This is pinnacle,—finite.
This is a momentary lapse of reason. This is beyond the first breath taken, one of clarity and utmost importance; when you comprehend anxiety and justify it. You will stand across a human, opposite in so many ways, they have become befitting. Staring into what is supposed to be them, the pupils foreground bloodshot eyes. If you feel at home, then this is that moment.
This moment is the excitement of wanting to come, yet the desire to make a split second last forever. It’s suppression, avoidance of guilt. The things a woman can do to a man.
I have stood on a stage in front of hundreds. With a Fender Mustang molding into my body I expressed my existence to thirsty souls. Their mouths were agape from the desire to simply drown. They we’re so wet with excitement they collapsed on the floor and a sea of one idea flooded the land. I turned to my amp, a 6 foot mecca of human engineering. Coils released audible dissonance and the waves of sound penetrated the pit of standing people. A bead of sweat dripped from nose, onto my hand, and I strummed an open note for texture. C#. The hoard toppled.
I looked over to see Gerald panting on his drum set, sweat raining onto his snare. He stared into his toms, lost in the measurement. Towering over his kick he began to arch back in anticipation. He was anticipating his body for an impact. Every limb would rise into the air and careen down like a dead body with a severed head. The kit would barely survive. The audience dug their jaws into the floorboards.
Nikk collapsed down onto his pedal. He only had a brief period to regain control. He threw his guitar to the side and began twisting nobs on his pedal board, and pulling chords; the chaos actually gave him clarity. The sound waves convulsed in such a way and collided with ferocity. Unimaginable noises and disgusting effects would swell in the air forcing the machine to reset itself. Nikk prayed for the seizure not to end. He stood to face God and began to lift off the ground.
Ryan floated. He didn’t walk. He graced his body towards the back of the house and rested one foot on Gerald’s kick drum. This would be the final time he would drop the mic onto the stage floor. He raised his arms as a martyr. He didn’t beg for forgiveness or for the good Lord to take him away. He embraced the final moment and smiled back as though he himself had defied God. He stretched that smile into Nikk and I, who stood on opposite ends of the stage, then laughed at Gerald. He prepared to catapult.
I turned back into my amp and sunk into the open note. This is the last time I would play this note after five years of hammering it. I thought of my existence. What was it? How could I occupy such space, such dimensions and understand it? I was lost in my own moment. I thought of thinking, then thought of not thinking; what it meant to truly be alive and living. I couldn’t remember the past hour. What kind of man I was before hand or what my intentions were after. Who would I become? What I had planned for myself? I only knew what was.
Christ in his last breath.
My father when he first held me.
The first time I drilled into her.
The moment I didn’t want to give into her, but did.
Every time I saw a dead body.
Lying on my death-bed I will have achieved nothing ever comprehensible. I will ask whoever may be there, next to me, to play this song. Will it be my son? Wife? A simple nurse? I do not know. I do not know if my life will flash before my eyes and I think I would prefer it if it didn’t. It seems pointless to exist for selfish reasons and it’s selfish to desire to exist forever. I will let the song build, and build it will to this point. I anticipate this moment every time, and when it finally arrives I feel only ecstasy;
The THC clouding the brain.
The heroin creeping up the arm.
The focus from cocaine.
The booze numbing the senses.
The feeling of a woman’s skin on mine.
The last note of a song.
When it hits this point in the song, pull the plug. Smash my skull into oblivion. Shoot me in the face or sever my spinal cord from the rest of the body. Do not try to save me, or prolong my vegetable state. Do not welcome me to the machine or encourage immortality. Just let the song play and at 14:08, end my existence. Let that feeling be the last thing I comprehend. I demand it.
On the stage all four of us jump up into the air and we have become that moment. We have built five years of joy, prosperity, hardship, heartache, failure, friendship and success into an hour-long set of hits. We had to relive everything in that moment and in that moment was our immortality. Now we were to make our final statement. The last hit, of the last song, of the last show. Coming down is the hardest part.