Categories
Americana Music punk

festival seating

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……

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.

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