M is for Myg

Aussieangel, me, Bambie, and Guen rockin’ out at Clockwork

You’re a rock star, honey. I’m a rock star. That kid on the bus today was a rock star. Everyone’s a goddamn rock star. Why? Because we rock. That’s called logic.

I’m not talking about a video game; I’m not talking about some shit in a can. It’s not a fantasy. I’m talking about the raw power, the super sexual charge, the joyful charisma that you radiate just by getting up in the morning. Teenagers chase you down the street. They know your songs by heart. I’m wearing a t-shirt with your face on it.

Everybody loves you. Even snotty talk show hosts giggle when you flash a smile. Your parents apologize for all the grief they gave you for dropping out of school. You look good in spandex.

But you’re a different kind of rock star, you know. You’re not fueled by insecurity and you’re not an egomaniac. I know you don’t make a lot of money. You don’t trash hotel rooms. You’re not going to die by choking on your own vomit. You won’t end up a pathetic dinosaur pimping out your own brilliance for quick cash.

Here you come, walking down the street. The sun glints off your mirrored shades. There’s a rock n roll soundtrack for the world today, and everything’s gonna be all right.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 2nd, 2008 at 12:10 am and is filed under Esteban.