Audition

Audition


“I am going to be somebody. I am going to make it!” the lost soul screams at the camera after the harsh judges tell them they have no real talent. They curse. They disagree, vehemently. I sit at home sipping on my rum and coke laughing. I am watching American Idol season whatever and it’s so fucking entertaining to see people get their dreams crushed. I don’t know why. We all think we are special but we aren’t. It’s like none of us ever attended public schooling.

They say don’t think about it. But who is they? They say be yourself. I say bullshit. On that naked stage with the sun in a strobe light pulsating your face --you say to yourself it’s your turn. “You!” that’s the audition. You are only selling “you?” But who the fuck are you? You are standing in the sun and there is no way of hiding your flaws. God made you, now the creation must be judged.


The only person that ever discovered me was my mama when she took that pregnancy test. And there I was, piss on a stick staring back at a mortified 17 year old.
It wasn’t magic. I couldn’t sing, act or do anything but scare the shit out of her.

It seems in life we are always auditioning. Dating. Interviewing. Applying for an apartment. Trying to belong. Some call it love. Others call it peer pressure. The church people call it getting into heaven.

But what if it doesn’t want you?

I was trying to get laid. I came in tow with all my best lines. I brushed my teeth and flirted my ass off. I even bought the bitch a drink. I really wanted that piece of ass. Yet, there was nothing I could do to convince that person to come home with me. I smiled. I told cute jokes. Nothing. It wasn’t like the person was just an asshole or felt I was ugly or not good enough. I wasn’t the one.

I wasn’t the one. I wasn’t what he or she decided he or she deserved. I was just some asshole who couldn’t deal with rejection. But I did get some really great advice. The person told me, when someone likes you, you can shit on yourself and they would forgive it.

Yet, I have never been the type to take rejection well. I rather be delusional.

Flash adjacently to Steven King’s “Misery”, three o’clock in the morning after finishing a liter of Bacardi clear rum and sniffing Xanax. The world can change if it wants me or not. So Flash back to the beginning of this particular rant, “I am going to be somebody” even if I have to skin Simon Cowell and wear him as a belt.

I don’t audition. I hold hostage.