We're from America (Marilyn Manson)

Disassociative

After the tour ended the band parted their ways for a little while. James went back to her apartment in Brooklyn. She found it in the exact same way she left it. It was still almost empty. There were still only two photos on the walls. One of her with her grandmother and another one of her parents. She wheeled her suitcase to her bedroom. The bedroom was, just like the rest of her apartment, bare to say the least. She had a simple bed and a closet for her clothing. She took off her shoes and threw herself on the bed. Memories of the tour came back to her in waves. Each one making her eyes water more and more. Her face contorted in pain as she remembered her overdose and its consequences. She lost so much because of it. She knew it was for the better, but still it hurt like a bitch. She screamed and cried and it felt so good, not having to pretend she was okay. She fell asleep after she calmed down a bit, only to be woken by her reoccurring nightmare. She got up, took her keys, and went out. She roamed the streets of the city, not having a specific location in mind. The cool night air helped clear her mind a bit. There was an ever-present craving in her mind. Now that she was alone once more, she didn't know if she was strong enough to fight it. But still she tried. She kept walking. She had been born and raised in this city, so she wasn't afraid of any possible unpleasant encounters. After what felt like at least a few hours she stopped in front of a bar. Well alcohol was as good of a distraction as any.
.
Marilyn went home to LA. The moment he got off the plane he was met with a trope of fans and journalists. He put his sunglasses and his game face on. He'd never let the world know he was tired. His life was a constant performance. Sometimes it went so far that he lost sight of who he was. He didn't know where Brian ended, and Marilyn began. "Marilyn! Is your rumored relationship with drummer James Wuornos real?" a reporter asked. He looked at her. "I don't shit where I eat." He answered and a thousand other questions emerged. "Where did you find her?" "How did it turn out letting a woman into your band?" "Are you going to keep her in the band?" "What's next for the band?" "Will we be getting a new album?" The last two questions he actually answered. "The band and I are taking a break for a few months. Then we will be starting on a new album, yes. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going home." The questions about her irritated him. He didn't want to acknowledge her existence until he absolutely had to.
At home the first thing he did was take off all his makeup and shower. Then he went out to sit on his balcony and drank absinthe. Finally, he could relax a bit. After finishing the bottle, he felt numb. It was a good feeling for someone who had been in an emotional tornado for the last two weeks. The numbness allowed him to be who he wanted to be.
Absinthe always inspired him to paint. The distorted world he saw through his intoxication was one that truly interested him. It was so raw but fluent at the same time. So, he went to his atelier and got to work. The watercolors merged and made such interesting shapes that captured his vision perfectly. He painted for hours. In the end when he finished, he let the painting dry. He knew what his subconscious mind made him paint. He wasn't surprised by it. Just frustrated. But he was well aware it would take time to get over and through it. No matter how hard he tried to be unaffected by it, it would still plague him for a while.
.
What she noticed over the span of the next few days was that she kept getting recognized. Wherever she went fans followed. Not her fans per se but fans of the band. Not just fans either, but the media too. She was barreted with questions at every step. "Is your relationship with Manson still going on?" "What happened in Europe?" "A source told me you had a miscarriage!" "Are you still addicted to heroin?" etc. It was getting harder and harder to handle. On day 4 of her return, she decided to fly away. To some secluded island. She would do it the minute their press conference in LA ended. Yes, there would be one. It would involve a red carpet and all that jazz. She received news of it the previous day. They would get asked questions about the tour and their upcoming album. He didn't even bother calling her. He had Daisy do it for him. She didn't mind talking to Daisy of course, in fact she had started missing him, but what hurt was that HE didn't want to talk to her. So, she would see him again. Soon. She wasn't prepared for that. She thought she had at least a few months without him in her life. But no. They would meet again in two days. Well one day if their paths happened to cross the day before the press conference. She would be staying with Scott the day before. She was excited to see him. They even talked about inviting Twiggy and Pogo over to have a movie night. Scott completely understood when she asked not to invite Manson.
So here she was. Stuck in her apartment until tomorrow because she didn't want to go outside and be forced to listen to stupid personal questions. She had to pretend she was a nice person. She didn't want the band getting bad publicity because of her. So, she lay in her bed all day, staring at the ceiling above her. She smoked one cigarette after another. This was what stress did to her. Her apartment already smelled like an ashtray before she left for the tour. She never had any predicaments about smoking inside. She lived alone anyway so why bother. She was listening to his music. His voice soothing her but making her miss him more and more. So, what else should she have done other than crying herself to sleep again? Nothing.
.
"So we're having a little band get together at Daisy's. Wanna come?" Twiggy was sprawled across his couch playing videogames. "Is EVERYONE going to be there?" He asked. Even though he never gave the impression, Twiggy was actually very susceptible to signals. To his disdain he realized he probably shouldn't have invited Marilyn. He mentally slapped himself and said: "Yup. James is arriving in a few hours and she's staying with Daisy until tomorrow. And Pogo and I already confirmed our attendance." Brian paled a bit at the mention of her stage name. So, he had three choices. One he wouldn't go. Two, he would go and try to avoid any conflicts. And three, he'd bring a date to distract himself and cause HER some pain. He didn't know which one would be the best. Probably the last one. So, a sinister smile appeared on his face as he nodded to Twiggy.
.
