Home Quotations Photo Gallery Art Gallery Poetry Links Product About Contact THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED It didn't really die that day, it happened at night and it didn't really die. No, just the heavy fog of apathy, disinterest and incredulity settled in for a long stay. My friends and acquaintances continued their merry way, enjoying the punk bands from overseas while I grew bored with the whole noise without meaning trip. Nobody even tried to bum-rush the door. Sure, plenty of knuckle-heads leapt to their evening doom from the towering stacks, but I recognized those buzz headed goons for what they were, jocks out for a night of mayhem. If not the floor to catch them under the chin, a warm thigh to crack in half or a skinny "faggot" or "spic" to charge and hospitalize. Liberté , Egalité, Fraternité? Non, avarice et agression solos. I slunk to the back of the auditorium and encountered another burned soul. He was fed up with it and said as much. I agreed with him and we smiled, bound in mutual disgust with the scene. He stated his plan for the night was mere intoxication and his efforts were hampered by the shortage of intoxicants after the security boys confiscated his flask of liquor. I wasn't even drinking and the sobriety made it all so much more drab and dim a prospect to stand in silence, bathed in noise, noise, noise. I reached in my pocket and felt fireworks. Small fireworks, known as camellia flowers. Those little, round coils of paper and fuse and powder, meant to spin and dance with a shower of sparks upon the ground. I had the amusement and my friend had the flame. Together we lit one and watched it fulfill it's life's purpose in a blaze of glory. Too so it was gone to ash and ruin. We lit another with glee. Something, at last, with a whiff of danger to excite the nerves! We lit still another and while it smoked up the aisle I noticed the hand of god descending from heaven. A bouncer had my shoulder in a steel trap grip and I said, "I give up. I am not resisting. I will go quietly.", though I had to shout it. I heard my fellow traveler cursing and turned to see two giants had him in their grasp. He cursed them, referring to various anatomical impossibilities and questioned their heritage in most vulgar terms. I laughed and walked along with my captor. I went out the door, meek as a lamb, while my pal was flung out. We laughed and agreed that the guards had done us quite the favor by extracting us from the trap of our own disillusionment. Without the distraction of attempting to make sense of the senseless we set about in the search for intoxicants. Pounding drums stand no match against the pounding of blood upon the inner ear in the throes of heaving bile out your nose. As any good bum knows, it means fuck all when you have booze. The bombs can fall with the rain and roaches and rats will hump just the same. - Stark R.M. 2005 * * * Home Quotations Photo Gallery Art Gallery Poetry Links Product About Contact © SpiritCaller.net, 2005