From Neil Young’s Biography “Waging Heavy Peace”

3/17/13

“You see, they are my window to the cosmic world where the muse lives and breathes.  I can find myself there and go to the special area of my soul where those songs graze like buffalo.  The herd is still there, and the plains are endless.  Just getting there is the key thing, and Crazy Horse is my way of getting there.  That is the place where music lives in my soul.  It is not youth, time, or age.  I dream of playing those long jams and floating over the heard like a condor.”

Random Quotes from My Journals

9/29/12

“He said he was on his second day of not smoking and was bitching:  ‘What else am I supposed to do when I’m at a bar drinking, hold my dick?’  I said, ‘Hmm, I’ll have to remember that if I ever quit smoking.’  After awhile, he said, ‘Give me a Parliament.’  I said, ‘No,’ and he said, ‘Then hold my dick.’
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He had somehow placed ___ and I at the scene of the crime almost every night of the metal convention.  I was SO hoping rock musicians were too distracted to talk amongst themselves.
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“He was real butch, and lots of things made him mad, like when I called the Metallica l.p. ‘Master of Muppets.'”
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“Did I want Hugh back at some point? Yes. Would I have given up five years of sporadic hand kissing from Trey for it?  No.”
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“After I had mock-shaved his toes, I started the countdown, and the peel landed on my chest after having been launched from his foot.”
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“I made a comment about the Bermuda Triangle apartments. He asked why I called them that.”

“We slept until right before dawn. I told him we should get up and watch the farm reports. I pull the good-clean-life-ready-to-rise-chipper routine with him because he thinks it’s sick to be alert.”

“He steers away from sentimental TV, movies, etc. They actually make him mad.”
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(at a label promotional party)
“Bored and ready to evacuate by 8:00 o’clock, I looked up to see Johnny, avec black leather jacket, had arrived. I was in a circle of people when Tracy asked me if I didn’t think that Johnny guy was real weird. Like that’s a deterrent.
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“Three of the worst bands played I’ve ever heard, and ____ said he and I should just go over to his place and fuck, adding that even if we were the two most boring fucks in the world, it couldn’t be worse than staying there listening to the bands.”
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“He left pretty soon, during Foghorn Leghorn, my favorite besides Pepe Le Pew. Probably couldn’t take my impression of Foghorn Leghorn saying, ‘Ah jus’ dotes on bo-ays.’”
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Tantalizing Men I Was Not Necessarily Involved With

8/18/12

THE COWBOY I DIDN’T SAVE

I was working in my first record store, had spent the few prior years as a hippie, had spent the prior summer caretaking a ranch, was wearing cowboy boots and jeans for everyday and was just entering my glam rock phase, and was mentally still transitioning and reconciling with change.  So I was probably a confusing hodgepodge of a person.

I had come from the country, of course, grew up with horses and fields surrounding me, attended my share of little community rodeos, but I guess because of the times, being late sixties, early seventies, I’d pretty much shunned the cowboy community and was already completely immersed in the rock music community. There was a big divide between conservatives and hippies, and you pretty much had to take a side.  But I always didn’t mind getting an eyeful of a real cowboy every now and then, but never seriously considered taking one on as a boyfriend.  I didn’t figure they’d put up with me, and I was probably right.  Still, me and a friend would sometimes go backstage (or back-corral, as it were) during the National Finals Rodeo and just, as they say, have a look-see.  There was something about the swagger of a cowboy, a real cowboy, that can’t be denied, just like there is men of rock.  It’s just a different foil.

So one day I’m working in the record store, and this cute cowboy comes in.  I didn’t do anything particular to encourage him.  I don’t know why he gravitated to me.  Probably the boots.  They were some good-lookin’ boots.  Anyway, he chatted me up a little, and it did seem like there was some chemistry there.  He was a gen-u-ine rodeo cowboy.  Not long after, he came in one day with a girl and shopped.  Not much conversation that day, just some glances.  She was probably nice enough, but you know women, we can’t help but be a little catty.  She had “local” written all over her.

