When I walked in the place I knew that a new chapter was about to be written. I saddled up to the bar and sad down next to a young vivacious woman was by herself. I said hi and she said hi back.
It had been years since I had ventured into this place. I checked my pocket for quarters and headed to the jukebox and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still loaded with some of the best records of all time in all genres of music. It was loaded with complete albums which weren't the vinyl anymore, instead they were mp3's of the record. I chose and album from Emerson Lake and Palmer from 1970, the one with “Take a pebble” and “lucky Man” and walked back to my bar stool.
She turned to me and said, “Man oh man what a daydream.” She placed her lips on mine and blew smoke into my lungs. I knew immediately where this smoke had come from.
We talked all night and she would occasionally give me a hit of that breath of hers and man I was sailing away.
As the night drifted into an endless procession of kisses and music four brothers walked out and set up on a little stage in the corners and began playing what sounded like Beatles songs but there was either something added or something missing and then suddenly I felt myself tripping past all of the rhetoric bullshit and all the music originated from an original sound.
The music just continued to develop and transform and recreate itself into what was being played on the little stage by the four brothers. An accordion, a trumpet, a guitar and a voice. A keyboard, a bass, a harmonica and the voice.
And who are the clowns that keep trying to continue the bands music beyond the band? Music is the expression of the heart, dedication to the very soul of the creator and it will never sound the same twice. Music is ever moving, ever changing, it's everywhere.
We carried their voices across the oceans. We listened every single god damn day for something to tell us what we were missing.
Time moved on motionless and we continued to breath in the smoke and take in the snogs never noticing that the band had quit playing and we were all alone in this desolate bar that was sitting on a road never driven anymore. I forgot her name and she forgot her manners and the band finally came back on stage and the memory lingered on.
Throughout the whole events taking place I could hear the ironic hacking and coughing of the woman behind me, in another room, where are we, where am I. I am lost.
I kept sitting there finally remembering that the girl had left to use the bathroom and I was behind the wheel of a baby blue Cutlass and the cassette player was playing Blood Sweat and Tears greatest hits. When she got back into the car I started chasing four other cars of fellow students into the school parking lot raising so much dust that we couldn't see each other and out of nowhere I saw one of the girls running around. She had gotten out of the car she was in. I have no idea why one of us didn't run over her goofy ass.
There have been a few moments when a sound would come forth that was so unique, so distinctive that there came a glimpse of a hope that there was more than just the original sound. There were new original sounds continuous. The talking head floated into the room and I can't remember when we stopped driving and were at the bar again listening to the same band, well not really the same band but the same kind of music. I was again in search of her breath, of her voice, breathe in Cherie.
Looking back, women ruined most of our lives except for the accordion player, he lucked out man.
It wasn't that there was something wrong with the women. There was something wrong with the rest of us boys. We just couldn't get over never having a mother and if that is the case who was that woman we called mom and has anyone heard from dad? It's been four years now, maybe longer. Oh I hear mom's voice. I am in the house that we all left behind. The back wall is the glass window holding the water in the aquarium.
There's a party in my mind and I hope it never stops. There's trespassers on the lawn with large cutters and they are heading for the barns that are full of the sheep.
And another day passes like a thief after ones only true heart and the awakening only brings confusion and suppression. I must be patient, quiet and at peace.
The test of this time is all about faith and patience. The path that leads out from my footsteps is to find acceptance and to become accepted.
The bar scene changes for a while but I always find myself back at the bar with the girl blowing smoke through my nostrils. Suddenly I am outside the coffee shop across the street playing rock an roll with a motley crew. We used to get very stoned and drag all the equipment out to my enormous porch and set up and play for the little townsfolk. They would meander up and listen fascinated by the sheer balls we had doing this. I never felt like it was ballsy. Instead I felt it was necessary.
We called ourselves TheWhipserkings. There were moments when it felt completely right and times when it felt so unbelievably wrong.
The narcotic anonymous band I was in was called Twisted intellect. Now that was something that felt very, very wrong in such a right way. Or maybe very very right in such a wrong way It was one of those.
The music in my brothers garage for three weekends was the closest we ever came to really sounding like a band and feeling like musicians. It's sadly interesting how the dynamics of a completely dysfunctional family can completely fuck up a good thing.
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