Banter? I just met her...
As I grumbled down Battery street headed for work, I raised my head from studying the cracks in the sidewalk to notice a huge, gorgeous raindow coloring the sky. All I could think was, 'Is that a symbol for a beautiful year gone or a beautiful year to come?'
The first concert I ever saw was the Jackson Five on their final tour, "The Triumph Tour." Not the Victory Tour. Reunion tours always suck. This one was before Michael broke away and wrote "Off the Wall" and started his run to King of Pop stardom. I went with my parents, so I don't count this one as my first. I broke my cherry on the Clash. My friend Robert and I went to Camelot Music at Lenox Square Mall and bought two tickets to go see the Combat Rock tour. We were in eigth grade, we were the shit, we had Clash tickets. No one else did. We were cool.
Rock the Casbah is what we wanted to see. It was all we knew. We didn't know the significance of Sandanista or London Calling or any of the real deal. We knew the MTV stuff. We thought we knew it all. We thought were the shit.
I still remember mom dropping us off at the infamous Fox Theater in Atlanta, GA that night, the same venue where the Sex Pistols devirginized America with British, fuck you angst. We didn't know that at the time, but now it seems significant. Our seats were in the balcony. There was smoke and leather and studded jackets and safetypin piercings and mohawks and attitude all around us. We were scared. We were the shit. We knew it. We knew we were witnessing something we didn't know existed. We were the shit.
I don't remember too much of the show. I remember Joe Strummer and Mick Jones in fatigues with those camo hats that covered their faces. I remember stacks of tv's lining the stage showing war footage and destruction throughout the show. I remember London Calling and Straight to Hell. I remeber Radio Clash. I remeber Rock the Casbah. But mostly I remember how I felt. It was the punkest punk rock show I would ever see. It was real, I was a pre-teen out of my Polo, Izod element with only my friend Robert to watch over me; and I him. We were petrified. We were the shit.
RIP Joe Strummer.
What a loss.
That's not him, but he looks way better. Like way.
She saw him. He looked so handsome.
A snake slithered across his leg.
He wondered just where he was.
She was nervous.
She walked through the door and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wished he hadn't ordered that fourth Jack and coke. He was speechless.
He thought he heard a plane overhead, but it may have just been an hallucination.
But that was the last thing on his mind. He had to find her. He didn't need that thing. He only needed her. She completed him. He would die without her, not the device. He threw it in the ocean. He looked up to the sky. He wept. He vowed. 'I will find you, baby. I WILL. I will not give up till I find you. Hold on. I am coming. I am with you.' With that he sutchered his wounds and hobbled off the beach hoping to catch her scent. He loved her. He would find her.
The sun poked through the clouds just enough so he could warm it. The directions said adamantly: AVOID CONTACT WITH WATER. I guess he didn't see it. Now he will die. No one has ever survived this environment without it. But he is not everyone. Never has been. This time he may be done.
Tweed jackets with knit shirts and turned up collars are so preppy handbook, but with a pair of Docksiders...that shit is neo-retro-pseudo, like, country club revolutionary.
Gone storm chasing.
See you when I see you.