My 'List of Lists':

LIST: LIST OF LISTS

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I posted this one on r/gonewildaudio a while gone - I don't know if it's still there, but it's still one for which I have a soft spot (yes, Jones Minor. I can see you sniggering at the back. Soft spot. Now be quiet, and see me after class!). Well, that was then, and this is now - and here it is. It has 'things' - though nothing _too_ 'thingy' - in it happening with and between people who happen to be under a certain age. Would that make it gonewildaudio 'not acceptable' these days? I don't know. And it has links to a general 'background world' in some other pieces - like Konnie, in this piece is linked to another piece I may post at some time. But hang on - the bell's ringing. Last orders, ladies, gentlemen and any other choices you may make for self-identity and expression - its...

CLOSING TIME

It’s freezing out. But that’s outside. Here inside, Joe’s got a fire burning. I’ve a cold glass in my hand, and enough in my pocket to buy another when I’m done. I lift my glass, and take a sip. It’s cold, and hot at the same time. My throat burns as it goes down, like it did every time I swallowed you.

I fucking love you, Mickey Blake.

I take another drink, and just for a change I miss you. I do it every night, and every night I tell myself it’s the last time. That I’ll never miss you again, so it’s OK, just this once. And I know I’m lying – that I’ll do it again, and it will hurt just as much as it’s going to hurt this time. But that’s what lies are for, right? So I do it. Just this once. I miss you. I miss you so bad, I can taste it. Screaming guitars, your tongue in my mouth and your hardness in my hand. I sit here, a full fucking glass, and I’ve got everything I need. But none of it’s worth a thing because you’re not here with me. So I just sit here, every night, and love you. While I hope I never fucking see you ever again.

And I watch the door.

***

I remember the first time I ever saw you, Mickey Blake. If this was some shit story in a book, or a crap movie, I’d be saying how I loved you the first time I looked at you. Well, I didn’t. I thought you were a fucking wuss. A straight arrow, limp-dick wuss who thought a wild night meant staying up half an hour later than mommy said you should go to bed. A nerd in glasses who thought music meant Mozart, and didn’t know Black Sabbath from the fucking Birdie Song. But Acid Lick needed somewhere to practice, and your dad had that big, mostly empty store-room over his chop-shop.

Acid Lick. That was us. Jenny Flynn on sticks, Roni Black for keys and lips, Bobby Trip on bass – and me. Yeah, right. Me. I mean, I’d been Kid Space in a glam crew, Blister when it was punk and even Randy Walker in a Country line pretty much everybody made damn sure they didn’t remember, so they didn’t have to try to forget. Anyway, it turned out that whatever Hank and Kidd Rock said, there’s more than one f word Country doesn’t want around. One of them’s got two g-s in it – so they kicked me out. But they were all me. Steve Drake, a lead guitar no band in their right minds ever followed. Still, like, fuck it. It was the music, right? Not playing was like not breathing. And it wasn’t like Acid Lick were heavy on choice. The good leads were all taken, and the bad ones were fakin’. When I auditioned, they said I was shit, but at least I was straight on it. So they laid it out. How Jenny and Roni weren’t interested in guys, only each other, which was fine by me. And how Bobby only made it with his fucking bass. So I told them what happened with Laredo, which I still think is a shit name even for a Country crew. They didn’t give a shit, and told me I was in. Oh – and did I know anywhere we could practice? And I did. Because I knew you. I mean, not like knew you. Everyone knew your family were so fucking straight they thought the Missionary Position was kinky. No, like everyone else I just saw you around, always on the outside of in and pretending like you didn’t give a shit. But I knew about your dad’s place, and I figured, what the fuck. We could pretend to like you and maybe you’d get him to let us use it.

So I find you one day and I tell you how I’m with this new band, and we need a rhythm guy, and we wondered if you wanted in? And you look at me through those dweeb glasses you wore, and you raise one eyebrow. You raise it, and you shake your head, and you sigh. You say I’m a liar, but that it’s OK because everyone is. But you ask me who’s in the band. So I tell you, and you get this look in your eye. Like, it’s gleaming – or maybe it’s just the sun on your dweeb glasses. But you say how, yeah. You can fix your dad. But only if it’s done right, and right isn’t me. So I’m, like, what the fuck, not me? And you sigh again, and you shake your head. You ask me who’s cuter, Jenny or Roni? And for a moment I can’t believe you’re saying it. Everyone figures your mom and dad must have gotten you by mail order, your family’s so uptight. But I tell you how you can forget any ideas like that, because Jenny and Roni are – well. Jenny and Roni. Which I figure is going to make you blush at least, but it doesn’t. You say you don’t give a shit, which is, like, wow. Because nobody ever heard you swear before. And you give me your number, and you tell me to get one of them to call you, and how it doesn’t matter which one, as long as she’s cute.