I’m not sure how much time passed, probably just a week or so.  He came in as soon as we opened one day, like he’d been waiting, didn’t make any pretense of shopping, and came up and told me he’s getting married later that day.  I was, like, “Well, what are you doing here then?”  He said, “I just wanted to tell you.”  I could tell he just very badly wanted me to stop him.  He had that panicky trapped look.  But I had had exactly one conversation with this cowboy, whose name I never even knew, and here he was wanting me to save him from marrying the local filly.  He was just this young guy, probably was just still maturing and changing and it probably just hit him he hadn’t explored much.  I don’t know.  And why me, I don’t know.  I felt really bad for him, but there was just no foundation upon which I could justify pulling the reins in on him.  It was a look of regret in his eyes as he left the store, and I imagine I had that same look, but what can you do when people won’t stop themselves from going down the trail most traveled?

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“THE BAND WE’RE GOING TO MARRY”
(names changed)

Ian was just straight-up sexy, a deliberate, self-admiring, calculating female torturer, deliciously slitherincubus in form.  To watch him dress and get ready was arguably better than the main event.  He became so self-enamored that he used one of his bandmates, a lithe six-footer with rainbow hair, as a foil when he would come out of the back of the bus resplendent.  I saw the scene repeated more than once, with these two seemingly heterosexual men having a playful flirtatious moment before the show.

Ian owned the sexiest pair of leather pants I have ever seen — and I’ve seen plenty.  He emerged from behind the separating door into the aisle of the bus , muscles moving catlike, smoothly and almost imperceptibly, in those red leathers with diamond-shaped cutouts all the way down the side, the tender flesh pushing out in tantalizing shivers, alive, as if between the diamond windows, it was crawling slowly like skin on a snake.  It was a moment of stunning animal grace.

The interesting thing is he wasn’t even the one I liked best in the band.

Lee was well over six foot tall and naturally shy, but he had mastered his shyness to a degree.  Well, he was a performer, so he had mastered it quite well, but you could still tell.  That’s a strong person, you know, who overcomes their innate nature and makes themself push through it.  His hair hung all the way down his long back in rainbow tatters.  Although it was the second meeting, my first clear memory of him was he was watching as I came down the narrow stairs into the basement below the Hollywood stage after the show.  It was my birthday, a rare perfect one.  He remembered meeting in Dallas, seemed really happy to see us.  He was always so nice from then on, made me and the label girl feel like family, saw to it the crew did as well.  She and I used to joke that this was the band we were going to marry — and in no particular order.  They were all so nice and talented and gorgeous that anyone would have trouble focusing, but Lee was the first one that raised my interest.  But it was to be overridden.

I was focused enough on Lee that I can’t say when Cash took over.  Cash got caught in my personal memory vortex.  You know how sometimes you don’t realize it but someone reminds you of someone from long ago that you really disliked?  It was all unconscious, but that’s why I hadn’t paid much attention to Cash, other than his guitarwork.  At some point we began having more interaction, mainly over a belt I’d made and worn to a show.  Lee seemed to step down and Cash stepped up.  None of this was blatant, you have to realize.  It was band politics, band courtesy.  Nothing had gone on outside of private thoughts between any of us.  At the time, I had to sit down and figure out why I had dismissed Cash at first, and it finally came to me.  Once I’d pulled that from my subconscious, I was able to look at Cash with new eyes.

He would play guitar sitting across from me on the bus, then do his hair and makeup right before the show.  He had perfect features and thick long black hair.  We’d had a walk in the parking lot, where he told me about being in his first year of AA and was faking drinking because people kept trying to give him drinks.  I watched on the bus as Ian’s strippers tried to pull Cash back to the lounge with them and he had to literally fight them to leave him alone.  Being on a tour bus your first year in AA is not an ideal situation.  The portrait of him that stays with me was when he came out on stage in all black, including a wide-brimmed leather hat, and how he was just rock-perfect, his  clothes, his looks, his attitude, and his playing.

