The better part of Valor
Aug. 9th, 2005 04:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalon"Let's Skirt the issue of Discipline
Let's start an illusion
with hand and pen
Re-read the words and start again"
~Rozz Williams, Cavity:First Communion
John & I were sitting on the stairs between Heaven & the lobby between Hell & Purgatory. We were on one of our mandatory smoke breaks and with our mops leaning between our legs and a look of weariness matched only by the most chic of Soho social circles, we had the appearance of post fire fight infantry taking in a quick break before the action started up again. John was an uptown brother from Philly by way of Staten Island, which he insisted on calling 'Shao-Lin'.
'Call it whatever you want man' I would tell him 'A shit holes a shit hole by any other name'.
'So speaks a Brooklyn boy raised in Yonkers'.
We were waiting for the floor to dry in Hell, just sitting there watching the road crew for Christian Death unload the tour bus. The sun was bright out and through the club entrance we could only make out shilouettes of the roadies marching back and forth between the bus & frieght elevator; each one humping various black boxes of speakers, amps, cased guitars, pieces of the drum sets & coolers. John asks me if these were those 'Goths' I was telling him about or just plain ol' Punk Rockers. I had tried to explain to him before the difference, but had a tough time coming up with an appropiate simile. It was easy to say that Wu-Tang Clan & Public Enemy had a certain fuck-the-system punk flavor, but I could'nt think of a Hip-Hop correspondence to Goth. Maybe it would be like comparing vintage mo-town with modern hip-hop but the simile did'nt feel right. But to the question at hand~
"Ummm... neither really. The Woman would call the DeathRock"
"DeathRock...?"
"Yeah, um kinda of a cross between the two. Angry but macabre!"
"Shiiit... so what're you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah! Who else am I talkin' to? I know you ain't no skinhead..." he playfully rubs my shaved head and laughs.
"Nah...I was a burnout/I was a drop out/ I was out of my head/I was sooooo Wasted!"
John just looks at me weird.
"Black Flag?"
John just shakes his head and finishes his smoke. Suddenly, stepping through the veil of sunlight and into our cavern like club, comes this one cat who looks like a cross between Keith Richards & the Joker and is all done up in his best Lord Byron poet shirt with thigh high black boots, and he steps up to us. He stands there a few seconds saying nothing, just looking at the two of us, then suddenly shakes our hands vigorously and announces with tones reserved for ball room dances & dining with royalty~
"Hello. My name is Valor and i'm with Christian Death" He actually gives his head a little shake to free up his long hair. Tim & I both look at each other and then back at him. I grab his hand and pump it back with equal gusto.
"Hello! I'm Robert Mosca and i'm with the Clean Up Crew"
John stands up, gives a curt little bow and with his best Count Dracula voice:
"Hello! I'm John T'Challa. And I too, am with the clean up crew!"
Valor looks at us a little embarassed and asks for where the office is. We tell him right underneath us. The only door. Can't miss it. He smiles weakly and makes his way back downstairs. When we hear the office door close we both start snickering.
"Waitaminute" I ask "T'challa? Who are you the Black Panther all of a sudden?"
"You know it baby!"
"shiiiit" I say in poor imitation of him.
"Hey was he a DeadRocker?"
"Death... deathrocker, nahhh. That's a wanker living off another mans band".
"Heh. Well I guess the floors dry. We should get back".
"Yeahhhhh" I sigh and use the mop as a cane to boost myself up. Two hours and I clock out, go home get ready to take Linda to the show tonight...then it hits me.
"Hey" I say to myself more than John "Wait'll I tell the Old Lady that I met Valor..."
Let's start an illusion
with hand and pen
Re-read the words and start again"
~Rozz Williams, Cavity:First Communion
John & I were sitting on the stairs between Heaven & the lobby between Hell & Purgatory. We were on one of our mandatory smoke breaks and with our mops leaning between our legs and a look of weariness matched only by the most chic of Soho social circles, we had the appearance of post fire fight infantry taking in a quick break before the action started up again. John was an uptown brother from Philly by way of Staten Island, which he insisted on calling 'Shao-Lin'.
'Call it whatever you want man' I would tell him 'A shit holes a shit hole by any other name'.
'So speaks a Brooklyn boy raised in Yonkers'.
We were waiting for the floor to dry in Hell, just sitting there watching the road crew for Christian Death unload the tour bus. The sun was bright out and through the club entrance we could only make out shilouettes of the roadies marching back and forth between the bus & frieght elevator; each one humping various black boxes of speakers, amps, cased guitars, pieces of the drum sets & coolers. John asks me if these were those 'Goths' I was telling him about or just plain ol' Punk Rockers. I had tried to explain to him before the difference, but had a tough time coming up with an appropiate simile. It was easy to say that Wu-Tang Clan & Public Enemy had a certain fuck-the-system punk flavor, but I could'nt think of a Hip-Hop correspondence to Goth. Maybe it would be like comparing vintage mo-town with modern hip-hop but the simile did'nt feel right. But to the question at hand~
"Ummm... neither really. The Woman would call the DeathRock"
"DeathRock...?"
"Yeah, um kinda of a cross between the two. Angry but macabre!"
"Shiiit... so what're you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah! Who else am I talkin' to? I know you ain't no skinhead..." he playfully rubs my shaved head and laughs.
"Nah...I was a burnout/I was a drop out/ I was out of my head/I was sooooo Wasted!"
John just looks at me weird.
"Black Flag?"
John just shakes his head and finishes his smoke. Suddenly, stepping through the veil of sunlight and into our cavern like club, comes this one cat who looks like a cross between Keith Richards & the Joker and is all done up in his best Lord Byron poet shirt with thigh high black boots, and he steps up to us. He stands there a few seconds saying nothing, just looking at the two of us, then suddenly shakes our hands vigorously and announces with tones reserved for ball room dances & dining with royalty~
"Hello. My name is Valor and i'm with Christian Death" He actually gives his head a little shake to free up his long hair. Tim & I both look at each other and then back at him. I grab his hand and pump it back with equal gusto.
"Hello! I'm Robert Mosca and i'm with the Clean Up Crew"
John stands up, gives a curt little bow and with his best Count Dracula voice:
"Hello! I'm John T'Challa. And I too, am with the clean up crew!"
Valor looks at us a little embarassed and asks for where the office is. We tell him right underneath us. The only door. Can't miss it. He smiles weakly and makes his way back downstairs. When we hear the office door close we both start snickering.
"Waitaminute" I ask "T'challa? Who are you the Black Panther all of a sudden?"
"You know it baby!"
"shiiiit" I say in poor imitation of him.
"Hey was he a DeadRocker?"
"Death... deathrocker, nahhh. That's a wanker living off another mans band".
"Heh. Well I guess the floors dry. We should get back".
"Yeahhhhh" I sigh and use the mop as a cane to boost myself up. Two hours and I clock out, go home get ready to take Linda to the show tonight...then it hits me.
"Hey" I say to myself more than John "Wait'll I tell the Old Lady that I met Valor..."