Holder of Fame

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk ask if you can see someone calling himself “The Holder of Fame.” The worker should sternly deny having any patient named as such, but afterwards he will make sure that no one is looking and discreetly give you a guitar pick and whisper, “Say hello to him for me, will ya? I’m a huge fan.” Gratefully accept the pick and thank the worker, then leave the institution. You will notice that night has fallen when you exit the building, no matter what time you first entered.

Directly across the street will be a bar, even if it wasn’t there before. Go to that bar, and you will hear band music playing, pay no attention to the music, as those in the audience were those foolish enough to stop and enjoy it, and are now forever tormented by tunes that melt their bodies and souls while their ears bleed, their hearing undiminished in the face of this demonic harmony. Head backstage, where a bouncer will be waiting, when he blocks your path, show him the guitar pick you got from the worker. If the bouncer still doesn’t let you through, pray that he takes off your head first, so you won’t feel the pain of being torn apart by his bare hands. If he lets you through you will be guided into a room, and unlike the fancy bar décor that surrounded you earlier, it will be a simple room with walls painted in beige and a single lamp hanging overhead. In the middle of a room will be a man who looks like a rock star, with the long wavy hair, thin physique and tight jeans. He will be playing his electric guitar, and beside him will be another chair with another guitar rested on a stand beside it. Untold horror and nightmares await you should this scene not be the one you encounter when the bouncer lets you through.

The guitarist will be playing the most beautiful of tunes. He plays so skillfully, it’s as if his fingers were gently treading water at the beach. You will be mesmerized by his skill, but all the more with the music he is playing, yet you feel that it is a sad song, its tragic message reverberating within your very soul with every pluck of the string. Many are driven to depression right then and there and decide to end their life, but if you are steadfast you must sit down beside the guitarist. Once you do he will stop playing, and he will say, “Will you share this song with me?” and at this point you are only allowed to ask one question: “You’re that famous guy, right?”

If the guitarist does not answer, he has deemed you unworthy of his presence and the strings of his guitar will latch on and fillet your body, then drag your soul into the deepest pits of Hell, but if he likes you, he will say, “It’s not all it was hyped up to be.” At this point you must pick up the guitar beside you and play with him. Even if you don’t know how to play the guitar, you will know how to. The two of you will then play a song different from what the guitarist was playing earlier. As you play your part, you will start seeing images in your mind, sad and powerful, but you must keep your concentration, for the guitarist doesn’t like screw-ups and you don’t want to know what he did with his previous back-up guitarists. With the images boring into your mind like red-hot steel hissing into your skin, you will see every person in history who was blinded by the glamour of the camera lights, and failed to see the real light of the sun, and in the end fell into eternal darkness. They thought they were special, and lifted themselves above anyone who they saw dirty or unfit, only to realize they were filthier than those they hated so much, only to realize that they were just like everyone else. They forgot the true essentials of life, and thus forfeited it.

After your performance he will pat you on the back and commend you for a beautiful performance. Return your guitar to its stand and thank the guitarist for his time and leave the room from the door where you originally came. When you open the door you will be blinded by a flash of light, open your eyes when you feel the surroundings dimming and you will find yourself in your bedroom. After two weeks a package will be sent to you, it’ll be the guitar you used in that song with the guitarist. He also has his autograph on it, though it’ll be in a language that does not exist in this world. But you’ll get his message, as you know the true cost of eminence.

That guitar is Object 132 of 538. There is nothing fancy about the burden you carry. Many have borne it before, and many will carry it yet.