I’ve been trying to write about my time as active metal musician for ages, but have not found the right approach yet. Here’s a try/excerpt/whatever.

It’s 5 am. All lights off. It’s raining. Nothing has changed. The room seems dusty. I can’t sleep. I sleep. I dream.

Driving the Boulevard Peripherique in the dark, the motorway below and the lights above going clack clack clack. The sanity of the road, the car filled with instruments, amplifiers, dirty socks, empty beer bottles and the stinking and snoring of four horny men outside of time and reality. The joy of shouting obscenities at the top of my lungs at all the people standing in front of me and still they enjoy it. Snorting speed at the toilet of a massive concert hall right next to a disused steelworks where Simply Red played the day before and now I’m about to go on stage. The fascination of sweat, rhythm, aggression, all thrown into fifteen thirty sixty minutes on the wobbly stage of an alternative punk club, with two sixteen-year-olds and the sound engineer watchingus, the band that drove 200 kilometers to get there. The amazement of hearing a thousand people shout the name of the same band before you even start to play. The road the road the road. Too much and too little.

I don’t regret the time when you thought just of me. I don’t regret the time you drove me crazy.