I cannot describe the sheer joy that songwriting brought me. I was beyond thrilled with the results; I had finally found my bubble, my escape. Every morning, I would wake up and refine a song. I spent hours choosing the music, then I’d listen to my new creation on repeat. But on a cellphone, the sound was thin, and through plastic-covered headphones, it wasn’t much better.
So, I bought a speaker. The first brand I got on Amazon was terrible—it just didn't work. Eventually, I opted for a high-quality speaker PY made in the USA; at that point, it was a matter of survival for my spirit.
I suddenly remembered that this was exactly why I had moved here in 2004: to be alone in the woods and blast music as loud as I wanted. Somewhere along the way, I had let all forms of joy vanish from my life, including music. But now, it was back, and it would stay with me until the day I die.
It was a scorching summer. I spent my long days outside, scribbling lyrics for a new song. I’d write a line, step back, and start again. It was so cool. I had finally accepted my departure from the workforce. I didn't call it "retirement"—I just said I didn't need to work anymore, or simply that I was a songwriter. Which was true, after all. Slowly but surely, my songs were becoming popular. I didn't ask for much: a hundred people were enough to tell me my music was good.
I didn't do any promotion. In real life, I don't know many people, and no one in my circle—not even my family—goes on TikTok to support me.
I made it a point to listen to the legendary Bon Jovi and watch his videos. It made me dream all day, thinking of him while I gardened. At my age, having a crush... it feels silly, but why not? It had been ages since I’d felt that way. I was at a stage in my life where I wanted to do everything before I died. That "damned retirement" haunted me.
Until the day I received an invitation to join "a" Bon Jovi. Naively, I was surprised. How was it possible, since he had blocked me on Twitter?
Yes, I was naive. I didn't spend my life on social media. Before that, I used Facebook a bit for family and Twitter for quick world news while traveling. So, being on these platforms and being flirted with was all brand new to me.
One Bon Jovi, then a second one... I set out to find the real Bon Jovi to tell him about my discovery—that people were impersonating him.
It was just sinoke marketing for the big star big marketing t9 sell member cards and tickets for their show.
So after chatting sweet talk the Yahoo Boys finally pop the question after chatting rimance niw they were passing in sec8nd mode actiin with the famous questiin
Do you have my member card
My fan card
My V.I.p. card
No i am not one of your groupies I am.just a friend , a good friend
Yes a giod fruend but if 5ou want to yet close ti me tou need to have my fan card or a member card or a VIP card
And than they will deal with the price you are willing to pay.Some would even ask for $5,000.00 a VIP card fir a semi private show
No not me I would not spend a penny to see a friend
Thank you good bye
Of course, everyone knew about the fake accounts except me. I discovered there were thousands of clones of him.
But at first, I didn't know.
So, I began my quest for the right one. Yet, when I watched his music videos, I left likes and comments, but nothing ever came of it.
Then one day, caught off guard by the void of no longer working, I contacted "a" Bon Jovi, and he was kind. We kept writing. He told me he was in the middle of a divorce, that it was hard, etc. And of course, I believed all those "Yahoo Boy" lies, as they call them in the jargon.
And he finally ask the question
Do you have my member card
my fan card
my V.I.p card
I was furious. I swore to myself I would find the real Bon Jovi and tell him what was happening. I couldn't understand why a legend like him didn't do anything to get rid of this (vermine) that was dragging his reputation through the mud.
But all this was all about marketing in order to sell member cards they even have followers asking how much for a member card.
Just a simply marketing gimmic.
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