But the Pistols, of course, never made it.
And now, in 1979, very few of the living were willing to move either. Had they become tired or too almost famous? Fallen in love or given up? discovered their niche, looking for a fix, settled, called it quits? Some, yes- were turning rebellion into money-though I didn't know any of them personally, running as we did in different circles...
But the rest?
Good thing Oscar -"The secret of life" he taught me
"...is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived..."
...Yeah... By which time I figured out, music wasn't going to change me, but maybe-if time was still on my side-the music might just save me, which was all I'd ever asked for in the first place.
And why I needed to go north. But how? Alone would be too dangerous and futile-more would be safer, but how many? Would be better...
Banner night, everyone in-Darby and gargoyles, and Hellin, even Trudi- and fan clubs and boyfriends, even Mary thereabouts, Lorna(Lorna!), Pat, Pleasant in petticoats, fourth estate Flip Side, zealots of every stripe, the pterodactyls, the new recruits; the suburbs in turmoil, the beaches in flame, the kids on the march from north and south and east and west.
...and to think...
Of the days, just a few hundred days earlier, when there were just 99 of us-if that many at all, still, a banner night is just what I needed.
...a few hundred days... later I find no takers, no one to join the journey, no members for my quest "The Clash?..." some answer listless-or merely defeated? "...when?... Monterey-wow-that's too far..." Except for Brian. The best of our generation "Cool..." he lit up "Sure, we'll go" with no hesitation, with no questions... Soulful and silent, the fearless white boy- true seditionist- and always up for the fight, foot in the grave the other in heaven... Was it fate or plain ol' synchronicity that finally allowed me to track him down, in Chinatown-alas fate-owes us no explanation. And thus, we were going... Going to Monterey.
Wednesday, September 5, 1979
"We on?"
"Yeah" Brian was always of few words "We're on"
Though the few he did-were ones he kept.
And because counting down the hours always depends on what fills the wait on Wednesday night I re-read Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness as prelude to viewing Apocalypse Now at the Cinerama Dome...
They were goddesses.
Yeah, ok... so I have a vivid imagination-you know they weren't? But I know they were
...goddesses...
like the ones I'd read about as a child-which was how I recognized them in the first place-live, tall, walking, talking, breathing goddesses-switchblades...chains...'n' leather jackets...
They, cast in the molds of diamond and moon glow, polished by comets, burnished in absinth, colored by dreams'n'flames'n'nightmares'n'sweet soul music...
They- were...
Diana warrior goddess, protectress of the rejected. Whose temples in days of old gave sanctuary even to slaves. Of course they were Diana, feminine symbol of creative insanity-that of poets and writers...
And the Norse underworld's Hel-who ruled over those unfortunate enough to die of sickness and old age as opposed to gloriously in battle. Or "Mania" -Etruscan goddess of the dead, mother of ghosts and otherworldly creatures, and my favorite, own private Itzpapalotl, the skeletal, clawed-butterfly deity of the Aztecs, she the queen of Tomoanchan, locus of human creation.
They-the ethereal, they the god-like, they-girls of the bigBeat Olympus-sundry mythical lairs, la Jolla and Santa Monica, and Holloway and the Canterbury and the Tower... maybe 20- no more.
Though amongst ourselves, the seditionist boys who admired them-they were known simply as "real girls"
When we'd storm the gates of heaven...
Who ya' think will lead the charge?
But the rest...
The pterodactyls... the Fiorucci jeans, the high-end Hello-Kitty, the smart skirts, the razor cuts, the smell of clean sheets and tidy rooms and private schools-well, they might've come down to Chinatown for adventure-but...
..."you gotta take their money..." Gerber had taught us and which more often than not actually worked- Certainly better than working for tips at the bathhouse on Melrose. $75 or even $100 wasn't worth missing a night of fun.
Thursday September 6 1979- Minute 0
...Lets see, what I need, what WE need, is a sponsor, like a Formula-1 race car. Hell, we'll splotch their name all over Brian's car, we'll name the whole event after her. Her? Has to be, no straight guy'll go for it. Let me take an inventory. So far Brian will drive, I don't know how much money he has, probably none, anybody with a Mustang GT cannot possibly have any money, not if they're busy building a stash....where are we going to find the money?
And the waterboy gig won't do. Cool working in torn jeans but management wanted somebody they can "rely on" So it's time to empty the ol' pockets of every jacket and torn-knee 501, under all the coffee tables, at every foot of every bed, decipher every torn shreds of telephone directory, napkin, matchbook cover...analects of the hardcore... Yeah, but the clock was still ticking ...might as well all in all... begin dialing for dollars. Most were outdated (the pterodactyls in question would probably see me thrown to wild pigs), some just smudges, most bad memories and only the last month's worth.
When it hit me...sure...
I recognized the scrawl. Fresh face, just outta high school and her energetic friends, looking for big trouble, maybe a little more....
Well, she might've not made many mistakes in life, but trying her luck in Chinatown made up for the ones she didn't. Going down to the crossroads-the poor dear-was only the beginning, blinded-headlong, the upcoming traffic...
Sure, the kid should've stayed home, but she wanted more and more and more and more; didn't they all? Didn't we all?
Why did revolutions have to be such messy affairs?
But Chinatown was the worst time of all places and with no love in the equation.
...good sign...she was awake when I called..."Hi, yeah its me... right... hi!... "...don't givem' time to say no..." Gerber had taught me... )
...Listen, wanna go to Monterey and see the Clash? Yeah, the Clash. It's their last concert. They're gonna break up. Yeah, sure, it's the last chance ever to see them..." (small talk is the worst talk, especially with clocks-a-ticking...)
"...But, we don't have any money-I mean for gas that is...You mean your parents aren't home for the weekend- cool..."
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she is sexy, but the video is hmm....
i like when the cat comes out tho.
xxx
Libertine087 3 years ago
WIERD
iluvphones 4 years ago
no original psi cinéma dommage
palaba2666 4 years ago
..?....?.........?
palaba2666 4 years ago
you are not leaving a good egsample
deanireland 4 years ago
...
metraccobar 4 years ago