Life in a Thrashing Machine | Page 5

head freely in a nod that almost made his head look like it was ready to fall off.
He understood what Henry was getting at but he didn't fully agree with him. Indeed, he could go home. He might write some music, hoping that his home environment would be tolerable for a sufficient period of time. Vlad was truly serious about once he started to compose, he would prefer to continue until he finished his project. Job offers, after he started to compose, would only annoy his already disturbed state of mind, and he was afraid that he would have a difficult time to continue with his musical work.
Vlad disliked constant readjustments and adaptations to his life. As far back as he could remember, his life was a conforming life; always changing for the betterment of someone other than himself. He felt that it was his turn to do what he wanted to but he knew that life was never that generous, towards anyone, except to those jerks and assholes of society.
He wondered if that's all that it took to be successful in life. Forget about honesty and clean-living. Forget about ability and integrity, and just indulge in life's excesses. Partake of drugs and of sexual perversions, and be as hateful and mistrusting as you can be towards your adversaries. Use them as the foundation block that you step up from, to fame and fortune.
Yet, Vlad wondered if doing all these things, just to become worldly-great, would really be worth losing one's immortal soul for; and not only that, those negative aspects of life could hinder any form of purity from being expressed in his music.
His music was good. He knew that the sounds which came from his mind, through to his hands and then onto paper, had that innocent purity that lacked in most of the other works composed by his piers and counterparts.
He did not want to lose that purity that was within him. Just the thoughts of such things made him feel weak and even ill. He felt ill now, for such a reason and he could hardly bare it.
"Do you remember that guy I told you about, from Ottawa?" Vlad asked Henry. "You know Jon Slater?"
"Yes, I remember. What about him?"
"That ass-hole, so I hear, is already apprenticing as an arranger for the Toronto Philharmonic." Vlad looked depressed and very angry. He actually was starting to shake from the idea of his chief-rival. Slater, was so far ahead of him, and he hardly had the expertise or originality for the job.
Vlad was sure that he, and not Slater, truly deserved that apprenticing position. His qualifications were, as he felt, much higher and more impressive than Slater's. He had composed three original sonatas for his mini-ballet HERA'S GARDEN, whereas Slater only did a two-part variation adapted from Purcell's DEATH OF QUEEN MARY and Vivaldi's OP. 8 - ALLEGRO I FROM "SPRING". Slater truly could, brilliantly modify some other composer's works and give them a quality that resembled originality, but he couldn't do a damn with his own imagination.
All this didn't matter in the long run, however. The judging of his work, against Vlad's, was as if no competition had taken place. The majority of the judges that he had sucked-up-to and totally impressed with his charismatic charm, chose his adaptations over Vlad's original works. Vlad prayed to God that he would, one day, put Slater in the place that he deserved; playing his violin, on some street-corner.
"Don't let that bother you, Vlad!" Henry tried to comfort him. "You told me that Slater is what, some five years older than you are? It's only fitting for him to get his glory now, so that you can whirlwind your way to the top, and leave him behind in the dust, by the time you're his same age!"
"I suppose that you're right. I am only twenty three years old. If I don't get killed by a car on the street, tomorrow, I guess that I'll have plenty of time to become successful." Henry urged him.
"It's just . . . It's just, I want it so badly, right now, Henry. You know what I mean!"
"Yes, I do, Vlad." said Henry, putting his large hand on Vlad's shoulder and then smiled at him.
They stayed like that for a time that seemed infinite but which was, in reality, no more than just a few seconds. Vlad was finally beginning to feel a little serene and stable, and he palmed Henry's hand, still on his shoulder.
"Thanks, for letting me chew on your ear, Henry. I'm so glad that I have someone understanding, like you, that I can talk to, without feeling embarrassed or ashamed." Vlad gave Henry a praise that pleased him greatly.
"That's what I am here for, buddy. Don't ever be afraid to talk