The Appreciation

If you've been following my blog for a while (yo Kevin, you're probably the only devoted subscriber and commentator) you've probably already discovered that I'm somewhat a skeptic, I doubt things, too many things for my own health perhaps. But there is one thing of which I have absolutely no doubt, and that is I can understand and, most importantly, appreciate, why some popular figures gone mad.

Popularity is addictive. It's like drugs, it takes hold of you gradually, you know its effects perfectly, but you just can't fight against it. It digs further and further down, deeper and deeper, you know you're sinking, but the more you struggle the quicker you're being drowned.

You soon realise that you're caught by yourself, that you're being the hunter and hunted at the same time. That there weren't two, but just one: you! Surprise, surprise, the prey against which the arrow is released is yourself. The one screaming under the crushing weight of the mighty tank is the one operating the beast from within. Sounds like fantasy, but it's one hundred percent reality.

You're being defeated by your own humour, they love you for that, they love you because you're funny, and that is also the thing that will bring about your demise. The thing and your incapability of introducing the dark side to the public. That's why comedians are so eager to show and prove that they are also capable of other sentiments. They need to, because they'll perish otherwise.

You've had enough with compliments and admiring eyes. You're fed up, hasta los cojones, with assumptions of a trouble-free you because you're excellent and exceptional, but the thing is, the higher you reach, the colder it gets, and when you're up there, you are completely alone, phisically and spiritually. And that makes you want to leap off the edge and put an end to this bloody farce.