MONOLOGUE: “The Betws Garmon Notebook”

(Whispering)
They say you shouldn’t write when you're spiraling, but that’s when the truth bleeds through, isn’t it?

(Louder, erratic)
HELP ME. PLEASE HELP ME. No, scratch that. I don’t want help. I want to remember. I want to trap it all before it slips out of my ears. Everything’s slipping, leaking.

Posted 3 vinyls. Eleven CDs. Forty sold. That’s good, right?
FUN DAY, Sunday. I don’t know what that is. Did I make that up? Is that real?

“Violets Leap – Session Sunday.” Yes. That happened.
Or will happen? [It didn't]

I double-booked myself again, didn't I?
… who the hell is KEZ?

(Chuckles bitterly)
KEZ. She's either my busty cleaner or a ghost.

Album of the week. Who’s album? Mine? Fake news. It’s always fake.
The merchant opens. The noise begins. Spam the javelin. Stickers show up in Derby.
God, I’m not sleeping.

(Pause)
Ten hours' sleep—yeah right.
“Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.”
You know what that means?
Even He felt abandoned.

She said she’d take me anywhere… but I stayed right here.
In this room. With this notebook. And these—
(slams a vinyl record down)
—lies.

More crack whores promo—what is that?!
Was that a song pitch or a cry for help?

Sell house. Sell it NOW.
I wrote that in all caps. Again.
That’s the third time.
But I’m still here.
The walls are still up.
And the tape still rolls.

(Leaning in close)
Hit me with your laser.
Laser.
Laser.
Laser.

(Sudden burst of manic laughter, then silence)

You see, the thing is… I’m not crazy.
I’m just holding the whole fucking album in my skull, and the skull is cracking.
But if I don’t write it down—if I don’t put it in the book—it’ll vanish.

And then what?

No show. No rehearsal. No Kez. No crack whores. No album.
Just a punk, mumbling to himself in a crack cave in Betws Garmon, on a tape no one will ever play.

(Quietly, almost reverently)
Please shred responsibly.