My name is Jon and I feel like I'm on a pirate ship.
I was an ordinary office worker, with a stable job, a happy family, and a stable life without any disturbances.
I love music and it's the only solace in my boring days.
I often walk the streets with my notebook in search of interesting things, then rush home and start writing songs, hoping to catch the light of chance that comes my way.
I played the keyboard, and it was smooth at first, but it stopped after a few sentences.
As ever, a tedious half-finished product.
Depressed I tweeted: Working hard on songs all day. Now for dinner. #nomnomnom
I love to share my life on Twitter even though I only have 14 followers.
I dreamed of writing great songs myself, putting together a great band, touring the world and having countless fans screaming for us.
The truth is that my work is as unpopular as my tweets.
But I believed that I was just missing an opportunity, an extraordinary experience, a suffering from the sky, an event that turned my life around.
Then I get inspired. All the notes will come out, automatically forming a beautiful melody in my mind.
As the saying goes, genius is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration.
I've listened to countless records, watched hundreds of band performances, and wrote a lot of songs. Right now I'm missing this key inspiration.
I finished the cheesy ham sandwich on the side of the road that day and posted a new tweet. Then the police car drove over.
Someone jumped into the sea to commit suicide.
The uncle wearing sunglasses next to them said that their teammates had a conflict when they were doing a radio show.
radio show? Immediately I knew it was the band doing the interview I had just heard at the sandwich shop.
The band has a gig tonight and their keyboard player is trying to drown himself.
What a coincidence. "I'm also a keyboard player." He glanced at me and walked back to the car.
I swear I was just sighing for nothing, but he actually asked me to replace the keyboard player for the evening show.
There was no rehearsal, no introduction, just ready to perform on stage.
It's so random.
Suppressing the faint uneasiness in my heart, I felt that I was about to turn around.
I came to the venue in the evening and saw the band members with weird haircuts and death eyeliner, and the lead singer in cartoon hoods and tight autumn clothes, and I felt a little square.
And their experimental music style is nothing like the cookie-cutter sugar water Coke I write about.
But after all, I am a person with good musical literacy, and I quickly found the feeling and got better.
Unexpectedly, the band members interrupted the show with a quarrel.
My first gig.
I went back to the same life.
Do you know what it feels like to lose something you once had? Besides, I haven't fully owned it yet.
One day I received a call from Don, the uncle in sunglasses who invited me to perform.
Lucas was not coming back, he said, and they needed a new keyboard player.
They invited me to make music together, he said.
A dead end, isn't it?
I saw my dream finally set sail and ready to set sail.
But things went a bit beyond my expectations.
I thought it was just a temporary job, so I only brought a t-shirt and a pair of pants.
And now I've been here for almost a year.
And aside from Don and Frank (the lead singer with the hood), the other members didn't seem to welcome me very much.
Especially Clara, who picks up on the food I cook, mocks the songs I write, and says I just follow the conductor's fingers.
It seems like being able to play the thereman is a great thing.
Well, that's really cool.
And Frank, he's a weirdo. He never took off his hood, and no one saw his true face when he was eating, sleeping, or even taking a shower.
But he is an unquestioned genius. Don thinks so, Clara thinks so, I think so too.
He's the center of the band, with an endless stream of new ideas and magic that turns the rotten into magic, and the mediocre melodies I've written are turned into real works of art.
Although that song became his work, not mine anymore.
That's the mark of genius, and genius always goes hand in hand with weirdness.
I'm starting to imagine what happened to Frank, maybe he's wearing a hood to hide his ugliness.
There must be some unknown secret, painful experience, or irreparable flaw that makes him so sensitive and weird.
Anyway, I love it here. The air is fresh, away from the world, a group of like-minded people, absorbing the creation of the essence of heaven and earth.
Although I don't have a lot of status in the band at the moment - it's normal, people start to reject new classmates when they go to school.
I'll prove myself, just wait and see.
I post my daily experience and rehearsal videos on social networks, hoping that more people can see us and see this excellent band.
My fans are increasing little by little.
Doom comes at this time.
After the new song was recorded, Don hanged himself.
Wearing Frank's hood.
He wanted to be Frank until he died.
Then I got another shocking piece of news: Don was the band's first keyboard player, then Lucas. And then me.
No, I'm not going to be next.
The day Don's body was burned into ashes, I received a private message. We got a chance to go to the SXSW festival.
