Mad

"There's a boat on the reef with a broken back.
And I can see it very well
There's a joke and I know it very well
It's one of those that I told you long ago
Take my word I'm a madman, don't you know"

-- Sir Elton John from 'Mad Man Across the Water' 1971

Wind whipped across the rocks with a crisp and callous aggression. The air was thin and sharp. With gusts blowing dust off the cliffs and into the sky, the mountain was a desert ascending up to the heavens. Yet, the distance from the valley below to the cave up near the clouds was even more desolate than any barren wasteland history has cursed.

It was up here where a man found himself living over a decade in isolation in the cave. His home opened out nearly to a shear cliff. With a path approximately 1 yard wide and about a 2 kilometers long up to the entrance, it was a terrifyingly secluded home for any normal man. But of course this was not a normal man. This was a man named John Michael Osborne. Extreme, inordinate, and excessive. So much so that some would say he surpassed all rationale. And now to most people he was insane.

There was other life with John up near the clouds as well. Eagles soared, snakes slithered, and an occasional goat appeared. Yet, the goats who made a cameo up at the top would usually be old and a bit confused. The younger and more virile would go high as well, but this part of the mountain, so high up, was well past all food and water making it an irrelevant excursion for any young buck.

Inside the cave was a different story. John had made himself a home. A mirror lay against a wall of the cave which was big enough to see almost all of his body minus his head. There were a few rugs toward the back of the cave which served as his study and mediation studio. Above this area hung a cross fashioned out of two sticks tied together with a lashing knot. Under the cross lay a bible signed by Peter Cushing.

"John thanks for the pudding. Apparently George had never heard of Noahs Arch. So when we were rapping Star Wars and I came across this in his trailer i had to nick it. Fucking Americans!"

On the other wall, opposite the mirror, leaned an old Gibson guitar with only 5 machine heads. This posed no problem though. The high E string was irrelevant to John because he had never and would never consider himself a guitarist. He was a vocalist. The singer in a band. And therefore the guitar was merely a lighter, more travel friendly accompaniment for his voice. Just as the Steinways he owned when he was younger, this guitar was how he put his words in "motion" he'd liked to say.

He would stand on the edge of the cave and strum his guitar to the vast space between him and civilization far below.

"Listen to what I say
If you want a better place to live in
Spread the words today
Show the world that love is still alive

you must be brave
Or you children of today

are children of the grave,

yeah.."

He stopped

"Fuck this." he muttered with a British accent filled with imperial grit and grime.

"Its not cool to be singing this shit anymore."

Walking back he glanced in the mirror and winced at the sight of his knuckles on his left hand. They read O-Z-Z-Y.

"Its stale. Its not where its at man."

He knelt down and turned off the gas of a small Colman stove. Put on an oven mitt and slowly poured some hot water into a porcelain tea pot. Then he reached for a biscuit and took a bite.

"I never want to be old and lame. I am not one of those old lost goats. Ive gotta find my way back. Ive gotta get back to the top down there!" He pointed angrily with his left index finger down below.

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Life was indeed monotonous most of the time up in the cave. Day after day John would sip tea and write in his journal. So much so that writing and sipping seemed to be as common as breathing in and exhaling. And at times it was hard. Real hard.

John was older now but he wasn't a geezer. He'd still itch to let loose. But the urge to be reckless and self destructive was a dead end up in the mountain cave. So he'd just sit down and meditate until he forgot about drugs and sex with strange women.

Over and over this is how his days would pass until one day he saw what seemed to be smoke rising from a ridge he'd never paid much attention to. In fact, he always thought it was part of a farther ridge until he aimed his old nautical telescope at it this day and determined the ridge was closer.

Realizing he heard thunder only minutes earlier the only possible explanation was that lightning had started the fire. Eventually the fire went out and John put away the telescope and turned into the cave for some more tea and journaling.

The next day was more of the same. Except for the black scar on the ridge from the fire the day prior, nothing grabbed John's attention. Struggling to define and address his block, writing at the moment was impossible. So he just stood at the edge of his home and stared.

"I've done it all. Why bother with something that I invented and everyone else copies? I'm looking from the outside of the Queens kitchen. All this rubbish is just my recipe half baked and under cooked."

Just then a small flash gleaned his eyes. It was from a ridge closer than the ridge that caught fire. "What the? Impossible." He ran back to grab his telescope. Brought it over to the ledge and aimed at where he'd seen the light.

"Nothing. Oh wait. Yes. Gotcha."

