I do not eat microphones. It's a ridiculous notion, really. But I suppose some folks out there like to have a laugh at my expense. They see me up on stage, belting out those dark tunes with all the intensity I can muster, and they think, "Hey, that guy looks like he's about to take a bite out of that microphone!" And suddenly it becomes the talk of the town.
But let me set the record straight - I may be many things, but a microphone muncher is not one of them. Sure, I've got a bit of a wild streak in me when it comes to performing. The music takes hold of me in ways that words can't quite capture. It's an otherworldly experience - like being possessed by some unholy spirit.
And yeah, maybe my onstage persona gives off vibes of danger and darkness. That skeletal form that sometimes emerges from within me certainly doesn't help dispel any misconceptions. But trust me when I say this: Lonesome Wyatt may be haunted by demons aplenty, but hunger for metal and plastic is not among them.
It's funny how people latch onto these little quirks and run with them as if they define who you are as a person or an artist. They see what they want to see - whether it's the tortured soul pouring his heart out through song or the madman ready to chomp down on his trusty mic.
But hey, who am I to complain? In this twisted world we live in where image reigns supreme and perception is reality... well, let 'em think what they want. As long as Those Poor Bastards keep making music that speaks to someone out there in the shadows - someone who feels lost or alone or just plain damned - then let 'em talk about microphone meals till their hearts' content.
So here's to all you fine folks out there spreading tales of Lonesome Wyatt and his supposed appetite for audio equipment: cheers! Just remember next time you're at one of our shows watching us conjure up hellfire through sound... don't get too close with your camera lens unless you're prepared for whatever might come next.