A Note From Gerard Way about My Chemical Romance's breakup if you haven't read it yet
A note from Gerard Way about My Chemical Romance’s breakup:
A Vigil, On Birds and Glass.
I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended.
I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure-
I made coffee.
As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day.
As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn’t take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows.
Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey’s direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions.
I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit’s, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap.
I was no longer sad.
I didn’t realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would.
It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth.
I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death.
The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you.
So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty.
This was always my intent.
My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013
We were spectacular.
Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation.
There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital-
And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us-
That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception.
Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it’s system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point.
No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit.
To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll.
I wasn’t shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It’s in the lyrics, it’s in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough).
I’m still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn’t a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason-
When it’s time, we stop.
It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway.
You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music.
There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor.
There wasn’t even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets…
I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy.
We get the cue to hit the stage.
The show is… good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong.
I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I’m hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade.
All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn’t have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say.
What it said is between me and the voice.
I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage.
Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own.
There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims-
That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned?
With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one’s terms but our own- the door closes.
And another opens-
This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed “hippie” but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle.
A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device.
He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it-
“This amp talks.” he said.
We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home.
When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent’s basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90’s Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles.
I still have that guitar, and it’s sitting next to The Princeton.
He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say.
In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you’ve learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you.
I feel Love.
I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with-
Let me start off this plea for help with that I don’t deserve
it. What’s going to happen to me soon I absolutely asked for, but
god, someone please save me.
I’m a perv. I hack into girl’s computers and watch them in
their houses from their webcams, or even better, their rooms.
Catch them doing yoga, undressing, it’s truly my lucky day when I
can catch them masturbating. Once I even caught this lesbian couple,
but they didn’t do anything fun- just tickled each other and
planned their honeymoon. So. Boring.
It’s a victimless crime. I get my rocks off or enjoy your
conversations, and the people never even know I was there.
So I recently decided to explore a different role at my company, and I’m not sure if it’s going to be a healthier option for me in terms of being something that will stress me out less, let me disconnect more at the end of the day, and leave me with more energy to write. I feel like it could be, but it’s also a very new role that could come with growing pains. At the same time I can’t imagine a part of it I couldn’t easily do, which is what I’m looking for at this point - to feel less pressure and less of a challenge so I can lean back a little and focus on my health and writing (the two goals I set for this year). But I guess what’s scary is I don’t - and can’t - know that for sure. “The devil you know” is exactly why I’ve been in the same department at the same company for 7+ years. But I guess nothing will get better if it doesn’t change first.
~A lot of people like seeing Tsuna jealous huh? Okay then let’s torture him while we’re at it, shall we? XD~
Tsuna couldn’t stop scowling and shaking his knee underneath the table as he watched you play hostess to the crowd of well wishers attending your engagement party.
It wasn’t that you were doing anything wrong. You were even dressed in that ridiculously conservative dress. You looked like you were about to enter a nunnery rather than an engagement with him.
What the hell were you smiling at that idiot for? Who the hell was that nobody?
Did that man just lean too close to your ear? What the hell did he say and why are you fucking laughing like a mental patient?
Tsuna pulled at Gokudera’s sleeve and his right hand man leaned down to see what his Boss wanted. He ordered the bomber to fetch you for him.
Instead of obeying though you merely glance at him in mild annoyance before saying something softly to Hayato which Tsuna later finds out was a reprimand about welcoming the guests instead of just sitting around doing nothing.
And he ends up miffed that you spoke to Hayato so politely just now when you couldn’t even spare your own fiancee a goddamn smile!
Gnashing his teeth he practically ground his damaged wine flute on the pristine white table cloth as he continued to watch you float around the room like a goddamn butterfly.
Tsuna didn’t want to get married. Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to be engaged yet, goddammit.
It was just his damn luck to have found himself in your room that night while looking for that buxom maid who was winking at him over the dinner table your father was presiding over that evening. How was he supposed to know he was invading the rooms of his ally’s only daughter? How was he to know your father would demand marriage to you to satisfy his honor? No, it was not his intention and yet here he was begrudging other people a smile from your lips.