A man was hiking the ridge line. He had a backpack and sleeping bag. And a walking stick. He was walking slow and steady. And if he kept at it for the rest of the day he'd be at Johns cave by the end of the day.

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The wind was wiping right along the entrance to the cave. John grabbed out for the strangers hand. "Watch your step right here" John yelled. "Ive slipped quite a few times on the last bit before making it in."

"Got it." the stranger said. As he was dusting himself off and raising his head he began to notice how inviting and cozy the cave actually was.

"Tea?" John said while removing his sunglasses and placing them on a boulder he used as a shelf for his appliances.

"Yeah. Please." the stranger said while trying sound as even as possible.

"You know Ive been watching you for a couple days now. Ive got a telescope me mate bought for me years ago. Some kind of Royal Navy rubbish. I usually pull it out to look at the stars and shit like that." John turned on the gas and pressed the red ignition button. It made a snap sound and the flame lit beautifully. "I noticed a little bit of some smoke rising up from the 3rd ridge over there on Tuesday and though I didn't see you then I kept an eye out and today I saw you nearing the second ridge walking in this direction."

"Oh yeah. Its fucking cold out there. I had to risk being noticed. I needed to warm up so I kept walking" the stranger exclaimed.

"Well?..." John said

"Well what?" the stranger returned

"Well, were you coming to see me?"

"No. No Im just wondering I suppose" the stranger said trailing off.

John raised his voice and pointed at him. His O-Z-Z-Y tattoo clearly visible to the strange man. "Look I don't want any help and I don't need any company so you're gone by tomorrow. Got it?"

The strange mans eyes grew wide and hundreds of memories and thoughts began to flood his mind. There was only one man with that tattoo. One god damned man. But he managed to eke out a modest sounding answer "Got it"

"Well, theres a blanket right there and a pillow over there. Your bed is right here on this carpet." John said goodnight and they both turned in for the night.

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John opened his eyes. The air was still. No wind blew and the light of the sunrise was divine. He turned his attention to his ears. He heard what sounded like Spanish guitar emanating from the cave opening. "No that's darker. More ominous" he thought. "My God that's beautiful."

He sat up and looked toward the opening. With his feet dangling off the cliff the mysterious man he had helped yesterday was playing his guitar better than John thought was ever possible. The notes rang clear and pristine like delicate crystals of sound. John couldn't believe it. He'd been a witness to countless talented musicians as a young man but no one had made John have goosebumps.

"Was he improvising?" John thought.

The man had complete command to sustain and stop the notes he chose and the complete wherewithal to make the music go where Johns ears were hoping and praying it would take him.

John just sat and stared.

"This is it!" He thought to himself. "I've found it. Or it found me. Whatever the hell happened, I now have what I was looking for."

He rolled over and grabbed his notebook flipped it to a page with the word Mad underlined at the top. He began to read the words silently while the man played the hauntingly beautiful music on the cliff. Then John began to hum the words. The melody was revealing itself like a master sculptor reveals his work from stone. It was always there it just need to be pulled out.

He walk over to the man.

The man hadn't noticed and had incidentally stopped.

John counted "2-3-4"

The man continued.

John began to sing

"Diary of a madman
Walk the line again today
Entries of confusion
Dear diary, I'm here to stay.
Manic depression befriends me
Hear his voice
Sanity now it's beyond me
There's no choice..."

They both stopped.

John stared out in the sky. "What's your name?"

"Randy" the mysterious man said.

"Randy Rhodes. I know who you are Ozzy."

"Good" said Ozzy. "Well, I suppose we've got a lot of work to do"

"Huh?" Randy was stunned

"We're going to write together" Ozzy declared. "You are why I am here. And I am why you are here. This my new friend is destiny. So let's get to work"

"Uhh...yeah...well...uhh" Randy was confused

"Look we don't have time to pussyfoot around" Ozzy said wryly. "I am not a genius but I do know what's good for me and you are indeed good for me. In fact, I've been holed up in this godforsaken cave for years now thinking and dreaming about what in the hell could get me on track and nothing made sense. But when I woke up and heard you playing the epiphany I was so desperate for was born"

"Uhh.." Randy mumbled

"Ok mate. Let's go. No more excuses. Listen to me and we will rule all those people like we know we should. This is destiny!" Suddenly Ozzy picked up Randy with guitar still in his hands and lifted him into the air. Ozzy screamed into the sky "this is destiny motherfuckers!"