The label friend and I used to comment solemnly that this was a band that had it all.  She and I were always “protected” at their gigs.  Cash would always leave the bus to see me and her to our car.  During gigs, the band would insist we either stand right in front of them or on the stage, off to the side, where the entire band would play to us, including Ian, who would sing to us while slithering and crawling toward us on the ground.

By sheer felicity, I have good pictures of Cash and I from the first meeting.  We look like we already know each other, but we didn’t.  An ill fate cut me off from the world right in the middle of this slowly developing friendship.  When I emerged 10 years later into the internet age of MySpace and reconnected with him, he sent me a TREX lyric for his comment.  I think it was:
“Could it be
you’re gonna bring my baby to me
she’ll be wild you know
a rock and roll child.”

He had, like, a thousand women friending him and leaving comments like they were trying to hook up with him at gigs.  On my part, I’d been distracted by the somewhat recent re-ignition of an old flame, though by then it was behind me in fact but not quite emotionally.  Cash and I exchanged a couple of friendly emails.  Some months later, he wrote saying something like, So you were just interested in seeing what the band was up to, I guess.  I just didn’t really know what to do.  I reminded him that I was always older than him (and now 50-something to his 40).  I guess it’s the John Galt in me, but I didn’t see how it could get better.  I know he wasn’t “the typical band guy,” at least not when I’d known him, but common sense told me band guys are always going to opt for the younger women if they’re surrounded by them, and he still was.  But it was sweet anyway, bittersweet.  A casualty of bad timing and my own weakness.  I let him fall through he cracks back there at the end of that decade because I was just going through a very bad time.  Who knows, he could have been the angel that pulled me from my hell.

ARMS OF ANGELS

I am the faithful bride of my dreams
I lay breathless in the arms of angels
their mouths pressed on mine
filling me with life.
I surrender
My head falls back with the touch of their stroke
A single tear lies on my cheek
My arm encircles their shoulders
touches their chest
as they reach for me
to pull me away from my hell.

Tolling the death nell
I roll away sated
My heart is still pounding,
but my lust has abated for now
Resting at peace, I sleep soundly awhile
and dreams once again seduce me
with visions of fate

Destiny is running late
Sand in an hourglass
drifting to sea
lapping the shore
taking little bits of me away

Check back for more “Tantalizing Men I Was Not Necessarily Involved With” as I add to the topic.

Weird Things I’ve Done

7/24/12

For a second job, rode motorcycle escort, driving Kawasaki 650s and Police 1000s.  Had a beacon, badge, whistle, and license to speed and run lights. Escorted mainly funerals but also Van Halen and Black Sabbath.
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Went to a Jethro Tull concert barefoot, tripping, and wearing a 1930s sort of Judy Garland tulle type dress.  Then afterwards at a party, while outside in the parking lot heading for a Coke machine, I heard inimitable whistling nearby and turned around to come face to face with Ian Anderson.

