Prologue of a Disaster

One Note

22h40, Friday.
"It's great to be able to count on technology to keep a secret diary inside my cell phone. It's the only place where I can, without fear, write whatever I want about awful and nice episodes in my life that nobody wants to know. I mean, Alt Press e Kerrang would sell their soul for it, but whatever."

11h10, Saturday.
"I feel that my fame has settled down smoothly a few years after the end of My Chem. I know that I still have fans all over the world, but they are unique and unusual people. They are great people. I still feel adored, only on a level more comfortable - and I almost like it.

I usually take the best lyrics from my confused existencial crisis texts. Yes, the majority of them comes from the troubled times of Pencey Prep... my first big official band that came out of the basement. We wanted to save the world - or at least the world of New Jersey -, but I was swallowed up by hurricane Gerard Way and My Chemical Romance. My heart broke like a poorly built bridge - after all, that sums me up in so many ways - because Pencey was the hit in the rib from real life; it was like feeling all the veins of my body pump together. Then, I left them.

My Chemical Romance got me by the neck. With them, I found myself achieving bigger things, but in a desperate fast pace, and there was no time to think about their real weight.

We did gigs for audiences of all ages and everyone - I mean, there was no exception - loved us. We were like a wave of chaos that flooded an era. We brought meaning to what no one had yet understand. We were fucking amazing."

01h40, Sunday.
"I'm drunk. People will never know how much I miss them all, and what we were.

I was born to live in tight buses, uncomfortable hotels, eating cold food. It's in my blood; in my genes, very well inherited from my grandfather. I can not, and should not, stay away from music.

It's a little weird to see that Gerard does not have that same craving. In fact, I already felt it when we went on long tours. I just didn't want to admit to myself that my best friend was suffering so much inside that bus, in the vans full of instruments, and during his painful insomnia, when he smoked on the balcony of the hotels. I saw his arched posture, his hands nervously tossing the strands of his hair, and I had to pretend to be sleeping so he wouldn't worry about me in the next day. He must be sleeping well these days, anyway.

It was normal for us both to share the same room. I would show my new riffs to him when we weren't that tired, and I remember Ray staying with us all night. Mikey slept as soon as we arrived, always with headphones. This English beer tastes like paper.

I still have stuff like that with Evan, Matt and Alex. Cara, our female little punk, is one of the most competent and loyal human being I've met during this time of adventure. I can tell she knows everything about me, and that's a bit embarrassing. I need a shower."

5h22, Sunday.
"I can not sleep, I can't close my stupid eyes and sleep. The tingling of my new tattoo is such a good feeling. Three bottles of beer are next to my bed and I can barely read the label. The Thought Bubble starts at 8:00 AM.
I need to see if the kids are okay. Miles didn't look good yesterday, on Skype."

6h40, Sunday.
"I hate to write in bed, with the light of the lamp and the flashlight of my cell phone. I look like a war refugee in some barn hideaway. Actually, thinking like that, it's cool as fuck. I think Gerard is looking forward to the event. He always gets nervous on days like this, when he needs to get in touch with fans. And he's done an incredible job, that talented son of a bitch. I miss him so much. Staring at the ceiling and thinking about how perfect we were, this I can do well. Maybe that's the only thing I know how to do better than him. And playing the guitar, of course. Gerard sucks at playing the guitar."

8:00 am, Sunday
"My cell phone alarm rang, teeling me Thought Bubble just started. I don't remember setting this shit. Or maybe I was too drunk, sad or just wanting to fuck with my head. Well, anyway, I won't ruin his special day. I want to go, but I can't. I will. Not. I will not."

8:20, Sunday
"The alarm on my cell phone rang again, this time with the words 'he's waiting for you.' I don't know who set up this shit. And he is here, in Leeds, with no one to talk to or have lunch together, since he hates being alone at restaurants. But he's not waiting for me. Fuck you, Gerard Way."

8h30, Sunday
"He really hates being alone. I don't know who I'm trying to fool. Fuck me. I need to put that fucking Thought Bubble on the GPS."

Cara is standing outside my room, with the key of my rented car in her finger. She opens up a big smile and give it to me.

_ Your cell phone needs a password, but anyways, you're welcome.

Yeah, she knows a lot about me.