The Great Big Gig in the Sky

And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes…

I look out of my window, and everything is in grey. I look for things I once I once enjoyed and I’m not interested. I wander around looking for something to fill the void, but there’s nothing, I just walk back and forth. Eventually I just sit down, and stare. Everything went sideways, everything I had made was destroyed. Everything I had hoped for was dashed. Everything I loved was taken.

There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.

The voice in my head tells me the hard truth. It’s not the world, it’s not them, it’s not her, it’s not him, it’s not supernatural. It’s me. It was always me.

Got amazing powers of observation…

Slowly I realize the lies I’ve been told. Lies I’ve told myself. Lies others have told me. Lies woven into the very fabric of society. Lies built into the nature of reality. In a brittle, desperate moment of clarity, I see through them all. No darling, I’m not. I can’t do anything. I can’t even do something. I break everything. That’s what I do. I think it might be what we all do. But I do have a talent: I fuck things up.

You shout and no one seems to hear.

I feel that desperate feeling deep down inside, that feeling “I need someone to know me. I need someone to understand me. I need someone to see all the way to the bottom of this cesspit of a psyche I have and know and understand what’s driven me my whole life, and what I truly need at the end of it all.”

And I got a strong urge to fly, but I got nowhere to fly to…

This is the danger moment. This is that moment when some turn to religion to fill this desperate emptiness inside. There’s a ready made solution to an age old human weakness, an imaginary friend who loves you, understands you, is always there for you, protects you, and will never hurt you.

The Lunatic is my head…

But no thanks darling, I’ve already got an imaginary friend. The difference between me and you is that I know he’s imaginary. Mine says some mean things, but not as mean as yours my dear. Mine doesn’t take those I love from me, but he will smack me out of my rut sometimes and set me straight. Fix me. It hurts sometimes, but he knows how to fix me, darling. He’s the only one who does.

I don’t need no arms around me…

I’m not alone in my weakness, the need to have someone understand me. The fact that I know when I’m gone, that this consciousness, this being whom I know more closely than any other, will someday be irretrievably lost wears on me. It makes me desperate for someone else to know what it’s like to be me. But you hurt me darling, you have to go now. You won’t make it to the bottom. Nobody has yet, only me.

And I don’t need no drugs to calm me.

So close… so close… so close… but it’s gone now. Floating away on a spring breeze, into the sky, never to be found again. I was so close…

Don’t think I need anything at all…

And now it turns out I was laying here the whole time, staring at the ceiling. Was it real? Was it all my head? Did any of that really happen to me at all, or was it someone else? Was there someone else driving the bus while rode shotgun? What is here and now is painfully clear, but what was and what could have been grows fuzzy and dim. I reach for the bottle in the drawer.

You rearrange me ‘till I’m sane…

And finally he comes again. He shouts this time. You idiot. You fucking moron. What did you think would happen? Why do you do this to yourself over and over and over? Did you really not see it coming? That was not for you. This is, darling, this is. My head leans back, and the pain begins. Such lovely, deep pain. I finally feel real, and the clarity returns.