Current Mood:  hopeful
ON THE EVE OF ALEX CHILTON'S DEATH
You died 2 days this side of Caesar and the first thought anyone had was how the Replacements sang not of you but a childish interpretation of your idea Did your last thought hold the same circuitry that lit your neurons in the shape of your band’s name BIG STAR convinced that it was an echo of fate and not a talisman shaken at the specter of obscurity Were you angry that you were never Orion the most pointed to celestial body but an obscure phenomenon experienced only by a few who knew what they were looking for? A brilliance that only casts into the periphery No millions of children ever sang Caesar unto you No arenas The empty seats screamed Brutus into your back hunched your shoulders into a humble influence You were a muse forced into the modesty of inspiration A victim of callous astronomy Was this a choice? Did you see the way fame had gnawed away the sinew of every emperor before you leaving only bones to be crushed underfoot and scattered to the indifferent wind? Or did you welcome the feast? Eager to charge 10 times Judas' price to Christ to eat of your body? Were you ripped screaming out of the spotlight scared that the halo it gave you was the only one you would ever wear? I know I am asking this all too late Like a recalcitrant son wailing regret at his father's casket but before you sleep, answer me this: As your circuits flipped tilt would you have traded your last 30 years to finally overthrow Orion and burn your legacy into the ink of night or are you happy with the tiny corner of sky granted all of us simply for living? Sincerely, The Inspired | 
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