I lived for so long in that edifice,
that house of decline, where all my dreams
of rock stardom, never really mine,
existed like radioactive ghosts,
hyperexcitable and glamorous.
Electric guitars, I thought, would redeem
the dying I endured behind machines.
But that redemption never came to pass.
Instead, hysteria. The rock idols
fell foul of their dead counterparts, the ghouls
from that film where failures walk the earth,
and there was disembowelment and betrayal
in the psychic house of the incredible.
My labor was no more than it was worth.

 

 

A Message from the Editors

Since 1982, The New Criterion has nurtured and safeguarded our delicate cultural inheritance. Join our family of supporters and secure the future of civilization.

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 23 Number 4, on page 38
Copyright © 2022 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
https://newcriterion.com/issues/2004/12/long-live-rock