Caitlyn wasn't speaking to him.
He couldn't really blame her; he wouldn't speak to himself either. She chose instead to blast that damn Ani DiFranco CD over and over to say what she needed to say.
Yeah, I wonder, when you're a big star, will you miss the earth?
He's not a big star, he's a supernova, a star going out in a spectacular blaze. He has to be out tonight; the press will be on the doorstep tomorrow, waiting for the quote, the sound bite. There won't be one. At least, not from him. Caitlyn, Chuck, they can say whatever they want. He's not speaking.
He's not even the one they want to hear. He can't conceive of himself being the same person they're talking about. That person isn't around anymore. He's gone. He left. He served his purpose. The only person left now is one so shattered, so lost, that he doesn't know if he can form words at all. He can't even get in touch with that part of himself that was responsible for everything bad that happened.
And the next time I saw you, you were larger than life.
This whole thing is larger than life. It's a small problem, magnified to a massive, earth-shattering crisis. It's not that bad. So he lied. Well, not him. That person is gone. The one who's still here, that's the one that has to deal, and he can't. He can't deal at all.
You came and you conquered.
You were doing all right.
He's not doing all right. He's not doing well at all. He has nothing, does nothing, thinks nothing, he's just nothing. He's invisible, the walking dead. No, worse. The walking murdered. He was murdered by the critics, by the boss, by his lovers. By everyone that counts.
He has to still love him. Somewhere, he knows that he has to still love him, and maybe everything will be okay. But maybe that person is gone too. He doesn't think that Chuck is capable of it, though. He's not the kind of person who lives these little lives that don't last.
He refuses to admit that he might not be sane, that there might be a reason for this whole thing other than that "everyone is a fucking Napoleon." That maybe not everyone has these people inside of them that are so different that they can't be called you, not really. Not everyone is capable of being a new person every day. Not everyone can just turn off people they don't like, even if they're part of you.
And I know you would always want more.
He's already turned Chuck off. Chuck is gone. His love is gone. He knows Chuck doesn't want to love him anymore, and that's okay. He doesn't need him. He doesn't need anyone. He'll be fine. He'll just go away and be a new person. That's the easy part. It's the people that are still turned on that are the problem. He can't turn Caitlyn off, not until he leaves the apartment. He can't turn Amy and David off because they're too nice. He wants to; it would hurt so much less to just make a clean break and turn off this whole part of his life and make it so that it never even happened, but he can't. That's the only thing he can't do. He can't lose the good. He can't turn off the good. It hurts too much.
You chose not to notice until now.
He wants Caitlyn to turn the damn CD off so he can think, but he understands that she doesn't want to think about any of it, and really he can't blame her. It's her place now; she can do what she wants. He'll just sit here and not exist for a while. He's good at it. Too good.
He'll go somewhere that he doesn't exist. He'll have a new name and a new life. He can get out. Chuck, Caitlyn, they can't get out. They'll have to live with this forever. They can't turn things off. It's a useful talent to have. It's survival, and he doesn't know how anyone lives without it.
I think that that is the way it always was.
No, baby, no it wasn't. I did love you. The person I was then did love you. It's just that he was the same guy that "took you for a ride." Who I am now, I guess I don't love you. Or Chuck. I just can't. If I do, it'll hurt. It'll hurt like being ignored, like being frowned at. Like being accused. I can't handle the pain.
When he looks back, it's the pain that got him here. The pain of being no one. Even though he's good at it, it's not his favorite way to live. Live fast, die young. Works for stars, and he was a star. If he would die right now they wouldn't care about the lies. He'd be canonized anyway, and no one would care about the old pain because they'd be too wrapped up in the new. He's dying right now, but not in a way they can understand. He's like a caterpillar in chrysalis; soon he'll break free as a whole new animal. He'll finally be free. He'll be shiny and new. It's a joy in its own strange way.
The choice was up to you.
Will you miss the earth?
He couldn't really blame her; he wouldn't speak to himself either. She chose instead to blast that damn Ani DiFranco CD over and over to say what she needed to say.
Yeah, I wonder, when you're a big star, will you miss the earth?
He's not a big star, he's a supernova, a star going out in a spectacular blaze. He has to be out tonight; the press will be on the doorstep tomorrow, waiting for the quote, the sound bite. There won't be one. At least, not from him. Caitlyn, Chuck, they can say whatever they want. He's not speaking.
He's not even the one they want to hear. He can't conceive of himself being the same person they're talking about. That person isn't around anymore. He's gone. He left. He served his purpose. The only person left now is one so shattered, so lost, that he doesn't know if he can form words at all. He can't even get in touch with that part of himself that was responsible for everything bad that happened.
And the next time I saw you, you were larger than life.
This whole thing is larger than life. It's a small problem, magnified to a massive, earth-shattering crisis. It's not that bad. So he lied. Well, not him. That person is gone. The one who's still here, that's the one that has to deal, and he can't. He can't deal at all.
You came and you conquered.
You were doing all right.
He's not doing all right. He's not doing well at all. He has nothing, does nothing, thinks nothing, he's just nothing. He's invisible, the walking dead. No, worse. The walking murdered. He was murdered by the critics, by the boss, by his lovers. By everyone that counts.
He has to still love him. Somewhere, he knows that he has to still love him, and maybe everything will be okay. But maybe that person is gone too. He doesn't think that Chuck is capable of it, though. He's not the kind of person who lives these little lives that don't last.
He refuses to admit that he might not be sane, that there might be a reason for this whole thing other than that "everyone is a fucking Napoleon." That maybe not everyone has these people inside of them that are so different that they can't be called you, not really. Not everyone is capable of being a new person every day. Not everyone can just turn off people they don't like, even if they're part of you.
And I know you would always want more.
He's already turned Chuck off. Chuck is gone. His love is gone. He knows Chuck doesn't want to love him anymore, and that's okay. He doesn't need him. He doesn't need anyone. He'll be fine. He'll just go away and be a new person. That's the easy part. It's the people that are still turned on that are the problem. He can't turn Caitlyn off, not until he leaves the apartment. He can't turn Amy and David off because they're too nice. He wants to; it would hurt so much less to just make a clean break and turn off this whole part of his life and make it so that it never even happened, but he can't. That's the only thing he can't do. He can't lose the good. He can't turn off the good. It hurts too much.
You chose not to notice until now.
He wants Caitlyn to turn the damn CD off so he can think, but he understands that she doesn't want to think about any of it, and really he can't blame her. It's her place now; she can do what she wants. He'll just sit here and not exist for a while. He's good at it. Too good.
He'll go somewhere that he doesn't exist. He'll have a new name and a new life. He can get out. Chuck, Caitlyn, they can't get out. They'll have to live with this forever. They can't turn things off. It's a useful talent to have. It's survival, and he doesn't know how anyone lives without it.
I think that that is the way it always was.
No, baby, no it wasn't. I did love you. The person I was then did love you. It's just that he was the same guy that "took you for a ride." Who I am now, I guess I don't love you. Or Chuck. I just can't. If I do, it'll hurt. It'll hurt like being ignored, like being frowned at. Like being accused. I can't handle the pain.
When he looks back, it's the pain that got him here. The pain of being no one. Even though he's good at it, it's not his favorite way to live. Live fast, die young. Works for stars, and he was a star. If he would die right now they wouldn't care about the lies. He'd be canonized anyway, and no one would care about the old pain because they'd be too wrapped up in the new. He's dying right now, but not in a way they can understand. He's like a caterpillar in chrysalis; soon he'll break free as a whole new animal. He'll finally be free. He'll be shiny and new. It's a joy in its own strange way.
The choice was up to you.
Will you miss the earth?