At 9PM the doorbell rang. Daisy opened the door and saw his favorite bass guitarist and keyboardist. "Welcome to my humble abode." "Scott, can I talk to you in the kitchen?" Pogo asked. He had a very serious expression on his face. "Yeah sure. Twiggy, Molly is in the living room. You two can pick a few movies we'll watch. So, what's up?" Pogo looked quite uncomfortable as he quietly said: "Twiggy did something fairly dumb." Daisy immediately knew what was coming next. "He told Manson, didn't he?" "Well, he actually invited Manson to come. And well he agreed." Just as he finished his sentence the doorbell rang again. "Fuck!" He muttered under his breath. He basically ran to the door, but Molly beat him to it. She stood next to the opened door, her face green. She looked like she would throw up. She stepped aside and in walked Brian Hugh Warner with a girl latched to his side.
"Sup Berkowitz. I brought company; I hope you don't mind." He didn't wait for an answer though. He walked past everyone into the living room. Daisy grabbed James's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. Her face was now expressionless. She let go of his hand and entered the living room. She kept going and was soon on the balcony. Smoking would help, she told herself. She heard footsteps. She didn't have to turn around. "I didn't know. I'm sorry." She just shrugged. "Molly please don't close yourself off again. I know you're hurting." She looked at him and said: "I'm leaving tomorrow. I need a break from everything. So, we'll see each other again when we start recording." He was shocked. But he understood why she felt the need to escape. "Where to?" She smiled and shrugged again. "I'll write you loads of letters. Don't worry." He hugged her and told her he'd miss her. She knew. She also knew she'd miss him too. "Am I a bad person if I don't feel like going inside?" "Am I a bad person if I stay here with you?" She hugged him again. "What the Hell Putesky, what have you done to me. I never hug." She laughed. "Well, you do now." They laughed together. He could always make her feel better.
On the other side, in the living room Marilyn was regretting bringing a date. She wouldn't shut up. If she at least had something smart to say. He looked through the glass door and saw James wasn't affected by the presence of his date at all. She looked like she was fine. After everything she had done to him, she was okay. He hated her for that. "Awh are those guys together? They look so cute!" "That's it. We're leaving." and so they did. He ditched her the second they got out of the building. He was seething. How dare she! The night air cooled him down after a while. He thought the night over. Well... He might have been a dick too. Whatever. After the next day they wouldn't have to see each other for a few months. Just another 24 hours to get through.
.
"Would you say the tour was a success?" A reporter asked. The cameras flashed, blinding her. She still wasn't used to this. "Yes, definitely a great success. Every show was fully packed." Marilyn answered. "Miss Wuornos, what was it like performing with a band as big as this one? This was your first time being a part of something like this, yes?" A question directed at her brought her back from her thoughts. She put on a smile. "Well, it was definitely an experience I'll always remember. It's really great to meet your musical idols and be able to play music you like and believe in with them. Every show was a big rush. And even though it was my first time, they accepted me right away. And that helped a lot, I think. Even though I've known them just for a few months I have to say they are without a doubt among my favorite people in the world. And I'm looking forward to further collaboration." So, she told a few white lies. It didn't matter. The reporters ate that shit up.
"What are we to expect from you in the future?"
"Well we always love to surprise the general public, so I won't be answering the question. But I will say that there will be another album and of course another tour. But for now, we are all taking a much-needed break."
"Mr. Manson! When you were confronted with the rumored relationship between you and your drummer you said, and I quote:" I don't shit where I eat." Does this mean the rumors are in fact false?" Molly was taken aback by the question. He said that? Of course, he would deny, but the words he chose were so crude. She looked at him as he answered. "Well, like I said, there is no place for romance in this business. James Wuornos and I are just friends. To me dating her would be like dating Twiggy or Pogo or Daisy. Hahah, well you know. It's quite funny that just because we have a female in the band, one of us is bound to date her. This isn't some romantic movie." The answer hurt. She knew he would say something like that, of course. But hearing him dismiss it like that, well...
The press conference went on for one more hour. After his clear dismissal of anything romantic having gone on during the tour the press steered clear of any more questions having to do with the two of them. Thank Satan.
.
After it ended, she went straight to the airport. Daisy went with her to say goodbye. "I'll miss you." He said. She told him she'd miss him a lot too. She'd write to him. And she'd come back when she was ready. If not sooner she'd be back when they started on their new album. She already knew she wouldn't hear back from him, because she wouldn't add her mailing address. They hugged goodbye and she departed.
.
"I can tell you what they say in space;
that our Earth is too grey.
But when the spirit is so digital,
the body acts this way.
That world was killing me, world was killing me.
Disassociative.

The nervous system's down, the nervous system's down,
and I know...
The nervous system's down, the nervous system's down,
and I know...

I can never get out of here.
Don't wanna just float in fear.
Dead astronaut in space.
I can never get out of here.
Don't wanna just float in fear.
Dead astronaut in space.

Sometimes we walk like we were shot
through our heads, my love.
We write a song in space like we
are already dead and gone.
That world was killing me, world was killing me.
Disassociative.
That world was killing me, world was killing me.
Disassociative.

I can never get out of here.
Don't wanna just float in fear.
Dead astronaut in space.
I can never get out of here.
Don't wanna just float in fear.
Dead astronaut in space.

The nervous system's down. The nervous system's down.
The nervous system's down. The nervous system's down.

I can never get out of here.
Don't wanna just float in fear.
Dead astronaut in space.
I can never get out of here.
Don't wanna just float in fear.
Dead astronaut in space."

As she listened to the song, to his song, on the plane, she understood the words completely. They spoke to her. They were the reason she was leaving. She needed to get out of there. She didn't want to be a dead astronaut in space anymore. It was time for her to get better.