Caustic Soda The Actor
F..ck you if youve heard this all before. Dont ask me
whats wrong? If I dont talk. If I'm quiet then its
because I dont want everything to fall down. Seem every
time I force air through my throat wrong things sound
you know Im trying too hard to be myself but it just
isnt me. Its dishonest. Honest. Oh, honestly . . .
Don't believe the things I did last night - got caught
up in the flood of lights and friends and trends and
selfish gripes. Was I listening to anything I was
saying? No. Sick of going home and banging my head
against the wall. Sick of my own voice (and sick of
writing it all down). Sick of putting up with this
plane of thought. Finding that it really wasnt what I
thought it was at all. You can cry now. You can cry and
whinge and sob and complain. And you might try to shut
your mouth because it all seems better that way. But in
all truth youre going to be a fool in somebodys eyes
anyway. Unbelievable. Someone sits down next to me on
this tram and starts talking openly about how your
thoughts arent really your own (how did she know, how
could she have known?) So I listen amused by her
sincerity because this concept had been rushing through
my head all week. Her facial expression got the better
of me. The conversation bordered on theatrics: Look at
them she said indicating the occupied seats Theyre
unhappy with where they are going on this tragic old
street . . . unloading all the negativity that they
bring. I know because I used to feel the same when I
worked on one of these things. And I know she believed
every word she said, but was she peddling someone elses
ideas? Look, heres the card of the place that satisfied
me (she was) Perhaps she would have made more sense if
she has of said plainly to me: F..ck you if you've heard
this all before . . .