So I figure I’m going to get my ass handed to me on a plate, but I tell the girls what happened, and how I figure you’re after a chance at some ass, and we’d better look for somewhere else. But Jenny, she asks me if I told you about her and Roni. I say how, yeah. I did. But you said it didn’t matter, so I guess you must think you’re god’s gift or some shit. Jenny, she says, like, maybe – but maybe not. And she tells Roni to go call you. So Roni goes off, and she comes back, and she says how she spoke to you, and then called your dad. She says how she thanked your dad for letting you help her with her Maths homework, and how she was with this band, and she really wanted you to hear her play. Roni tells us how your dad said you weren’t interested in going to the kinds of places bands played, and she told him she knew that, but maybe if you could come hear the band practice, once they had somewhere to do it? And your dad, he suggests to Roni how maybe the band could use this store-room he has, and Roni says how she told him, like, that would be great, and how much would it be? So your dad says how that’s OK, and any friends of yours are friends of his, especially cute ones, and it won’t cost a dime.

So I say, like, wow! Because that’s just what we wanted, and wasn’t it great your dad thought of it? And Roni and Jenny, they pretty much bust out laughing, and tell me I’m thick as shit. Roni tells me she just told your dad what you told her to say, because it would make him think there was a chance his dweeb son was going to get some tail, and it worked. She says how you told her it was OK – you weren’t really trying to get in her pants, but it was about the only thing that would work, so try it. So she did, and Acid Lick were in business. And Roni, she looks me up and down, and she says how it’s OK I’m not smart, because at least I’m cute. And Jenny looks at her, and now I figure it’s Roni who’s going to get her ass handed to her. But Roni whispers something to her, and she looks at me, and she shakes her head. Then they both look at me, and say how it’s OK, because, like, not everyone has to be smart. And I figure they’re right. After all I already told you how they were an item, and you weren’t going to get any. But what the heck, so long as you and your dad believed you might, it was all good, right?

Yeah, right. Smart, that’s me. So smart, I never even saw you coming. Well, not then. And for a moment I smile, because it’s, like, a pun.

So we do it. We throw the gear into the back of Bobby’s truck, and he drives us to your dad’s chop-shop. You’re there, and your dad’s there, and we set up. I figure your dad’s going to have all sorts of questions, but he doesn’t say dick. He just keeps looking at you, and looking at Roni, and he’s got this grin over his face like he’s in Vegas and the machine just came up all flashing lights and sirens. I figure Jenny’s going to put her knee between his eyes if he looks at Roni much harder, but she just grins and sets up her drums. Quite why she kept looking at me, and grinning wider, I’m fucked if I know. Me, I’ve got my axe and I’m tuning it. Well, that’s what I call it. Lots of guys have names for their guitars. I do too – I just don’t tell anyone. Like, ‘a piece of shit I got from a pawn shop’ doesn’t really trip off the tongue. But he’s not totally shot, and I know he’ll last a practice session at least. So I tune. I tune, your dad beams, Jenny grins – and I have no idea what’s going on. I just know something is. And then we get into it. One, two, three numbers, and I figure your dad deserves a medal for still being there. But pretty soon he makes his excuses. He tells Roni how it’s been a real pleasure to meet her, and he hopes to see her and you again. And how we can use his place anytime at all. Then he’s gone. And we play, and you listen, and we play – and you laugh, and you’re shaking your head. So Roni puts her hand over her mike, and she asks, like, what? And you say how Jenny said we needed someone on rhythm, but we don’t. We just need to learn to play without. And I’m like, what the fuck? We need to play without rhythm? And anyway, what the fuck does a limp-dick Mozart dweeb know about metal? And you come up to me, and you just stand there, like, waiting. I shrug at Roni, and I’m, like, what the fuck? But Roni, she’s grinning even wider. She tells me to give you my axe. Which is, like, even more what-the-fuck. But Roni’s Roni, and I slip the strap and give you ‘piece of shit’. You wrap your fingers round the frets, and your other hand on the strings – and you drop into ‘Hanger 18’. I don’t know which shits me most – that you even heard of Megadeth, never mind can apparently play them like you and Mustaine are brothers, or that you swore again. Then you look at me, and you sigh. You say ‘you poor bastard’. You go to the back of the loft and you pull up some loose floorboards. You lift out something wrapped in a blanket, and you’re gentle like it’s glass. You unwrap it – and it’s a fucking Ibanez! And not just an Ibanez, it’s an RGD7! And you strap it on, and you drop back into Hanger, and you burn that shit. From Hanger you slide into ‘Eruption’, then ‘Fury of the Storm’. And man, you are evil. You are fucking evil! And I get it. I so get it. So I pick ‘piece of shit’ up, and I say how, like, I’ll see everyone around, and it was good to play with them. And you say where the fuck am I going? And I’m past you swearing, but I say how Acid Lick just got a new lead. And you shake your head. You say no band ever got anywhere with, how did I put it? A ‘limp-dick Mozart dweeb’? Well, nobody ever got anywhere playing with a limp dick. And you say it, and you’re, like, fucking grinning! And you say how how I don’t actually play too bad, I just have a shit axe. Then you do it. You unstrap the Ibanez, and you pass it over. I say how I can’t get used to playing something like that, and go back to what I have. And you say how I won’t have to. Because the Ibanez is mine. On one condition. And I’m about to say ‘no chance’, because the RG is three Gs of anyone’s money. But Roni tells me to shut up. She looks at you, and she raises an eyebrow – and she waits. And you grin, and you say how Hell Bound are playing Saturday, and how we should be there, and that’s the deal. Which is, like, crazy. Because Hell bound are, well, Hell Bound. But you say how you know somebody, and for us to be there.