To be fair to you it didn’t look like you wanted to marry him either. He had been there while you begged and pleaded with your father in your silky thin house robe to forget the whole thing and let it go. But your father was nothing but adamant and Tsuna could not fault the brilliance of the old man’s strategy. Having his daughter married to him would cement their alliance stronger than any exchange of territory or traditional letting of blood ever could.
Tsuna had thought he could go through with this whole farce feeling nothing while he left his Mist Guardians to find a loophole out of this mess but as he had gotten to know you Tsuna had found you anything but cold. He had been forced to follow you around to show your father he was sincere in his plans to marry you to make up for his terrible mistake.
You had the warmest smile on your face as you walk through the town greeting the townspeople under your father’s protection.
You cried at some nameless beggar’s funeral.
You had a loving touch for every child that sought your presence.
And yet the only regard you had for him when you look at him was a chilling indifference.
Tsuna felt the wine flute in his hand crumble when he saw you hug a random young man from the crowd.
Reason would tell him it may just be a cousin or relation come to wish you luck but goddammit he lost his reason whenever it involved you.
He wanted you to touch him, damn it!
He wanted you to smile at him and cry for him and fucking hold him like your life depended on it! It didn’t matter if he wanted this marriage or not, he was not going to just sit here and let someone else hoard all your kisses for themselves. You were going to love him, dammit. You were going to love him or he’ll fucking shoot every bastard crowding around you!
Suddenly a suave, good looking young man came over to you and boldly took your hand for a kiss. Tsuna’s blood boiled as the fool then turned your hand over to place another kiss on your palm making you blush so charmingly.
His table turned over as the Vongola don stood up angrily and stomped over to his fiancee. He grasps your wrist in a grip so harsh it was almost bone breaking as he pulls you away from the fool who dared kiss the hand he had barely even touched. Tsuna then clutches the man’s shirtfront in his free hand to pull him close before whispering dangerously in his ear.
“Plan’s changed, Mukuro. Fuck off.”
He practically dragged you off into the mansion despite your protests under your own father’s amused eye and the gawking of the other guests.
Mukuro, in the meantime, shrugged and disappeared into the crowd while shedding his illusion.
It looks like the real engagement party was about to start now.
~WHO WANTS BONUS HEADCANONS?!!!~
He had taken notice of you from the very start since you first interacted with him the day he got invited to the Iron Fort. You were the only one who came forward and offered to serve him and his Guardians as they waited for Sawada Tsunayoshi to arrive. While the mansion treated him and his Famiglia with cold familiarity you acted as though he were a man worthy of respect. You didn’t care that he had once caused the destruction of the Vongola in an alternate world. Didn’t care that he might repeat such a horrible fate for everyone you cared about in this world.
Byakuran teased you by making a careless threat that you might regret your politeness. That he might be there to kill Sawada Tsunayoshi after all and continue where he left off. He was surprised by your answer.
You said if that were truly his motivation then he will reach the Tenth over your dead body.
There had been no malice on your face, no hate, no lie. Just an honest promise of what will come to pass should he truly go and make his move. From then on he had made it a point to make sure Sawada brought you with him every time they had a meeting so he could have a glimpse of you. The fascination he had felt the first time you had met had grown into an obsession he had latched onto because you made his world so much less empty.
So now Byakuran was having a hard time keeping on his cheerful, smiling face as he watched you listen to your orders during that day’s meeting at the Gesso mansion. He didn’t like the way you were looking at Sawada Tsunayoshi anymore.
He had never thought himself a jealous man. What would someone with supremacy like his have to be jealous of? He had money, power and more power. Men and women begged on their hands and knees to be able to serve him. So why? Why would you not look his way?!
He had watched you loyally serve the man he had allied himself with and swore to never harm for what felt like forever. Sawada Tsunayoshi was a man worthy of respect and adoration. But must you follow him with eyes so filled with yearning? Must your face be filled with such undoubted want for the Vongola’s Don?
