One more look in the mirror. Checking his hair, face, clothes and state of mind. The squeaking sound of the raging crowd piercing faintly through his ears, entering his brain releasing a weird, euphoria. As each step takes him closer to the stage entrance the euphoric feeling is intensified. Goosebumps slowly rising on his arms making their way to his shoulders and down his back. As if snorting cocaine, he takes a deep breath through his nose and lays his head far back. Typical ritual before approaching the raging crowd craving his presence ever so badly. Shortly checking that the little earplug is irritating him as little as possible before he – as one hundred nights before – grabs the microphone firmly and clutches it so tight one might think that was his most priced possession. Tightening his jaw muscles, taking another deep breath and rolling his shoulders back a couple times hoping to relax. Three steps ahead the crowd is screaming crazed. Impatiently waiting for him to enter the stage for the sake of their presence.
After the rave another rave follows. The clock runs out and another one starts. One bottle finishes as another fills up and craves to be finished in the same way. No longer at the arena where the raving crowd was cheering his name, but now in a dark, crowded club with lights flashing everywhere in hundreds of thousands of colors. The beat of the music pounding through his ears as yet another sip of the Jack Daniel’s burns its way down his throat raising the alcohol level in his blood for the second hour in a row. Sitting back in the exclusive burgundy red leather couch, staring into the black emptiness and barely even noticing the girl on his lap enthusiastically attempting to seduce him, hoping that she could be the one to be taken home as she has imagined only in her wildest dreams. But being a pretty girl goes a long way in the eyes of a man. Putting a smile on his wasted face when a familiar male face sits next to him, and putting his hand on the slutty girl’s hip instantly making her think that she finally caught his attention. “Having a good time?” the familiar face asks, positive that he will answer something similar to ‘of course’. “How can I not?” he replies, ironic since having a good time is the last thing happening. Yet he smiles. His whole face is smiling at the familiar looking man next to him, and he does not suspect a thing.
Leaving his own after party early with the slutty girl from his lap. Guess she did get lucky after all. Entering yet another hotel room with a different girl one more night, only giving a crap about the sex he is about to get, he does not waste any time. Quickly snatching off her clothing and throwing her on the bed, he decides to take a couple seconds to admire her body as she twists and turns seductively in front of him. Impatient and tired of just staring at the beauty of tonight he crawls down in the bed to her mentally preparing for yet another euphoria before the new day begins and he does the whole thing over again.
“Are you even paying attention?” somebody says, breaking through his bubble and thereby disturbing the peace of his own world. He runs a hand through his hair imagining himself leave the room immediately. Tired of going over the same stuff over and over. “Sorry… had a long night,” he says with an indicating smirk on his face. He notices the familiar man from the club last night when he gives him a pat on the shoulder and smirks back at him in the exact same way. The same thing on both of their minds. The slutty girl from last night. The familiar face must know that he took her home. They keep eye contact for a moment. A long night is always the excuse of not paying attention though the real reason is the craving of just staying at home. Just one night at home. But that’s not happening. Subject matter of today’s meeting: the album release party tonight to which he is obligated to attend since the album referred to is his. Slicking his hair back with his hand and putting his black cap back on, he promises himself to at least try to pay attention for the last 20 minutes of this rotten meeting.
Being a star his publicist had suggested for him to be fashionably late to his own release party. Fashionably late being 25-30 minutes. He had agreed to this, excited that he got to spend, though only a few minutes, a little more time alone. A little more time at home. Staring into the bathroom mirror, slicking back his hair he found himself contemplating whether to, instead of being fashionably late, fashionably not show up at all. Checking his hair, face, clothes and state of mind one last time before a buzz went off from his phone. ‘I’m here. Hurry.’ Said the text showing on his lock-screen. Taking a deep breath through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, completely emptying his lungs for air, he shook off every frustrating, furiously triggering thought he had and out on a smiling, charming face. Finally arriving at the location of the release party he found a slight feeling of excitement filling him up. A feeling, which was quickly replaced with wanting to either go home or go inside and grab a bottle of Jack for himself. Barely had he come through the door before people started greeting and congratulating his smiling, sincerely genuine face. Shaking hands. Hugs. Kisses on a hundred women’s cheeks still thinking about that bottle of Jack from earlier.