Hell Bound. Konnie Kreem. Like, she came from nowhere, and now there’s nowhere hadn’t already been. The club they’re playing sells beer for more than I make in a month, there’s a line three blocks long, and we don’t even have one ticket between us. So we’re standing there, wondering why we even bothered. And just as we figure what-the-fuck, and bail, you’re there. Or someone is. Like, it’s you, but it isn’t. You slide out of the shadows, and Mozart would have run a mile. You’ve got mascara eye black on one eye, jeans tighter than paint and a leather jacket to give Jimmy Dean a heart attack. You walk past the line-up like they’re not there, and we’re waiting for you to get your throat cut by the Angels Hell Bound have on door security. But you just tell us to get our asses in gear, and get inside. One of the Angels asks you what the fuck you think you’re doing, and grabs your arm. I figure you’re dead – but you figure different. You slip the Angel’s hand, you slam him back against the wall and you ram your knee into his balls. Somehow you’ve got a knife in your hand, and his Adam’s Apple is getting the point. You say how he can get more of it, or he can tell someone to go get Johnny-K. And they do it! Two of the Angels go off, and they come back with a guy who takes one look at you and sighs. He tells the Angels how they’re lucky he doesn’t just let you have them, and to get out the fuck out of your face unless they want to be all out of faces themselves. And he tells us to get our asses inside, and he tells you Konnie said hi.

Konnie. Konnie Kreem. She said hi. To you. Like, fuck. Sometimes I wonder if I ever knew you at all.

So Johnny-K, he makes a path, and we’re there, at the front. Konnie’s up on stage, and she plants her feet wide, and it makes her leather skirt ride up. As her skirt rides up, I figure I know why they’re called Hell Bound. ‘Panty Bound’ just wouldn’t work, because she’s not wearing any. The band hits ‘Slam-Jam’, then ‘Split Bitch’. Konnie’s got her legs so wide she might as well be on her back already. Her fingers slide over the neck of her axe like they're stroking cock. D-A-B Minor-G. she’s strung in Drop-D, and her bottom three frets are spitting power chords like the axe is fucking cuming, spitting hot, white and sticky all over her fingers. You tell us to gather round, and you ask us what we think of Hell’s rhythm player. Which is kind of dumb, because they don’t fucking have one. Which, we guess, is probably the point. You tell us to listen. Listen how, whenever Konnie kicks into a solo, the bass player picks up some of the missing mid-range by playing an octave higher, playing diads, playing with a little gain, or combinations of those. Listen how it really fills out the sound. So there might not be as much low end, but the disparity between low and high isn’t as drastic. And how Konnie, she plays even smaller phrases, and punctuates them with chords or double stops. Like, ‘Da-da-da-da-daaa -da... :chord punch: Da-da-da…’. Because rhythm isn’t another axe. Like Snap said, it’s a dancer, and when the whole band dances together? That’s it. Real rhythm, acid metal or, and you look at me, or fucking Mozart. But you’re grinning, and you put your arm round my shoulders. At least, it starts there. Because suddenly it drops, and it’s on my butt, on the wallet in my back pocket. You grin some more, and say how pickpockets are all over, and how I should find somewhere else to put my load. And you look at me, and your eyes are like you’re crazy, but you’re scared as well. Like you’re king of the world – and terrified. And you raise one eyebrow, and you wait, so strong, so brave – and so very frightened. And I figure, like, what the hell. Like maybe it’s only Country has a thing about f words. And that was it – the first time I kissed you.

Screaming guitars, and your cock rock hard in those tighter than paint jeans, and pushed up hard against mine. If this was Hell Bound, Hell was going to be just fine.

