You Know Your Rights!

Riding the Gravy Train

We're just knocked out.
We heard about the sell out.
You're gonna get an album out,
You owe it to the people.
We're so happy we can hardly count.
Everybody else is just green,
Have you seen the chart?
It's a hell of a start,
It could be made into a monster,
If we all pull together as a team.And did we tell you the name of the game, boy?
We call it "Riding The Gravy Train". - Pink Floyd

It was such a scary, exciting, and exhilarating feeling to be one of those 'big famous people' now.

Everyone was loving Nevermind. It skyrocketed you to another plane of existence because of how much radio play it was getting. Everyone was loving you. They were so excitable over the song that you were quickly growing to hate, Smells Like Teen Spirit. It was a single. It was catchy too. But most importantly it was one of those 'monsters' that your management company and the mainstream were begging and searching for. And you unknowingly gave it to them. Whenever, I think back on all those gigs that occurred after Nevermind blew up I saw the look in your eyes that were reminiscent of black holes in the skies. Now that I look back on it I'm still not sure whether or not it was the drugs you were on dazing you out, or the lack of pride and accomplishment you felt with going mainstream. Maybe it was both.

The management company didn't care. All that mattered to them was the chart sales and all the green they were making off of you. But you 'owed' to them because they were ever so generous enough to give you a music contract.

I remember seeing you look tired and annoyed whether a 'fan' of yours would scream out "Play Smells Like Teen Spirit!". This same look of despair was also evident on your face whenever MTV would just continuously play that song. It got to the point where you accidentally broke the TV by chucking the remote into it's screen. I couldn't blame you. I was tired of hearing the song too, but it must have been 10 times worse for you since you were the creator. You weren't an artist anymore, let alone an indie one. You were now a 'technical master'. You were just some soulless bland robot with no aspirations in life now that you have 'achieved' superstardom. 

You would randomly cry out in the night afraid of this new life that you were forced into overnight. I remember hearing you scream out in the hotel room we had one tour.

I walked over to you hesitantly not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable.

"Clar." You croaked out weakly.

"Yes Kurt?" I muttered softly.

"Please help me. I'm just so tired." 

The interviews, tours, gigs, fans, news coverage, and management company were really wearing you down. It was degrading seeing the once youthful, bouncy, happy child turn into a subdued beaten animal. There was almost no room for comfort for you. It was the beginning of the downward spiral of our lives and careers. You were thrusted into the spotlight with no warning and no way of knowing how to properly fend for yourself. 

I made my way over to you on the bed. Your hair was now dampened by your tears. I gently laid your head on my lap and combed your hair away from your face. You whimpered slightly at my touch and began to speak.

"I'm scared, Clarrise. I'm scared. I loved my music, but now it's just like some common whore. It sold out and everyone knows it now. Everybody knows me now. I thought I would be free to make whatever music I wanted when I made it big, but I'm just more controlled now because of it. I'm sad. Why did this ever happen?"

I didn't know how to answer you as you just continued to weep into my legs. I just let you whimper out your pains. I wouldn't be able to properly comfort you, because like I said before I'm not a fucking therapist. I continued to comb my fingers through your dampened hair as I rocked you back and swaddled you like a small child. You slowly tired yourself with your crying and fell to sleep.

But this wasn't the only incident. Whenever we went I was also stopped as well. It just added to your social anxiety. Even from the beginning we were different yet the same, like two sides of the same coin. While you were praised for your relatable post-punk music I was busy getting protested for my 'offensive' and 'anti-christian' lyrics and stage performances. 

We were out in a small food court in a strip mall one day. I thought we were hidden pretty well, but that was proven to be a lie.

As we sat down and began thrown salty fries at each other small middle aged lady with curled grey hair , reading glasses, and beady brown eyes stomped over to us. As we looked up her sharp manicured nail was pointed downwards towards me.

"You!" She sneered lowly.

She began to protest yell and shout causing a scene which caused more people to swarm around us like a bunch of tourist watching some animal at the zoo. I tried to push our way from out the crowd several times. The first few failed resulting in us getting dragged back into the center while finally at last we broke free from the crown and ran away to our vehicle to loose them.

"We aren't normal people anymore, Clar." you sighed softly to me while running your hand lazily through your hair while staring straight forward at the road infant of us while driving "We are just ants under a magnifying glass to these people. We are just some spectacle for people to point at and make fun of." You were right. We were just some freaks in a carnival show. We just somehow managed to get a bigger stage now. We were riding the gravy train.

A/N: I'll have a better chapter out soon fully diving into their fame and stardom don't worry. This was sorta a very badly written prologue to kinda set the tone for this part of the book. Cheers!