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Disturbed One
"Anything?" I pushed his patience.
"Anything!" he responded sharply, his eyes darkening.
I'd had a million questions, and suddenly, I was at a loss for words. Here was David Draiman, the most intellectually gifted lyricist in the world, and I could not remember a single question!
"Hold on while I look at my notes?" I nearly begged.
"Do not worry about such trivial B.S.," his voice so calm, it instantly put me at ease.
"The show is not for hours, yet. We have plenty of time for everything, Betta." I was lost in his dark, penetrating gaze.
Then, quite preternaturally, it all came flooding back to me. The song-This Moment, and whomever it was he'd called Betayeta. What was the true meaning? Had it been a threatened assault? Or was it actually the ravishing of a virgin, ie., "...kept on pushing till I made you bleed."
-And what act, or acts had spurred The Sickness?
-Was Conflict about the Palestinians? Or abortion?
-Was Numb about the burdensome task of writing music? Or a sexual experience gone wrong?
-How they'd managed to 'carry over' The Meaning Of Life?
-Is Intoxication about a personal relationship?
-IS he 'endowed' with 'the need'?
I was sputtering over all these questions as I fumbled for a pen.
"Fear," I began again. And without thinking, I followed with, "ARE you impotent?" My face burned with realization of the question!
"It's all right, darlin'," he spoke with an obvious put-on southern drawl, "Give me your secrets- I'll give you mine."
He squatted down directly in front of me, where I had perched on a barstool in front of a sprawling mirrored wall. I looked down at him, and he slipped his hand between my knees. I clenched automatically, so tight David's dark eyes shot straight up into mine.
"Easy!" he urged, "You've got to relax, or neIther of us will accomplish a thing here."
When he'd put the long I in neither, I'd immediately thought, "This metal rocker sounds just like a lawyer!" Then I remembered. David Draiman had indeed left a potentially promising career as an attorney! Three degrees out of college, he had wiped it all away with a roll of the dice!
"I have so much to ask you, and so little time," I hated my pleading tone.
"OK. First question. Hit me," he blurted out, startling me to my senses.
"Why were you so mean to Betayeta?" I asked.
"Why were YOU so retaliatory in Get-it-yeta?" he shot back!
I honestly had no answers for him on that, because I had simply fed off his lyrics from This Moment to create Get-it-yeta. I'd never dreamed he would even see them, much less take time to read them. But he did. And he had. and here we were.
He even confessed to leaving a post for me, after a year of my posting 'response' lyrics. A post I had seen, but was highly suspicious of being a fake, although the diction was articulate, and familiar. He now admitted to the post which said, simply, "Phenomenal idea. I should've thought of it... Stealing."
I gasped, "Not stealing. 'Responding'!" (continued)

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