A matter of conscience?



January 5, 1984


Even at this level of rock & roll, we get politics, secrets and alternate plans.

And here, I thought Pauly was above all that, a foolish hope that he could rise above his contemporaries from all those other bands we played in.

I want to think this was a scheme raised by one of the two Johns, or that sad sack of a base player, Ritchie.

I kept hoping Pauly was the angel in all this when down deep, where the more realistic part of my thinking resides, I knew he was just as bad as the rest of the rock crew. I only assumed he had better sense than to actually engage in such stuff.

But as it turned out, I was wrong.

This also makes me reflect more on the old bands and the conflicts, and reassign some of the blame that had previously assigned to people other than Pauly.

I always took his side, ignoring the gnawing truth in the back of my head.

Pauly is a user and abuser of people, and now his agenda trumps even the feelings of other members of the band.

But it goes beyond just the band, and I find myself angry at him for hurting the feelings of my ex-girlfriend, and for putting me in the position of having to keep my word to him so as to exclude my current girlfriend, Fran.

There is a certain kind of arrogance in him that draws us in, and then alienates us later.

Fran claims he strives for attention, something I already observed but remembered again only when she pointed it out.

He thrives on being considered an outcast.

He draws power from maintaining a cold and uncaring exterior.

Sometimes I believe – despite his claims otherwise – that he has no conscience.

His cultivates a culture of self that will not be deviated by other people’s interests.

With the band, he schemes behind the scenes, wheeling and dealing, while pretending not to.

He does this with his friends as well, and makes me wonder if he is my friend at all. If anyone can be his friend.

He seems to have no real regard for the human race, communicating with the rest of us only to maintain his personal needs.

And yet, for all that, I can’t stop thinking of him as my friend.

What the hell is wrong with me anyway?



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