An opportunity to show yourself and prove yourself. Shun
By the way, my Twitter followers have risen to 1904.
Clara, as always, despised my actions, but Frank was impressed by the 23,751 views of the video.
I know that when I make music in the deep mountains and old forests, no fans like it, and the talent is buried in the world. In fact, he also longs to be recognized by others.
The strange behavior of geniuses is not understood, but their isolated hearts actually yearn for applause and cheers.
Clara said I was destroying Frank. What's the use of an anonymous genius?
We set off and Frank was happy.
Until the staff told us that 23751 plays were nothing at all.
Here, still not many people know us.
I realized that if we were going to get more fans to like us, we had to cater to our audience.
Frank wrote a new song.
Coca-Cola, lip balm rings, singing every night...
He's trying to get closer to what the public likes.
However, it was appalling.
Neither edgy enough nor popular enough.
Now it's time for me to play to my strengths.
I know what kind of music people like. Simpler, more regular, more pleasing to the ear, more brainwashing. From
It used to be my songs that were changed over and over, and now I can coach Frank too!
Can't even dream.
Then the accident happened.
Clara took Frank away.
I know she doesn't like coming here to play, but I can't let her ruin our chances and ruin our success.
Luckily, Frank was persuaded by me. His inner desire to be liked overcame his fear of performing in front of a crowd.
And Clara, she stabbed me and went to jail.
God bless her.
I don't know what's wrong with the band members, Clara hurt me and made a mess. But they actually said bad things about me to Frank.
Well, let's go, irresponsible guys!
The show goes on without the band.
I will prove myself with my song. We will be very welcome.
Frank was obviously anxious, and he was on pins and needles.
Even before going on stage, she changed a skirt, put on exaggerated lipstick and blush, and put it on the headgear.
Either way, we're on stage now.
It was the craziest day ever, the band fell apart and Frank and I were in danger.
One step away from success.
The audience was very enthusiastic, which excites me.
Then Frank collapsed on stage.
The last words he said before he passed out were: "Your songs are a piece of garbage."
Ruined my music festival, my dreams, my future.
What am I doing wrong? I want to be successful, I want to prove myself, I try to ignore their cynicism, I pay the rent for the band, I connect with the festival.
I have no talent, I know that.
But I also have dignity, why should I ever give in to people who think they are talented and watch them stomp my dreams into the dirt?
When a genius moves his fingers, countless people applaud and applaud, while the mediocre stand in the shadows and swallow all the pain.
I stared at Frank's hood and thought: Let me see what a face is under the mask.
I admit that I'm mean, I want to see an ugly face under the mask, I want to see Frank's inferior and flustered expression.
Frank escaped.
I looked for him everywhere and put up with people looking at me like a clown.
Our videos are hot right now and I'm famous, but not in the way I want.
I have become a weirdo.
Now I seem to understand Clara and them.
Why don't you want to be exposed in front of people, because people take their efforts as a joke, a funny video.
Nobody cares about your music, your talent, your soul.
I found Clara's bar where they sang, hoping to find Frank.
But he wasn't there.
I tweeted for help, but all I got were jokes or complaints that I was hyping it up.
Thank goodness good friends helped me out.
I found Frank, introverted, withdrawn, not ugly.
He lives in a beautiful big house with loving parents, a bit like mine.
I can't wait to hear about Frank's life experiences, his struggles, his inspirations.
But nothing, just mental illness.
After taking off the hood and returning to normal, he can no longer write good music. Original
Pain does not create music, talent and inspiration are given by God.
Nothing is nothing.
I'm going to take Frank back to Clara and the others, and it's only with the band that he can find his happiness and his inspiration.
It was his harbor, his paradise, his utopia.
Frank murmured against the shabby walls, and they worked perfectly together.
The people in the bar were doing their thing and no one stopped to listen to the song.
But they were immersed in it and didn't care.
Soul resonance does not need an audience.
He was in the same group as them, and I was always an outsider.
A ridiculously pathetic man who tried so hard to fit into the team and prove his worth, by dragging Frank into the quagmire of the mundane and wrapped in popular honey.
But geniuses do not need to cater to, only mediocre people need to care about the taste of the public.
I left without listening.
Accepting my mediocrity is a pain and I need a little decent space.
Where should I go? Suicide like Don and Lucas?
I don't know, maybe.
But I think I'm going to go to work, write songs, and tweet as usual.
Continue to live mediocrely with dreams that may never come true.
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