my morning after
concert purse
contained torn ticket stubs
my fake id
a backstage pass
when backstage ass was how they hoped it would go
a real set of keys someone ask me to hold
a cigar ring label
a stranger used to propose
a guy’s number back when your rolodex was made of beer scented hope
a matchbook
though i was never cool enough to smoke
the sturm and drang
of a drummer gone mad
a safety pin that was my bra’s last prayer
mists of angst risen off
the first 50 rows
it’s the end of the world
& all i want is to go
to a dirty spit messy fuck
loud as god
rock and roll show
5 replies on “festival seating”
Pretty sure we must have crossed paths at some point……a dirty little former movie theater in North County called (back then) Club 367…later Animal House…..maybe in another dimension…..but yeah….pretty sure we must have bumped into each other…..and I’m sure it had more of an impact on me than it did on you…..(me: pimply-faced, leather jacket two sizes too big, badly bleach-blonde-that-went-kinda-Fluorescent-Orange from my sister’s fucked-up dye-job, either Converse high-tops or Beetle boots…..you: well,…..I’m pretty sure I had the hots…..bad….).
Aahh…..the virtual re-enactment that is memory……
Flashback memories are the ones that stick their ethereal tongues your mouth, Johnny.
Wow. It’s a good thing they didn’t do that to me back then. I probably would have wet myself. And not in a fun way.
Did I mention I was in a band? We called ourselves “Generica”. We were, like, totally disestablishmentarian and edgy AF. We had bumper stickers made up that said, “ALL YOU PEOPLE SUCK”.
True story.
Johnny Crabcakes, swooning in Cincinnati.