My name is Terry and this is my blog. 
09/13/2005: "An Open Letter"
music: "Joy" by Against Me!mood: Feet Fail Me Not
I’m not trying to act the fool here, but I need to get something off my chest. I’m speaking free form here, none of this was prepared. I know you don’t read this. Rather, I hope you don’t, because right now I’m going to reduce myself at your expense. Maybe you’re savvy to all of this, I should never underestimate you.
With that, I beg you to read to the end. I will be harsh, but please trust me when I say that I am looking out for your best interests. It’s 1 am as I write this and I know this is an impulse post. Spellings and grammaticals will be corrected in the morning, when the clarity comes back to me.
Truth is, I’m tired of your shit. It’s getting annoying. They say you’re acting infantile. That you’re being selfish. I’ve heard about how you’re messing about town. I know what you're up to. I have my sources. I've seen you with your new love, the model. They say you’re going to self-destruct sooner than later. Idol worship is romantic, but you’re taking it too far. Let's leave the dramatics to the professionals.
You’re thinning, you’re gaunt. The panda eyes aren’t hiding anything. You may look pretty on the outside, “clobbered in Dior” (your words), but take a look inside your dark, dark self and tell me you’re not the least bit afraid. You talk about the great void, the black out. Heed your own fucking warning.
I don’t want you to become my obsession. My friends would say that this is unhealthy. I’ve been ostracized for still believing in you, for still being a supporter. I would have told you that I saw the train wreck coming, but I didn’t want to jinx it. But I need to broadcast, I need to broadcast in the case that you may hear me, that this may help you ultimately conquer those demons.
I know you don’t want to hear this and that you used to hear this all the time, but I need to be inspired by you. It’s not your burden you’ll say, and yes it is unfair of me. I should do things for myself, and leave you be. Distance has no way of making things understandable. But I can’t let go so easily, not now , not now.
At this point you're the only one who can save me. Don’t be selfish. Fucking grow up. Like you, I feel the need for attention and maybe those selfish actions are an innocent cry for help. But there are things to be done. You were brilliant before and I want to believe that you will always be. I’ve heard you reading your high school poetry. People said you were ahead of your time. Gay as it sounds, you’ve inspired me to write poetry again. It’s easy to delude yourself in this age, in the place where you’re at, where you really want to be. You’re too delicate. You’re mother once said once you are “a gifted poet, writer and thinker,” but “very vulnerable,” “ a sensitive soul with many good points.”
I miss the former you, but we both need to reinvent ourselves. It's for the better, and for what I know, what's been started shows a lot of promise.
Believe me when I say your words/promises still echo, I still hear them, they still haunt me – and I quote you verbatim - “I’m running away with you,” “do we just keep on pretending and hope our luck is never ending,” “Oh I cherish you my love,” “you say your heart still sings when you're with me,” and “I’m still in love with you.” But now you're saying“Fuck Forever.” At one point I even heard you change your tune to "they all prefer you."
I know it's harder now that you're on your own. Only now can I relate to a break-up. They’re always messy, aren’t they? It's a severance, a severance and you keep thinking to yourself “will we ever talk again?” It’s our mistake that we always leave the ball in the other's court. I know you're making an effort, but leave it be. Sorry doesn’t cut it, doesn’t cut it. You’ll go through the replacements, but it just won’t feel the same. It’s a different energy, a different light, a different feel, taste, if you will. Know that and it will help you through.
It’s a cruel world as you may have figured out and when you make your debut, be prepared for the worse. Your reputation precedes you and they’re going to be brutal. They’re going to look past your true brilliance. They’re waiting to feed you to the lions. The easy defense is to tell them to fuck off, that they don't matter, but don’t underestimate their power. They will get under your skin. They are there to amplify your insecurities, the blemishes, and the weaknesses. Waiting for the spectacle, the crash and burn, they’re waiting to laugh at you. When you’re down on the ground, they want to feed your own arrogance back to you. They’re all waiting to call you a has-been. Don’t let them do it. Don’t let them destroy you.
So I’m saying it now, with no regrets and in the face of consequence:
Pete Doherty, get your shit together.
Stop fucking around and finish the Babyshambles album we’re all waiting for. Then you can go messing about with Kate Moss and having Hedi Slimane put your clothes on for you. Deliver what you promised us. If it’s any encouragement, I hear Carl’s got a record in the works and it could be brilliant if he’s not too busy looking like hot shit for J. Lindeberg.
Like Kanye needs Jesus, I need Brit-Pop to save my life again. I can see it coming. “For Lovers” was brilliant and “Killamangiro” is the new “Time for Heroes.” It could be a new era.
Please don’t disappoint. Please don’t fail.
A fan-
Terry Huynh