Blaze of Glory?

As Mastersmith Silvus used to say, “… always set the context. You never know what form words will take if you do not set the context. Words are like a dragon. Till you have forged the reigns and the whip, do not set the dragon loose. Or you just might burn for your sins!” At that, he would burst out into booming laughter. He was a strange one. Things he found funny could well send a sheaf of shivers down your spine. But then, he was right. Context is indeed important, and I shall provide it.

I actually quoted myself! Can’t tell you how kicked I am at that!

Well, the point is that this exercise is a little strange, and without context, it will seem like I have indeed gone over the fine line between insanity and eccentricity that I have been staggering along this past decade. So here goes the context.

Like most of us do, I went through the standard rebel phase. And during those abrasive, reckless and glorious years, Bon Jovi’s ‘Blaze of Glory’ was one of my anthems.

Yes.

I know.

Well, I just listened to the song after a long time (as in listened properly, letting the lyrics sink in), and had a rather strange dialogue running in my head. I thought I’d just write it out. I’ve written out the song by verse, as it plays, and followed up the verses with my meandering rumination.

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I wake up in the morning
And I raise my weary head
I got an old coat for a pillow
And the earth was last night’s bed
I don’t know where I’m going
Only God knows where I’ve been
I’m a devil on the run
A six gun lover
A candle in the wind

I wake up in the morning and I raise my weary head. I’ve got two pillows for a pillow (and a resultant crick in the neck), and two stuffed mattresses for a bed (I’m not a bed-bed person). I know I’m going to work. And I vaguely remember having been to a party last night. I’m not the devil but am still on the run. I’m inherently restless and move cities every year. I can manage an air-pistol but have never handled a six gun. And I’m a li’l too robust to be a candle in the wind, no matter how much I’ve fluttered and threatened to go out.

When you’re brought into this world
They say you’re born in sin
Well at least they gave me something
I didn’t have to steal or have to win
Well they tell me that I’m wanted
Yeah I’m a wanted man
I’m colt in your stable
I’m what Cain was to Abel
Mister, catch me if you can

I was born a Hindu, and then lost my religion (along with my faith). So sin doesn’t work as a concept for me. Mom and Dad have been great, and I got the start I needed to make it in life. Head-hunters from recruitment agencies tell me I’m wanted, but then corporate desire never turned me on. I’ve never been a horse (or been on a horse either). I did write an entry about burying my (figurative alter-ego) brother but then he was more Cainish. I am not very good at running and you probably will catch me if you tried (though why you would want to, I have no clue!)

(chorus)
I’m going down in a blaze of glory
Take me now but know the truth
I’m going down in a blaze of glory
Lord I never drew first
But I drew first blood
I’m no one’s son
Call me young gun

I’m not going down, yet. I’m just 27 and hope to make it through another 27, at least. I’m not up for the grabs, but I’m ok with telling you the truth, if it’s any of your business. I reiterate, I’m not going down. I’ve never been involved in a shootout. And though I have been in a couple of fights, I never struck the first blow. My dad would be offended if I said I was no one’s son. And I’m not really very young or much of a gun.

You ask about my conscience
And I offer you my soul
You ask if I’ll grow to be a wise man
Well I ask if I’ll grow old
You ask me if I known love
And what it’s like to sing songs in the rain
Well, I’ve seen love come
And I’ve seen it shot down
I’ve seen it die in vain

I do have a conscience. And in the absence of religion or the divine being as a guiding light, my conscience is all that keeps me from becoming a monster. I’m not too convinced about the soul concept. I don’t know about wise, but there are days when I definitely feel pretty old. I’ve known love, yes. And I’ve lost love too. But then, love has a habit of coming back, just when you give up on it. And that faith (or hope) has kept me going with pockets of redemption every now and then to fuel it a bit further.

(chorus repeat)

Having refuted the statements, I maintain stoic silence through the second rendition of the chorus.

Each night I go to bed
I pray the lord my soul to keep
No I ain’t looking for forgiveness
But before I’m six foot deep
Lord, i got to ask a favor
And Ill hope you’ll understand
Cos I’ve lived life to the fullest
Let the boy die like a man
Staring down the bullet
Let me make my final stand

I go to bed most nights. Sometimes, it’s morning by the time I crash. I don’t talk much to God, or even overtly acknowledge His (or Her) presence. I have asked for forgiveness when I have wronged people. And I’d like to be buried at sea when I die (and hopefully, a few leagues down and not just six feet deep). I’ve never seen the point in asking Him favours. I have indeed lived life to the fullest (when I could), and done the best I could at other times. I have been a man for some time (I was a boy before, for those who’re considering the possibility of a sex-change), and don’t have grandiose notions of dying to prove my ‘manhood’. I think it’s a biological fact that should be accepted and let be. And I hope like I hell I don’t get shot. I’ve heard it can be really painful, especially if the bullet hits the bone.

(chorus repeat)

One last time. I am not going down. I am not violent. I am not (very) young. And I don’t like the thought of being called a gun. Period.

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What is the point? Well… I wish I could go back 10 years to my rebelling self and tell him to take it easy. I wish I could ask him to choose another anthem, even if it was a Bon Jovi one (my current favourite is ‘Someday I’ll be Saturday Night’). I wish I could tell him that life will turn out to be a bit boring with no shootouts and posses chasing him; but it would be peaceful enough with double-mattresses and other nice things to prop it up. It’s not the blaze of glory at the end that’s so important, but the comforting flame that will keep him going all his life… all my life. He didn’t know it back then. I’m glad I do, now.
Cogito Ergo Vivum