A couple of years later, I was at a party with everyone in Jethro Tull except Ian Anderson, and would end up being a sounding board for the classically trained Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond, bass, who spoke bitterly about everyone watching the door waiting to see if Ian would come in and then also about band problems, as well as how unclassical Americans are.  I guess this was my first band shrink experience.  He started to hit on me toward the end of the evening, and then, muttering to himself, said, “No, too much trouble.”  I knew exactly where he was coming from.  He was very unhappy and would leave the band shortly thereafter.
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Went out to shows while still bandaged up from breast tumor surgery — I mean right after.  Nothing could stop me from going to shows.  Partied at the band’s room afterward too.
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Went with friends to a disco and had group bet on who could pick up a guy wearing a jumpsuit first.  (I won.  It was lime green.  It took under 3 minutes.)
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Lived in an all-pink hippie commune, pink mansion, pink driveway, pink stucco, pink fixtures.
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Lived on a ranch (caretaking) that had one entire cottage with nothing in it but a gazillion music boxes.  The main house was a cheap modular home with a snake loose inside, but it was filled with museum-quality antiques and art.
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Rode an elephant.  I wouldn’t do that now after volunteering at the zoo.
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Ran over a bully’s toe with my dirt bike after he strung rope across the road trying to decapitate me.  Whoops.
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As a teen, went offroad to elude police because I didn’t want them stopping me with hair rollers and everyone on the drag seeing me.  They didn’t see me go off.
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Cut a llama out from the middle of a large herd of rhino and herded it back into its adjacent area at a wildlilfe park at the behest of one scared concession stand girl.  My mom sat in the car muttering “I guess you know what you’re doing.”
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Used to visit a guy who lived up the staircase hidden behind the refrigerator (had to be moved) in an attic so low he got around in a wheelchair up there.  I think he was being stalked by a jealous lover.
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Watched a rock star look in a stripper’s mouth with a flashlight.  TMI. Watched same band get in onstage bar brawl with Russian band when, after a preshow disagreement about who would open, the Russian band unplugged the other band in the middle of a set.  Once it was over, we all fled to get them packed and out of town before the international po-po arrived.  (The US won.  The Russians apparently had no expectation that guys in makeup and teased hair could fight.)
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Was strangled by Alice Cooper
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Their first American tour, signing autographs, Sex Pistols’ Sid Vicious asked me how to spell “Vicious.”

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Went to an all-night carnival jamboree, drank with all the carnies, including people from the freak show like one guy with a snake around his neck, Lizard Woman, all the ones on the big midway posters, drank beer and then rode rides that were turned up extra fast, and ended up sleeping in the underside compartment of an 18-wheeler.
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At one apartment, I discovered I had a hole in the closet giving access to the crawl space under the building.  It was all clean and covered with plastic, and I used to entertain guests some down there as well as store things.
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Stay tuned, more to come as I think of them.

Midnight at Mother Blues

4/4/12

September 1976 – From my journal:
Glam was more alive in Dallas than Oklahoma City, where it was mostly people just coming through playing at the clubs. When we got to Mother Blues, there were two glammed out babes sitting on the hood of a car outside. One had shoulder-length straight light blond hair, lipstick on his full mouth, and dark glasses. The other had dark layered hair past his shoulders, a great face, and dark glasses. They made an indelible impression on me and were the image of Dallas I carried with me when I left.

You know who you are.

July 23, 1977 was my first night living in Dallas.  I went to Mother Blues, and two of the Ramones were there.  Dee Dee bummed cigarettes from me all night.  U.S. Kids were playing.  I talked to the nice drummer, Mike.  There’s a note in my journal that the best looking guy I’d ever seen was in there.  Now I have no idea who that was.
There were some characters at Mother Blues.  I remember one guy who was around for awhile, and then I never saw him again.  He would talk, but he was very dark and broody, and always fatalistic, like what was the point talking to women, because it was all going to go wrong anyway.  He would tell me he could tell I was on the precipice of falling in love with someone.  He would end up saying, mostly to himself, “It would never work.”  When he disappeared, I used to wonder if he offed himself.  No one seemed to know who he was.

October 6, 1977 – From my journal:
       Will, Faulkner, and Cole were at Mother Blues last night. Faulkner bit my Roxy pin off my lapel. I think he’s perversely sensual. And I mean that in the best possible way.

Carter used to bartend there.  He would insist he had met me in Oklahoma, but I swear if I’d met anyone that good looking and fun there, I’d have remembered it.  I had been managing record stores in Oklahoma, making good money, got front row seats to any concert I went to, and was seriously in pursuit of a music business career.  I’d moved to Dallas abruptly and landed at Peaches Records for $2.50 an hour, basically starting all over, so I had to adjust my standard of living drastically.  I used to ask myself what the hell I was doing, because from a financial standpoint, I was static.  I swear the best raise I ever got while working at Peaches was when Mother Blues stopped charging me for drinks.  I’m telling you, it made all the difference in my existence.  Because I was a lush.  I remember that day thinking maybe I’d survive in Dallas after all.  And in retrospect, those three years at Peaches and Mother Blues were three of the most exciting years of my life.

