Rockstar

I'm not done. Just really tired and busy. Plus, if Windows crashed on you 3 times in one week, you'd be reluctant about press releases too. I'll be back soon, but until then, let's mix it up - here's an old poem I wrote (2 months before Nickelback's song came out):

I’m a rockstar.
I’ve got the looks, the moves,
The clothes and the words.
I am as real as you can feel
And when I’m not… well, my dear…
You can cut that part out.
I’ve got sincere pain, though I only play insane.
It’s not my own game, but the gain…
Big bucks for Friday Rocks…
And, from time to time, a dime… in the jukebox.
Yeah… that sucks!
Girls who know how to curl,
Who know how to purr…!
…Girls with fake pearls who make me hurl.
And the publicity…
Toxicity! Addictive, subjective…
You end up sumissive! Because your sadness, your madnes,
Your flaws and booty calls,
Your money and Playboy bunny,
Your weak-spots and the fuckin’ bikini with polka dots
Are on TV. And then… you become me!
…See? I really do have the face, the pace...
The attitude and necessary altitude
To crash, bash and smash, dude!

I fancy myself better than you.
I’m not 2-in-1, I’m 2002. I don’t act, I do.
The rules I set are like laws.

All respect, protect and the ones who object…
Well, it seems only fair to declare that they lack the passion
The spark, the mark… They’re out of fashion. They’re into the dark.
Rabble… who babble.
I am a belief. I am relief.
Even in grief, brief, you’ll admit…
That I talk the talk and walk the walk. I’m a perfect fit.
I’m a god. I’m pure as a rose-bud though I bathe in mud.
I set the trend, I twist and I bend what you are, my friend…
You pay, you say “somehow, someday…”. You’re as soft as clay!
But hey, I don’t mind. I find it quite nice…
Just another vice:
…I’m the only man among spineless mice!
I’m disgusted, I’m tired! You’re fuckin’ fired!
You slave! You dreamt…?! You aspired?!
Rat! Fat asshole, devouring routine, burning gasoline,
Useless drama queen! You lack free will, you can’t feel!
What’s real is just the hate for your job where you sob about the bitchin’ of your boss called Bob.
Hate for your bills, drills and aching pills! For your wife, your kids and your rented car!
Oh, sorry… Did I go to far?

Fuck you! ...I’m a rockstar.