He gritted his teeth behind his increasingly sharp smile as you bowed your head in respect while Sawada walked passed you to leave finalizing the details of the meeting in your hands. How dare your eyes glow with love as he walked out of the room? It was as though no one else existed for you besides that man!
Byakuran called your name using his sweetest voice and his breath caught in anger and longing as the love in your eyes changed into something polite. Impersonal. Like he meant nothing to you beyond another man you had to cope with.
He clenched his fists tight as you smiled kindly down at him asking him what he wanted.
The chalk haired man surprised you with a gift. The keys of a Porsche he had bought specifically for you. He threw them your way for you to deftly catch.
You stirred his ire when you refuse them telling him it was too much of a gift for you to take.
Byakuran’s smile fell the moment you had walked within his reach to return the keys and suddenly you were in his lap, your lips being devoured by a kiss so harsh you were certain they would bruise later.
His tongue pushed inside your mouth with the fervor of a man long denied of water and he held you so tightly there was no hope of escape.
When he finally releases your lips and you try to scream for help he stops you with a sharp grin and sharper amethyst eyes, clear with threat and madness.
If you deny him he will follow through on the little threat he made the first time he met you.
He would be damned before he let you go.
He met you a few months ago. He was stupid enough to go out on his own to buy groceries even after experimenting on a new poison for his yoyo needles leaving him groggy and weak. You pulled him out of the way and saved his life from a speeding bus. He had been surprised by you. You didn’t seem the type to care that he was not gushing over with gratitude or enthusiastic in his thanks because all that seemed to matter to you was that he was alive. It made Chikusa’s heart ache.
You’ve been friends ever since.
It never stopped amazing him that you just accepted him. Read between the lines even when his face displayed nothing. You laughed when he made a joke with his monotonous, sardonic wit and you frowned and comforted him when he tells you something that was bothering him. It was so easy being with you. You just seemed to know what he was feeling.
So who could possibly blame him if he developed feelings for you?
He knew he had nothing to offer. Being a member of Kokuyo wealth and glory were things he had very little of. He and his gang lived off of whatever they could trick out of people because they loathed accepting help from the Vongola. So was it really surprising that he had never expected to fall in love?
But he wanted you, oh he wanted you!
And now he was even following you to work. Right there in that cozy little coffee shop. He didn’t think you’d appreciate him being there so he kept himself hidden in an alley right across the street.
Chikusa watched your sleazy boss come over and give your bottom another discreet pinch and clenched his teeth behind his indifferent face.
Why aren’t you reacting? Why don’t you say something? Did you really like it that much?!
If he did the same to you would you let him?!
The same man passed by the bar as you were cleaning the coffee cups and he was leaning so close his lips were almost touching your ear.
Chikusa’s unemotional face remained unchanged even as he slammed the side of his fist in the wall right by him leaving a sizable dent on it.
He wanted to pound the man into the ground and rip his neck open with his teeth.
He wanted to shove one of his yoyos in his mouth and let the needles explode in his skull.
He wanted to tear the man touching you open and lay his innards on the ground to show you there was nothing special about the bastard.
Chikusa had experienced pain, agony, fear and hunger but never- never- had he felt such consuming hatred before. Hatred was Mukuro-sama’s territory. He had thought hatred was something the Estraneo had already bled out of him. He had thought no emotion in this world would ever be able to consume him.
Robin and Marian went to grad school together. They had the same advisor and wrote on the same things and had an intense affair (romantic, sexual, intellectual, emotional), but it all fell to pieces when their adviser, Roy Richards, left for another institution, taking with him Robin but not Marian. In the end, Marian was the one who wound up with the plum r1 tt job. She was always the more diligent worker, and more willing to jump through the “bullshit” [in Robin’s words] professionalization hoops the job market demands. Robin wound up languishing too long on his dissertation, mired in perfectionism, as their erstwhile advisor became increasingly unreliable and unavailable, wrapped up in an administrative post and new projects. Five years later, after bouncing from one postdoc to another, he winds up with a one-year visiting position at Marian’s institution, which just so happens to be in Robin’s home town.