Violence is playing guitar and singing at open mic night at the White Eagle Saloon. In your mind it is supposed to be transcendent but in reality it is killing you. Every millisecond you loose a piece of yourself. One singer-songwriter after the other steps up to the light, like a kamikaze. Huzzah!
Step up! to the microphone and sing your diddy. It sounds so straightforward, so comprehensible. You created something and you want people to hear it so that your creation will live. You are committed to giving your song life. Until, you are standing in front of strangers and you realize how useless it is to care about this life as there will be others. The end is TRUTH. Right about now, you are do or DIE. Art kills. So, you want to die with dignity.
You let your voice S-A-I-L out. You pluck and pull that beat. With each pulse your corporeal essence (your essere) gives way to the sea. Did you know that waves sound like one hand slapping the bar at the White Eagle Saloon?
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