*Everybody IS going through something...
"Doe ray me fa so la te doe"
I. Ain't Everybody Immune Other (than) Us...???
SING: On how quickly the world can spin outta control. Outta balance. No talent for that. Doesn't take great vocals or poignant lyrics to sing about that.
"cry me a river."
SING: It wasn't perfect working a job from 9 to 5...but, it beat this.
"5:00pm, Monday, January 11th..."
SING: SNAKE EYES, muthafucka, SNAKE EYES! Reality is a bitch. You trying not to think that "death" shit. Shaking from stress. Stress, shaking you from within...
"Being broke at 30 gives a nigga the chills"
...3 pairs of kids' eyes and one pair of a woman's eyes. Oblivious eyes.......and hollowing eyes.
SING: About how Insomnia keeps you from sleeping. Coffee becomes gin & tonic...even crack-like. Cigarettes become your drug of choice...becuz they calm the shakes...
"You could write the dopest shit! Record the dopest songs. Murder every role in every film you do....and right now.......nobody will ever know."
SING: "Doe ray me fa so la te doe"...becuz you practicing scales, spun backwards...hallucinating your future while time travelin' in reverse...
"I was a piano player in my last lifetime, now I write rhymes, sip white wine and let my light shine"
...but to reverse "the curse" you have to reverb the birth. The devil's got his foot on my throat....punching me. And punching me. AND PUNCHING ME! In my kidneys. So I'm...
"Pissed."
But not at anybody else. I'm pissed with...
SING: I'm pissed with myself. A self-loathing BASTARD who has a father and a mother and has never felt as alone in a world as he feels at the exact moment he wrote this prose. My disdain for myself will eventually subside, unless I die first..............but for now, anger at self resides
3:00 a.m. comes every morning.......and I lie awake, with the shakes. On the ceiling...my life plays out in front of me, like a film on the screen. Alternate story lines. One shows me on stage rocking a mic - audience with their hands up. Next scene shows me at dinner in L.A. with my wife and kids...and some teenage boy comes up to the table, timidly...and asks for an autograph. He's an only child. His mother stands just a few feet behind him. It's their 1st time in L.A. - and he tells me, they just left Universal Studios and...he proclaimed to his mother that he wanted to be an actor and that he would win an Oscar before he turns 50 to give to her, for all her love and sacrifice. I pause...and invite the teenage boy and his mother to have a seat. After asking, I find that he is taking acting classes in his home town. I sign the autograph and we all take a picture together. I give the teenage boy my card with my email and personal phone number and I tell him to keep me posted on his progress in acting. I see all of this...at 3:00 a.m. - every night - on my ceiling. I see that kid's face - starry-eyed and a bit shy...and I see his mother.....and I realize that the kid is me and my mother when I was 14. There was no one there in L.A. the 1st time I visited, to take that kinda interest in me. But in that position, thas how I would handle the skinny kid seeking a simple autograph..........and THEN the alternate story plays out on the ceiling...
SING: ...and the climate changes. There is no wife. No Cheyenne. No Ahmir. No Thomas. Itz dark. And cold. So dark...I. can't see my hand in front of my face. And so cold, the current temperature in Indianapolis would seem, equator hot. I hear the voices...muffled. I can't make out the words...but I hear the voices. Reminds me of a dream I used to have all the time when I was in college.
"And Sometimes......Why?"
Then somebody turns the lights on. I hear somebody singing, softly...but my eyes don't adjust to the light at first. But.....as they slowly make out what this is....on my right, just above...I see my wife...and Cheyenne...and Thomas...and then my beloved Ahmir...and my mother...and my father. Ahmir is crying...........
...and. On the ceiling, at 3:00 a.m. - every night...I realize, this is my funeral. The newspaper headline reads:
"Actor, Monty Jey, Dead at age 45."
Insomnia. Cold. Trying to reach out to touch Ahmir's face on the ceiling.....to wipe the tears off his chubby cheeks. Dead. Before realizing the dreams I had at age 14...even before that. Wife, Children & Parents, standing just outta my very silent & still reach.
SING LOUDER: I guess.............I need to either force myself to go to sleep at night...OR...stop lookin' at the gotdamn ceiling. But what DEFINITELY has to happen is this................there has to be a change made.
In Direction
Spiritually
Mentally
And Physically
Becuz...THIS, ain't who I am as a person. And I ain't ready to die...
-mo.jeySense1972
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