So the set’s over, and it’s time to go. I just don’t want to. I mean, yeah. Hell Bound are great. But that’s not it. It’s one of those nights, and maybe one that’s only real while it’s happening, and soon it won’t be. It won’t be, and it will be gone, and you’ll be gone, and we’ll never talk about this night ever gain. And Bobby comes by, and he says how he’s gotta go, because he and his bass have some thinking to do. But he figures you’re right and Acid Lick don’t need anyone else on rhythm. And I look for Jenny and Roni, but I can’t see them. So I turn to you, and I say how it’s been great, and I say how I know I got you all wrong, and I’m sorry. But I get it now – and I won’t make that mistake again. But I’d better go before do something really stupid, and get us into something over our heads. And you grin some more, but your hand never leaves my ass. You say how, maybe it’s going that would be stupid, and how if it is great – if it really is – then maybe we can talk about the whole ‘head’ thing someplace else. And you grin, but it’s like you’re still scared, and I wonder if the only thing you’re really scared of is the only thing I’m scared of. And somehow I know it’s one of those moments that can change the rest of your life – that will change it. And I say how if head is what you want, we can do something about that. But I’d rather it was the rest of my life you were interested in. And I feel your hand tighten on my ass, and I see the tears in your eyes, and I know somehow even though you’re crying I got it right.

And that was it. Me and you. You and me. Jenny and Roni – and Bobby and his bass. And damn, we were good. I mean, yeah. Acid Lick were good. We were good and going places. But you and me? We were better than good. Like, the night we played a gig in some nowhere bar, and we’re burning the place down, and I look down from the stage – and it’s Konnie! Konnie Kreme, and she’s come to hear us! Man, we were hot that night. And that night was the first night I sucked you – the first night I tasted you, drank you and swallowed you. Or the day Acid were jamming in your dad’s loft, and he still thought you and Jenny were, like you and Jenny, and you get a call, and it’s Konnie, and she wanted Acid to tour with her! Like, we were insane! Jenny and Roni, you and me, all bare-ass on the floor, and Bobby in the corner with his bass. And Roni asked you if you’d ever done it with a girl, and you said no, and she asked you if you wanted to? And you said no! You said I was the only one you ever wanted to be with, like, forever. And Jenny, she said that was about as romantic a thing as she’d ever heard, and she grabbed her camera and she took one of her rings off and cut the band at the back. Then she opened the band and put the ring on my cock – and took a picture! She said how that made us engaged, and next time it would be your cock. And you grinned, and said how it had better be. And how Jenny had better make sure you got a print of my engagement ring.

You never see them coming, do you? Those moments, the ones that change the rest of your life.

Because I left the Ibanez at your dad’s loft after a practice. And I went back to get it. But I go up the stairs, and I can hear it. Your dad. You screaming. And I run in, and he’s hitting you. Not just hitting you – beating the crap out of you. And I see it, on the floor. The print. My engagement ring. And your dad’s crazy. He’s saying how he was going through the lockers in the loft, hoping to find a picture of you and Jenny, so he could show his friends at church. But he found something else. And there was no way any son of his could be like – like that. How you’re going to hell, but he’s going to show you what it’s like before you fucking get there. And he hits you again, and your cheek splits open and starts bleeding, he hits you so hard.

And I know it’s another one – another of those moments your life turns on.

So I come into the loft, and I laugh. I laugh and say how your dad is such a sap. How you wouldn’t know what to do with a cock if it came with a book of instructions. I say how I planted the picture in the locker, hoping your dad would find it because I wanted Jenny, and she wasn’t interested in me. And I laugh again. And I know I’m convincing, because I can see the look on your dad’s face as he looks at you, and sees what he’s done. And I know I’m convincing, because I can see the knife in his hand, and the blood in his eyes.

And I run. I leave you, and I run so fucking fast, and I know I’ll never see you again.

And I run and I run, and I can hear your dad behind me. And he’s faster than me, and he’s catching up. So I try and run faster. I feel him grab me, And he pulls me down, and he’s on top of me, and I see the knife gleam in a streetlight – and I know I’ve got one chance left, and only one. And I kick out, and I hit him as hard as I can, and for a moment it’s like I black out. But then it’s OK, because I’m up, and I’m free, and I’m running. I run, and I run – and I find this place. Here. And I run inside, and Joe behind the bar, he’s already got a cold one ready. And he says hi – and he asks me if it hurts.

And I look down at my chest, and I see the knife – and I know I didn’t really get away from your dad. But Joe says how it’s OK. That there’s a place like his everywhere, for those who have to find it. A place to give them something good - because the only way to find it is bad.

Real bad.

***

It’s freezing out. But that’s outside. Here inside, Joe’s got a fire burning. It’s closing time and last orders, but then it always is at Joe’s. I’ve a cold glass in my hand, and enough in my pocket to buy another when I’m done – just like I always have now. I lift my glass, and take a sip. It’s cold, and hot at the same time. My throat burns as it goes down, like it did every time I swallowed you.

I fucking love you, Mickey Blake. I just hope I never see you again. Not here. Not Joe’s Place.

I watch the door – and it starts to open.

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