He watched his manager step up on the little black stage with the microphone clinging onto this, so far, fashionably half filled glass containing Jack Daniel’s. A relatively large sip of the liquid sending a blissful fleeing through his mind and body. The desire to get fucked up presents itself, though he has to shake it off. Just for a short while. Three, not at all half full, glasses of Jack Daniel’s later he takes two steps up on the little black stage wondering why the hell he agreed to perform some of the songs from his new album. But a promise is a promise and he figured he ought to keep his promises for now. It was his release party after all.
All frustrating thoughts long gone, stepped into character performing a few of the singles from his new album. Feeling that same euphoric feeling from the show last night. Goosebumps covering his arms, the hairs in the back of his neck raised from excitement and thrilling sensations going through every single nerve in his body. Hyping the crowd and wanting them to like his new album as any artist would something in the crowd suddenly catches his eye. He snatches the chance of looking again just to make sure what he saw was real, but nothing is there. The air is once again empty. But the emptiness of the air does not erase the feeling of someone out in the crowd judging him. Someone who knows his deepest thought and feelings. Someone with the ability to see right through his façade. Someone who knows the person behind the character like an omniscient narrator telling his story from an outside point of view. Quickly shaking the strange paranoia off and completely blaming it on the alcohol his turned his attention back to his crowd of guests who were nothing like the cheerful, stimulating crowds of fans of which he was so used to by now.
Conversation after conversation and question after question his mind soon felt as stuffed with irrelevant bullshit as a thanksgiving turkey. Perhaps that was what he was to them. A thanksgiving turkey. People always seem to be having a good time when the thanksgiving turkey is served, just the same as the party always seems to start when he walks through the door. No longer sipping Jack Daniel’s from the glasses, but now straight from the bottle, and hardly sipping, he started to feel rather wasted. Properly wasted perhaps. The more formal guests had left and now the only ones left were those who had probably only come for the booze to begin with. Tracks of his own and tracks made by other artists were booming through the speakers, which were playing way too loud, but he didn’t bother to care. Only thing remaining on his mind was the now almost empty Jack Daniel’s bottle, which last centiliters had end up on his clothes due to another drunk person, most likely a young woman, who had clung her arms around his neck, almost violently attempting to hug him while he was drinking that last precious brown in the bottle. Mad at first, wanting to yell at the girl. Not for spilling the liquid all over his clothes, but for spilling it in general, he takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales through his mouth as he smiles and lays an arm around her waist and hugging her, assuming that she was acquainted with him. Smiling and being drunk as he was he couldn’t resist the urge to grab the young girl’s ass, feeling almost allowed since she made him spill his precious alcohol. He could hear a little giggle from her as he squeezed her ass and he smirked with satisfaction. The girl started dancing, twisting and turned herself like an eel around his body, but he wasn’t in the mood to dance. He gave her a quick smile before he escaped her by saying he had something to take care off. Being pushed side to side through the crowded hallways of the rented house he attempted to make his way to the bathroom in the far end of the house. On his way he had grasped another glass of Jack Daniel’s. There was a bottle he could’ve taken, but he had decided not to, deciding now that he better cut back on the alcohol before he would have to cancel his next three shows due to a hangover.
