was the lead singer of (a group of old has-beens) an old band having a reunion.
But he had gained wisdom, experience. He knew the ins and outs of the business. He knew (bullshit. He was still as lost as before)...no, that is not true (or is it?)! It absolutely is not! He was not naïve anymore (was he ever?). Yes, he was. He had thought...that he could find people who understood. No, he thought that he had found people who understood. People he would not have to hide from (as if that could ever be true). He was always hiding. Usually, in fact, he was hiding within a hiding place. He was hiding under a desk, or behind a bed, and using that persona to hide himself, not his body, but himself (ooh, that was poetic. No, that was pathetic).
He had to face it sometime. He was over, done with. Every aspect. His music was over with; there were new bands now (well, new. New imitators, maybe). His friendships (did he ever have any?) were over. He was finished.
He had lied, actually (well, not really, but something that he had implied was incorrect). His childish alter ego? It was not completely false. Kumagoro...the voice inside his head...it existed. So it was not quite as happy as it seemed. What about him was untarnished?
A/N: Well, that was odd. It didn't quite turn out the way I wanted it to...but I guess Ryuichi's brain is a dangerous, unpredictable place. That was actually kind of fun, if angsty. Alright, I know that I'm talking to myself now (there has been a grand total of 19 hits in a little over a week), but please review, if you read (which you probably didn't. Okay, you read; otherwise you wouldn't know what I was saying, but you in the general sense of the word probably didn't). I guess Tohma's is coming next.
