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Here we were living in the middle of the hottest scene on the planet for the beginnings of Thrash and Metal music. We used to see bands like Metallica, Slayer, Exodus, Voivod, Bad Brains, (you name it, they played here) for the price of a largish Slurpee nowadays (if you can find a 7-11 still open that is). Then there was Death Angel; our local call to royalty. We went to school with Rob & Mark and they even used to play a song I wrote the lyrics for called, ‘Priest’s of the Black Oracle’. Those really were the best of days! We had fun at any expense, but I suppose you can’t tempt the Devil forever so to say. Eventually, like it or not, the slow, methodical march of Time will have its toll; we get older. That is not to say we grow up, as I am still waiting for this elusive concept to occur. My wife wouldn’t say that though as she thinks I’m older than dirt; I act it anyway. She doesn’t know the kid still lives in me. He just has trouble being seen most of the time. The grumpy, tired, fat guy blocks his way. I hate that grumpy, tired, fat guy; he’s a real prick! Anyway, back to my story. I remember this one time I went to a show at The Stone, a cool club on Broadway in San Francisco; right down the block from the infamous, Condor Club ( a world famous striptease establishment). I had spent some time before the show with my S.F. United Skin buddy, Preston Lynton (he had S.F.U.S. tattooed on the inside of his lower lip to prove it), getting how would you say? Stinking wasted! We had gone to a liquor store that sells to underage skinheads (cause they were scared) and scored some booze to wash our pills down with (Don’t ask me what they were 1
because I probably never knew). We then attempted to take a bus to The Stone to meet up with the rest of our entourage. Somehow we must have angered the bus driver immensely because he suddenly pulled a knife on us (at least that’s the way my mind remembers it anyhow) and Preston & I took turns pulling each other back from going locomotive on this poor, hapless individual whom we had somehow offended into aggressive force. Eventually we made our staggering way to the club to see our friend’s band, Death Angel, play. The night was interesting to say the least and later on, I somehow pissed off a bouncer who tried then to get me to come with him (I guess he don’t like Trash). Needless to say I told him the proper response to that situation, to “Fuck Off!” which he then appeared so to do; whereupon I proceeded to continue in my festivities with my beloved friends (friends really were everything). Next thing I knew he shows up with four other hired toughs and proceeded to attempt to lay hands on me; to abscond with me. Well, I was having none of that and decided to resist this senseless assault upon my metal honor. Well; suddenly they’re grabbing me by the middle, the legs and my neck and dragging me out, it’s then I grab a chair that is passing my limited field of vision and decide to bring it into the fray. Later I’m told (as I have to be told many things that happened that night) that I almost achieved grievous bodily harm or G.B.H. (that’s a punk band if you don’t know) on my then girlfriend’s friend, Gretchen of the blond hair. I’m glad she wasn’t hurt by my senseless drug and alcohol induced antics.
Needless to say they succeeded in wrestling me out the front door, effectively 86ing me, my first but not last 86, by the way. It was my faithful and life long, metal buddy Doug Karabinis that came to my side. Yes, the true Hades Hound, my buddy! He attempted to talk some ‘settle down’ into me and they ended up throwing him out as well just for good measure (you know what they say, “the company you keep”, “guilty by association”). So out we go. Outside the front door he’s attempting to get me to calm the fuck down, as there are cops nearby, when I decide to say something to the effect of “fuck the police” (again my memory on this may be less than perfect). Well that got some attention my way and next thing I know I’m being hauled into the back of a SFPD cruiser next to some black guy (or should I say African American?) that I had no idea what he had done nor why I was now sitting next to him with my hands cuffed. It was at this point my feeble brain starts to kick in and ask, ‘what the fuck are you doing here!?’. I now was officially ‘less drunk’ enough to be scared. I wind up in the police station like the scared kid I was and probably crying and they start to take the cuffs off; it was at this point, and I’m still unclear on how or exactly what then took place, my wrist came out of the cuffs, my arm swings around and I seem to remember sort of contacting the large, blue cop standing in front of me. That must have scared me right into a short circuit and subsequent reboot because the next thing I know is it’s later and he, the large, blue cop is letting me go. I recall tearfully telling him I have no way back to the club, nor do I 3
even know where the club is, being the East Bay Valley scum that I am, and him reaching into his pocket to give me a handful of change and instructions to my bus; my lip quivering the whole time and the sounds of little sissy sobs seeming to come from somewhere nearby, though certainly not from me! I was metal, don’t you know. Well, I miraculously made it back to the club just in time to meet my comrades exiting the venue (on their own I might say) and we made our way to the BART station just in time to catch the last train back to East Bay Valley Scumland (that’s not Clarkesville). And that’s all I remember about that. That is to say if I remember it correctly, which is highly in question and debatable, but that’s the way I remember it so that’s what it was and is and always will be to me. What else may I drum up from my limited survey of memories of this golden time of the friend? If you’re reading this and you were there with me, please feel free to chime in with your own recollections of the times or correct me on mine. I don’t mind. It’s funny how we all see things from our own perspective, so really we each live in our own version of the universe; and all these universes are interconnected and part of the whole; the Collective Shared Universe. This is the true universe; a melding pot of vantage points and personal preferences; the enigmatic ‘rose colored glasses’ we so often speak of; each of us adrift on a river of id. Like a bunch of drunken college students silently, and sometimes not, floating downriver on tubes of perception. Eventually, we all get to the end. ‘The End’! 4
-to be continued...