PDA

View Full Version : And On The Seventh Day...



Steve
06-13-03, 01:40 AM
(CUT TO: Mark Windham in his billiards room)

Troy created the world as we know it.

Kid, you made the CSWA the same way Bill Gates' son is going to add to the family fortune.

That next dollar on top of ten billion is the loneliest piece of paper in the world.

Nobody wants it in their pocket so it’s pushed off in a corner and forgotten. Sentenced to lead a life of solitude. Just another dollar that will be impossible to spend.

Only the dollar itself knows.

“Hey, I’m worth something.”

Only by association.

In three words I’ve summed up your existence. That doesn’t make me God. But it does make me pretty da*n smart.

The Next Dollar Of The CSWA, come one come all.

You sold out arenas?

Please.

No matter how many rooms you drunkenly stumble into wearing Pink’s STAR WARS panties, that you mistakenly grabbed hours before from the back seat of a limo, and sporting Bono’s fly shades, you’ll never completely be able to cover yourself from the truth, Troy. Which is, those people have been waiting in those rooms for a very long time, and not a one, got there in advance because of you.

I’d warn you the bubble was about to burst, but let’s be real. You’ve spent the better part of your life inside it, dirty needles hanging from your vein trying to hold it up, trying to keep your identity from vanishing like a fart in the wind.

Far be it from me to stop you now. I mean, who am I to you?

Only by association.

Who the hell would want a piece of Troy Windham?

A select few.

The people you pay to run for your coffee, or hash. The poor misguided souls who bring your car around in the morning, WITH this month’s Vanity Fair, because heaven forbid Troy Windham not read Dominick Dunne’s current article on the same time table as the rest of the world, because the Boy Troy has to be current, the King Of All Media has to have a clue.

That’s right Troy. YOU’VE made yourself a King.

Not I.

To be God you need control.

When have I ever had control of my life? I’ve bled, been broken a hundred times, and searched aimlessly for honest direction.

No, Troy I’ve been looking for the King.

And instead of the creator I’ve come home to a sick joke.

The answer to my prayers is you.

So, Troy sold out arenas, broke his neck entertaining and is the cause of Kutcher and Brittany Murphy’s breakup. Fine, Troy, any King will do. I’ll sit in your lap and confess, and tell you everything you want to hear.

I know no one asked me to raise you. And if the shoe was on your foot, I know full well you would have ran.

You did when the house burned and Mom and Dad choked in a merciless onslaught of black soot, their ruins left to give use to records tucked in the back of a cabinet, in a dark, empty dental office. I stood there trying to pull the bodies out. You tucked tail and ran. Even at that age, you came first.

How could I ‘define’ myself when I had to wipe up after you?

“Where’d those fresh bruises come from?”
“Why is Troy bleeding?”
“Is he hurt?”
“Is he fed?”
“Is he listening?”
“Does he care?”

Before I knew who I was, I was responsible for you. That’s the path God meant for me to take, and I took it. I put myself aside instead of running to save my own skin.

But I don’t blame you for training for the Junior Olympics.

All’s well that ends well, right?

Bastard.

When I tried to step out. When I started achieving and becoming a man...

“Mark, it’s about your brother. He was arrested for possession again.”

You’ve always hated me Troy for the simple fact that you couldn’t play God, that I was in control.

No, I’ve KNOWN who I am.

I was a brother, who was made to suffer anytime he tried to hold on to something real.

You Troy?

You’re an image. You fell asleep one day and woke to realize the majority of the world is now reading at a different level.

Look at the crowd you run with, look at the utter desperation with which you live to stay on top of ‘cool’.

Anything that’s dumbed down in society, you’re there day of release trying it on for size, hoping it still fits, hoping to push back your conscience another day.

Does Troy care about anybody but himself?

Check the appropriate box for yes or no.

When I told you stay clear, my intention was for you to write your own name in the sky.

I’m done waiting for that to happen, I’m through giving you books to read.

You’re right, Troy.

It’s time I felt responsible only for myself.

It’s time I pulled a Troy Windham, and ran free and clear.

The next lesson I try to teach you. Will come the hard way.

(FTB)