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It was the mid 60s, I was a young performer for a band. This band was called the Tea-Set. We usually did R&B and some progressive rock. We were usually taken into the London underground music scene during the late 60s. I was with a few other men and we became a sensation. One day, a manager walked up to us and said, 'I am a record salesman, I believe your music is amazing. I want to give you your very own album!" We were stunned, we would become famous. So we started working on our first album. It was spectacular. My friends and I worked on this, and we got a huge fan-base.
Everything was fine, we worked on more albums. Did concerts, dig gigs. We earned money, and best of all, we earned fans. It was great, and the dream went on for a while. You see I started to use LSD after we earned many fans. I became isolated from my friends, and was losing hope. My stress was killing me, I had no other choice. I decided to go solo, hoping that people would leave me alone. But no, many people loved it, and I got even more popularity. I was drifting into insanity. A toxic fuel as it was. My whole life into INSANITY! But I digress, it was just a small time. But I can get used to it.
Ten years passed, my life was losing respect. I did however, find light in religion. Which I was kicked out of, sadly. When the time came, I decided to use something to my advantage. Maybe the band, it was having a party this weekend. I thought I could visit. So I left my house, and walked all the way to Battersea. When I got there, the bouncer looked down at me and said, "You aren't on the list."
I asked him if I could speak to the band leader. The bouncer shouted at the band leader and he came over.
"Oh hey! S...." My LSD kicked in, I couldn't hear a fucking word.
"C'mon join the party." I walked in, slowly as the party came up and down and back again.
I was unstable, I felt like the Tacoma Bridge Narrows. I puked in the bin, slowly as I walked into the building, I entered the bathroom. I shut the door, and I walked over to the mirror.
I could see myself perfectly, but I didn't want to. I was so angry, and I just wanted to STRANGLE myself. I looked around, I decided enough was enough. I found a small Wilkinson's blade. I opened it up, taking the razor. I bent down, looking at myself. Before using the razor, to cut off each inch of the hair that I had. I was bald, I had no eyebrows. IT FELT ORGASMIC. I just couldn't bare any longer. I had to let my inner-self become god. I slowly drifted from insanity to revelation. I looked at myself, and then exited the bathroom, and entered the party. I slowly walked outside, and took a beer. I took a taxi, and I went home. Later that year, they were doing an album in Abbey Road.
The Beatles were recording their album 'You' and The Who was recording 'The Who by Numbers'. I burst into the room, everyone looked at me. They thought I was a monster, they looked at me as I walked over to them and looked the leader straight in the eye.
"GOT ANYTHING TO SHOW ME!" He looked at me sadly, and started his song. Then he asked me what I thought of it.
I said, "It sounds OLD..." I felt really angry. Suddenly they burst into tears, I couldn't help myself. I had to feel pity for these sick little pests. I told them.
"You're failing, you lost the spirit. Shitting out albums, that aren't even good. Where is the psychedelic rock? HUH! Well you know what? Do not fucking talk to me." I slowly left Abbey Road, going back home. When they found me, I was having an OD seizure on the couch. From then on, I left sanity, and I left my friends. And most of all, I left Pink Floyd.