Figmentum
10-31-2007, 12:25 AM
I wrote this essay for my writing class about a week ago. I just thought some of you may enjoy it.
Jacob G.
10-23-07
******* High School
Initiation of My Metal Being
I grew up in a small, conservative town, of ninety people, in Bar-D, Texas. As you may guess, the experience was little less than thrilling. As a small boy, growing up in such a place, many traditional southern values were expected of me, such as: country music, church, hunting, cowboy clothes, and other such stereotypical nonsense. However, I was rather unenthused with idea of portraying a redneck stereotype. But, at the time, it was all I knew, so I had no choice but to defend it from the “Damn, yankees!” I knew something was amiss, by the time I had reached the age of ten. Two things, that set me apart from everyone else, I was the, “albino black sheep”, if you will. These very two things would deny me, the normal lifestyle of a Texan, or that of any of my southern kinship. I could read, and still had all of my teeth. Alas, I was alone.
Every few weeks, we would have a family trip to Houston (despite the shame my family had, in my oxymoronic, innate ability, to read past the funny papers). This, “Big City” environment, was absolutely phenomenal! They had modern clothes, new cars, no mullets, and what really grasped my soul, more than all other forms of modern civilization, was the amazing sound of the electric guitar, as used by Metallica, and SlipKnoT! With the money I had been secretly taxing from my brothers’ piggy bank, I snuck behind my father’s back, into the music store, and purchased my first heavy metal album, “The Number of The Beast” by Iron Maiden.
Upon arrival, at my place of residence, from my “Stowaway Crusade” to the music store, I slithered towards my brothers’ lair. Upon sight of the entrance, my hairs were erect instantly! His door was wide open. The chance was now! I dashed down the hall, and slid into the doorway. I came to a halt, with immense pain, due to a rather unsightly rug-burn on my left knee, and an equally grotesque rug-burn on the other. Ignoring the pain, I stood up and leaped for the angelic Walkman Player. I grasped this most sacred of devices, with the might of a twelve-year old, and fell back, retreating slowly, with the Walkman in hand. I stepped side to side, tediously working my way past the bathroom, where my brother, the beast himself, was brushing his syringe-like fangs. I could feel the heat from his hellish heart thumps, and scurried back to my room, with a sure, yet unsettling victory on my behalf.
Back in the “Safety-Zone” of my room, I open my new trophy, and insert the sound of ages: “The Number of The Beast.” Upon my first audio-to-ear reception of these awing vibrations, I wondered if it wasn’t simply the sound of my brothers’ snores. But as the lyrics came, I knew this was an immense power, beyond that of even my own tyrannical sibling. I asked myself, “How could this be the Devils’ Music?” Disregarding the title, and even being age ten, I was still able to conclude that this beautiful, melodic poetry, was, as most albums are, a message to general society. Not an antagonistic message, but surprisingly to me, at the time, a moral one. I had found my destiny! I had become, a “Metal Head!”
Jacob G.
10-23-07
******* High School
Initiation of My Metal Being
I grew up in a small, conservative town, of ninety people, in Bar-D, Texas. As you may guess, the experience was little less than thrilling. As a small boy, growing up in such a place, many traditional southern values were expected of me, such as: country music, church, hunting, cowboy clothes, and other such stereotypical nonsense. However, I was rather unenthused with idea of portraying a redneck stereotype. But, at the time, it was all I knew, so I had no choice but to defend it from the “Damn, yankees!” I knew something was amiss, by the time I had reached the age of ten. Two things, that set me apart from everyone else, I was the, “albino black sheep”, if you will. These very two things would deny me, the normal lifestyle of a Texan, or that of any of my southern kinship. I could read, and still had all of my teeth. Alas, I was alone.
Every few weeks, we would have a family trip to Houston (despite the shame my family had, in my oxymoronic, innate ability, to read past the funny papers). This, “Big City” environment, was absolutely phenomenal! They had modern clothes, new cars, no mullets, and what really grasped my soul, more than all other forms of modern civilization, was the amazing sound of the electric guitar, as used by Metallica, and SlipKnoT! With the money I had been secretly taxing from my brothers’ piggy bank, I snuck behind my father’s back, into the music store, and purchased my first heavy metal album, “The Number of The Beast” by Iron Maiden.
Upon arrival, at my place of residence, from my “Stowaway Crusade” to the music store, I slithered towards my brothers’ lair. Upon sight of the entrance, my hairs were erect instantly! His door was wide open. The chance was now! I dashed down the hall, and slid into the doorway. I came to a halt, with immense pain, due to a rather unsightly rug-burn on my left knee, and an equally grotesque rug-burn on the other. Ignoring the pain, I stood up and leaped for the angelic Walkman Player. I grasped this most sacred of devices, with the might of a twelve-year old, and fell back, retreating slowly, with the Walkman in hand. I stepped side to side, tediously working my way past the bathroom, where my brother, the beast himself, was brushing his syringe-like fangs. I could feel the heat from his hellish heart thumps, and scurried back to my room, with a sure, yet unsettling victory on my behalf.
Back in the “Safety-Zone” of my room, I open my new trophy, and insert the sound of ages: “The Number of The Beast.” Upon my first audio-to-ear reception of these awing vibrations, I wondered if it wasn’t simply the sound of my brothers’ snores. But as the lyrics came, I knew this was an immense power, beyond that of even my own tyrannical sibling. I asked myself, “How could this be the Devils’ Music?” Disregarding the title, and even being age ten, I was still able to conclude that this beautiful, melodic poetry, was, as most albums are, a message to general society. Not an antagonistic message, but surprisingly to me, at the time, a moral one. I had found my destiny! I had become, a “Metal Head!”