Character Devolution [male] pt 2///Portrait of a Failed Musician

Every word lopes out of his mouth with a heroin inflected drawl. He is the physical embodiment of the windfall of rampant, unrepentant teenage drug use, and despite that endearing musician demeanor, it’s important to note that being fooled by the quixotic fever dream of rock’n’roll stardom is something adults should no longer be deluded to endure. But he is fooled by it, which is what makes him a fool, on top of other things, too, but this hackneyed vision of the self as somehow worthy of any of the attention that he is desperately seeking.

He is broken in so many places. Shattered. Dusty. Unwanted. Old dreams are desired by no one, and, now, not even him. He is too young to be this old, but somehow he is, and his existence resonates with a high octave, picture perfect, all so clear loneliness that stings like fresh morning and bright sunlight after dark sleep. A loneliness that is so loud that he cannot even talk about it. Because no one will be there to listen to him speak.

But if he could speak, and there were someone there to listen to him, he would talk for so long about so many things. He would go on and on and on and on about all the things that he has seen in the world, and his experiences, and the things he thinks are beautiful, and the things he thinks are ugly, and forever, he would talk, but if only there were someone to listen. But there is no one to listen, because the things that he says are not worth listening to. The things that he says are just as trite and useless as he is. Instead bouncing back and forth forever in the echo chamber of his brain, becoming neither more interesting nor more enticing, just the same thoughts, never changing, never growing.

So that’s what he does, as he sits at his computer, living off his parents’ well earned money. Flitting around his 2 dimensional reality tempered only by bouts of Internet indulgence and squeamish, unsettling episodes of curdled rage against either nothing or the nothing that he has created by himself for himself. He is helpless. He is not be helped. There is no one out there to help him, so he sits there, waiting for eternity, alone, and angry because he knows it but still continues to lie to himself about the current shape of his reality.