April 2, 2000, 12:00 am
© Billy Corgan
Eyes were being scratched still and tattoos applied, but no one could or would ever hear the full secrets of glass. He was re-writing his story everyday, moving the fixed destiny point, with every triumph and mistake. Every kiss held new promise, every song a new disaster. All were sung to the ghost children, the synthetic flesh flash of ideal and glitter gash in their dreams they saw him surreal, but he was as real as they needed him to be. Discarded until he roared back into their vision. Within blood and sound, once invested there was no turning back for anyone. Plastic playmates and wooden rock rot haunted their hari hari plots in glass's obvious plays for sympathy. Or was it the other way around he was a general leading them all into war that he and they knew they could never win but still they fought to love and always die standing moving in night funerals because all the others have perished he caught glimpses of their faces every once in a while in rubble and wreckage strewn, he had fought way to long jam wired shut and now he held too long past sleeping futures and endless newscasts, seeking shelter and a place to once again call home in the dark he would fumble with food and foe, seeking contact and knowing confirmation cells sign agreement over concrete cold, always remembering and as if drawn he would lumber on, gun in hand and tears in heart he tried to keep a journal but kept losing the pages pictures of trees dates taped to his chest he had gone mad but there was no longer anyone he heard or respected to tell him so the grass grew very fast and it seemed he had to cut it every four or five days in radio static he waited for an order that may never come he never wanted to be outside in the direct sun, but the tree sang him to sleep the weeping willow out back seemed to hang it's hurt, so obvious and no one seemed to mind out the window he stared, seeking her and them a bay would come his mind would drone but there was no one there to agree in fact the entire weight of his surroundings seemed to indicate the exact opposite but like a dumb fish, he kept swimming upstream there was little of beauty to guide except the sun and moon, his constant companions as majesty full the night came the daylight only providing protection for the scars laid bare the night before the pills seemed to have fallen on the floor everywhere and no matter how hard one scrubbed the dirt was always there even the neighbors smelled the garbage and in polite realities, piled high and often, spilling over the redwood fence into their perfect yards in the morning the grass shown dew prisms in the midday sun it burned scorched brown thirst and at night held cool moon dust and starlight out here the universe was vast only in distance it was never meant to be held here, it cried a mystery I am and you must find me first if this game is ever to begin in faith there is all power, in love all faith every action a pebble dropped into the clear pool of humanity, rippling forever on until the waves become indecipherable and unseen what seems like confusion becomes order of the highest magnitude glass had so long ago reasoned himself out of reason anxious but not afraid, he told himself that this meant something over and over until he began to believe it the mask came off and he beheld yet another mask like all modern men we could claim mystery over all, but it was a paper truth and he knew it.