March 18, 1978 – From my journal:
As I was backing out the door to my apartment, Clif grabbed me and scared me half to death. His birthday is Saturday, March 25th, and Toys are playing afterhours at Mother Blues.
       Thursday, I promised Lisa I’d help her throw a pie at Will. Clif wants me to join the “hordes of girls” and stand at the foot of the stairs at Mother Blues screaming while they blow kisses making their Grande Entrance. ANYWAY…… 
       As he was leaving, he talked about what all he was going to do on his birthday, ending with, “and if I can just find a chick…”  If I can just find a chick, indeed. 
       Then he left, and I went to Goodwill and bought a cartoon shirt, straight-legged Russian-blue lamé pants, and a shitload of gorgeous antique lingerie. Don’t FUCK with ME, boy! 
 
      
        I met so many people at Mother Blues that I would know for years to come.  There were a lot of great bands playing there, especially after midnight, and then of course every musician in town seemed to hang out there.  Things could get complicated.  There were triangles.  Triangles on top of triangles.  Triangles that turned into orgies.  There were times I didn’t know if I was a date or bait.
Mother Blues was such a second home to so many of us that we’d go there even when we were down.  You might find someone hanging out in the back, sad and melancholy, but they still came, and so did I, because Mother Blues always represented an exciting new day, and was also a proving ground in many ways.

April 28, 1978 – From my journal:
Last Sunday, I pulled myself together and made myself go out again.I wore my black bustle dress, which looked really good, spiked heels, and that huge rectangular cut-glass necklace, as well as my diamond bracelet. I’d done my hair, of course. I’m sure I looked better than I have in months, if somewhat eccentric.  I gave myself a stern lecture all the way from the car to the door of Mother Blues and so walked into the place haughty as you please.  

       Mother Blues would get shut down and reopen several times over the years.  I remember one particularly bad timing.  Patti Smith and band were in town, and she asked me where they should go.  Mother Blues had just been closed down, leaving its clientele utterly without an alternative venue.  I was at a complete loss where to send her.

Mother Blues had been closed for some time in ’87, but reopened its doors very briefly one last time.

April 1, 1987 – The last mention of Mother Blues in my journal:
Today at work, RB pointed out to me that Mother Blues was reopening, and then showed me the itinerary.  I told him, “Looks like next Wednesday is Old Boyfriend Night. I’ll either have to stay away or get very drunk.” 

I still feel that way.

Picture

Paleocyberia

PALEOCYBERIA
She exists like a ghost out of time
sees herself at the window and walking in corridors
dwells in the minor strains of a plaintive lament carried on the wind
Sentimental Fool

Folded like a flower on her knees
the velvet crushed beneath her
she’d held herself and rocked,
the music tearing through her like knives.
Wasted and worn, she’d slept, then once more dawned her eyes

She rose from the underground,
energy building like a storm
black duster slapping elevator heels
Robotic scoping viewfinder eyes
blue this time
swept the room before the arched doors closed with a thud behind her

The wine smelled familiar
The tink of the glasses
clink of the chandelier
fell like music on her ear

She blinked back a tear as the balcony swam high above
Heis somewhere lurking in the gray
Materializing like smoke, then wafting away
She will leave him for another time

EndofpartI

Stripped like a twig and raw
life hitting her like air on scraped skin
Hyperhuman paleorgasmic darlingale
lashing back like a whip
cracking like lighting and ripping the sky
her cloak flapping behind her as she rode into the pale
begin tape loop X3 fade

PartII- Paleocyberia