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Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Soul of Andrew Scott, Part 1

Let’s be honest: a lot has been written about me, but not very much of it can be considered true. I could scream defamation of character, but that would be to say everything is black and white, right and wrong. People make assumptions, and we all know what happens when you assume; you make an ass out of you, not me. Although, almost everyone has tried to define me it’s really not that easy. Even going back to the beginning with a certain fruit in a young lass’s hand; well, everyone gets the story wrong. In the end though, I’ll always be the monster of humanity’s story even though the truth of the matter is: I did everything for love.
I know what you’re thinking, “What do you know about love?” I believe I know more than the combined knowledge of the entire human race when it comes to love. Did you know everything on your puny little planet with a functioning brain, and even some without, does everything for love? Think about it, even the narcissistic rock star that seems to compile tons upon tons of worldly material only does what he does so you’ll remember him. So you’ll adore him. And what’s another word for adoration? Love. A dog obeys so he’ll gain love from the leader of his pack. The monkey eats the ticks off his neighbor’s back so his neighbor will love him. Even a lot of murderers kill because of a lack or a denial of love. Love makes the world go round or turns it upside down.
I probably would have been a different being had I received more of it. Had I been lavished with love in my past life, I probably wouldn’t need to steal so much of it in this life. Of course, you can’t just take someone’s love away from another, but you can alter a person’s perspective of the one they are meant to love. If someone believes the one they love is a different type of person they may just never get close enough to fall in love. Even better, if they believe their intended doesn’t even exist, then they’ll go seek that love elsewhere. There’s really not much you have to do, just plant the seeds of thought in someone’s mind and they’ll make their own path.
Now, me, I don’t get no love anymore. Get a little taste of power, try to hang out on high for a split second and you’re cast from the highest highs into the deepest lows. You go from being the most beautiful creature in the universe, to being the most reviled. It doesn’t matter if you weren’t trying to take over, everyone automatically gets the assumption that if you try to sit in the throne your head’s swelling. Oh well, thanks to past experiences, no matter how horrendous, I have my own personal and influential throne of power right here.
And just because I’m not getting love lavished upon me on a daily basis doesn’t mean that people don’t heap praises on me, no matter how misguided or warped their perception of reality may be. The Rolling Stones called me a man of wealth and taste in one of their most popular songs (even though they got many of their facts wrong, as I have to say that I was nowhere near St. Petersburg during the Russian Revolution or the Romanov massacre, and that’s just one of the many biographical inaccuracies), and even if they didn’t intend directly to write it for me I still enjoyed it. Then there’s the black metal written in worship to me; it might be a nuisance to my ear, but I do appreciate the sentiment.
In one of my favorite movies, The Usual Suspects it was said that the greatest trick I ever pulled was convincing the world that I do not exist. Well, that’s part of it. It’s not enough to make someone disbelieve your existence, especially when you have a counterpart that can attest to your existence. Naturally, since they aren’t talking it’s been easy to downplay their existence. Then there are those people that will believe, despite the people around them that refute their claims at any given turn the existence of celestial beings. There’s a special way of handling these people: make them believe beyond the supernatural.
Look, there are a lot of things I can do, but people give me way too much credit. Don’t think that I mind, but for those of you actually keeping track out there: I live in a world of time and limits just like you. I can’t go back in time and change things to my will or see into the future. I’m also not omnipresent or omniscient. I know someone who is, but I think he gave up caring about your kind a long time ago. I can make myself invisible if I like, but I typically choose not to. So if you see me (and I get a kick out of this) I’ll look absolutely normal, but I’ll still make you piss your pants. The best part is you’ll never know why. I’m also not a genie. I can’t just pop in and out and make your wishes come true and take your soul when it’s all over. And possessions are a fool’s errand, I don’t participate in them. I have some friends (others call them minions) who enjoy messing with people, but I never participated in that. I prefer oppression to possession any day of the week.
Very few people can actually say that they’ve come in contact with me though; it’s quite a rare occurrence that I myself choose to meddle in human affairs. If you hear someone say, like Flip Wilson used to say all the time, that I made them do it, chances are I had nothing to do with it. It’s not like you need me to start your wars, and bring prejudices into existence, you guys do a good enough job of that on your own. I might have held sway over a few wannabe world conquerors, but for the most part you’ll destroy yourselves if left unchecked.

But I’ve digressed. You’re not here to hear about li’l ole me; after all, most of you don’t even believe I exist, and a little story ain’t gonna change that now is it? No, you’re here to hear me tell you a story. You want the story of a man who did cross my path seeking fame and fortune. A man willing to part with his soul for the love most, if not all, rock stars so enthusiastically seek. You’re here to hear the story of the soul of Andrew Scott.

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