He makes his way to the bathroom after what seems like a hundred years, and luckily there’s not a living soul in there. He leans against the bathroom wall staring intensely into the brown liquid in his glass of which he has not taken a single sip from yet. “So much for wanting to be at home,” he says to himself staring at his own feet, which seem to be way too far below him. He runs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. Probably the hundredth deep breath taken today. “Just gonna be standing out here alone dipshit?” a voice suddenly rings through his ear. A voice sounding very much like his own. He looks around for a second, but there’s no one to be found in the bathroom except for himself. “Over here!” the voice says, and he turns his head to the mirror only to see himself talking to him. He furrows his brows in deep confusion and muttered: “what?” his reflection staring right at him exclaiming, “you heard me.” He shakes his head for a second acknowledging the fact that he is already talking to himself too often. “Stop being such a bitch man, these people are here celebrating your album, and you’re in the bathroom crying like a baby about how you’d rather be at home?” his reflection says in a judgmental tone and laughs in a mocking way. “You don’t get it,” he replies staring right at himself in the mirror, starting to feel slightly annoyed by the comment about his absence from the party. “What? Is this not what you asked for? You wanted to make music right? You made it man, and now you’re here bitching about it? I can’t take you seriously.” With nothing to say he put his thumb and middle finger to his temples squeezing lightly and hoping that the voice in his head would leave him alone. “Oh I’m sorry did I make you cry now?” his reflection added to his list taunting things he had said. “Just shut up! You don’t know how I feel!” he blurted out almost yelling at his reflection with his voice slightly cracking as if he was about to cry. “What fuck are y’all doing out here?” a laughing third voice sounding like his own came stumbling through the bathroom door with a glass of Jack Daniel’s in his hand. “You gotta be kidding me,” he shook his head and stared into the fairly ugly ceiling. “What the fuck is he doing out here?” the third voice asked his reflection. “He’s crying because he wants to go home.” His reflection answered and the third voice started laughing. “Just drink up man! Bottoms up and back out there, it’s crazy!” the third voice said to him pointing out the door with an enthusiastic smirk on his face. “Just leave me alone!” he cried out clenching his fist firmly as his reflection and third voice kept mocking him. Filled with anger and frustration he pushed pas himself hearing the word ‘asshole’ leave his mouth right before he burst through the bathroom door and tried to hold himself together as good as possible.
Getting home in one piece he decided to take a shower before going to bed, so he wouldn’t smell too much like alcohol in the morning when he was going to be back on the road. He let the warm, steaming water run down his body as he ran his hand through his now wet hair and placed he other on the wall. He couldn’t help but think how lucky he was to have gotten home considering that he had been driving with far too much alcohol in his blood. An accident could’ve easily happened, and the thought of him clashing with another car was pleasing for a second and then it turned very nasty. He shook his head and tried to get a hold of his drunken thoughts. Thankful for the final peace of being alone.
He had woken up the next morning and cursing himself to hell for drinking so much. His liver had to be pretty muddy by now, but it never made him put the Jack Daniel’s down. Now once again on another stage, in another arena, in another town with the screaming voices of raving fans impatiently waiting for him to take over the stage. One more look in the mirror. Checking his hair, face, clothes and state of mind. The squeaking sound of the raging crowd piercing faintly through his ears, entering his brain releasing a pleasant euphoria. As each step takes him closer to the stage entrance the euphoric feeling is intensified. Goosebumps slowly rising on his arms making their way to his shoulders and down his back. As if snorting cocaine, he takes a deep breath through his nose and lays his head far back. Typical ritual before approaching the raging crowd craving his presence ever so badly. Shortly checking that the little earplug is irritating him as little as possible before he – as one hundred and one nights before – grabs the microphone firmly and clutches it tightly as it is his most priced possession. Tightening his jaw muscles, taking another deep breath and rolling his shoulders back a couple times hoping to relax. Three steps ahead the crowd is screaming crazed. Impatiently waiting for him to enter the stage for the sake of his passion.
Tak fordi i har læst med, jeg håber, at i nød at læse den her lille historie, der som sagt er inspireret af G-Eazy og Bebe Rexhas Me Myself & I. Tjek musik videoen ud på Youtube (link i historiens beskrivelse, hvis ikke det virker så bare søg på sangen), og tjek G-Eazy ud på Spotify eller Youtube, fordi han er vild!
PS. Hvis en dansk oversættelse af teksten ønskes, så bare skriv det i en kommentar, så skriver jeg den gerne til jer, der hellere vil læse på dansk!
- Une fille