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Adventure Story Chapter One
Goddamn I miss those long legs, chrystal clear blue eyes and laser sharp sense of surrealist humour. I became instantly addicted to all three when I first caught sight of this alien creature in front of the record store. She was walking backward in elongated steps, matching strides with a lady who was walking forward with fervor to the next store, hapless and unaware was she of the backward walking mocker right next, still matching strides. In mid-stride both turned to look at each other at exactly the same time, Leggy mirrored exactly the harried shopper’s upturned nose and look of surprise. Leggy then walked forward as if she had always been, assuming the shopper’s return to confident visage and quick return to composed consumerism, then she busted out of such an assumed and contrived countenance with a quick rebel sounding "yee-ahhh", complete with long skinny arms reaching out with even longer fingers swimming as if testing new limbs. The difference in distance within two strides once direction was reversed was staggering. I mean these were some LONG legs. She was unaware that I was in audience, as she was out to make her sister laugh. Sister sat on the black iron bench in front of the record store, and she laughed in quick, full bursts. I laughed also. She turned to me and said "Hey you got a cigarette dude?" "I so solry, I no smoke" I said with an exaggerated bow, staring at the highest purple Doc Martens and most torn-up fishnets I’d ever seen. Without missing a beat she clasped her hands over my ears and lifted my head so I looked straight into her huge blue eyes (I thought the acid I took at the Butthole surfers show kicked in again with these swirling super-size orbits), and in her best Mr. Miagi imitation she said "Look eye!, always look eye!, you look at ground, I smack you around." Her eyes suddenly came sharply into focus. Her smooth white complexion nearly matched the color of her bleached white hair. I couldn’t stop smiling. I was so happy to meet punk rock twins in this pretentious college town that I had nearly given up on as anything more than the home of the only "independent" record store in the area. Since Toxic Shock moved to Arizona in the late ’80s, this was the only place I could find and steal my Mudhoney, Sonic Youth, and Meat Puppets records. Yep, that’s right, I got away with stealing records. Records I kept, cds and tapes I recorded and then sold back The manager there refused to pay me for Goosewind cassettes sold on his label, so he turned the other way when I demagnetized the price tags at the cash register where my feline friend worked, on the unspoken agreement that I would smoke her out and clothesbump her that night at the haunted Victorian house in downtown Upland. To his credit though, that manager never called the cops on me or any of us for blatently stealing, panhandling, drinking, or fucking shit up inside (rarely)or just outside (often) said record store. He definately COULD have, all those years ago. Now that we’re loaded, me and Spectre find it’s so much easier to simply buy stuff, but it sure was fun to find how many ways there were to steal for beer$. The best was when Spectre stole the demagnitizer from the library, broke the high back off, strapped it to his belly, then we filled our extra baggy pants, sewn to our socks with as much stuff as we could and walked right out the door. So anyway, I do digress. We sat there on the black iron bench outside the record store, panhandling for a twelver. One guy Leggy asked for spare change asked "Why don’t you get a job?" "We have jobs", said sister. "Then why do you need my money?", he asked "We’re in between gigs" I said. "We’re singers", said Legs..."Opera singers" said Sis. "Yeah, Sure you are" said dude. We then broke into an improv opera, with Legs and Sis covering the middle, high, then very high; and me covering the lowest notes I could possibly sustain, then bending up to a warbly tenor. It sounded great! I think this was the first time any of us had ever attempted this kind of singing, I know it was for me at least. The more I hyperventilated, the better it sounded. We eventually scored a twelver of ’The Beast’ (Milwaukee’s Best) and walked all over town. We went to Nick’s cafe and got thrown out for not buying anything (like usual), I called Nick a fascist percolater and he threatened to call the cops on us for drinking beer in his sacred space, so we took off through the corridor that connects Nick’s to the Danson restaurant. I snagged some chips and salsa off a patio table, Legs snaked one of those red, rotund, restaurant candle votives and we went down to the railroad tracks to finish off the twelver. During this time I learned that the girls were not really twins, they were sisters two years apart. The more I got to know them, the more they looked different, nearly opposite of each other. Legs, named Ammonia, practically shot sparks as she reflected everything she saw. She was glittery, metallic, and instantly infectuous. She was rarely, if ever, without a quick comment; and her ability to size up people and situations to her advantage was astounding. Her deep blue eyes looked like she might be related to Christopher Walken in the way they were lively and aware, yet with just a hint of a downturn that was slightly melancholy and alien. Her direct approach could easily be misunderstood, and sometimes understood exactly, as extremely abrasive to those without a sense of humour. Sister, Welfinda, was a much more difficult read. Welfinda was the nightside of her brightly shining sister. She was also very good looking, thin, tall, and obviously intelligent. She had short black hair and perhaps the whitest skin I’d ever seen. She held a gothic countenance and absorbed things fully and from many angles before offering a comment. She carried a certain calm with her that felt like oceans of nondescript emotion. What I eventually referred to as ’the Welfinda current’ was eventual and could easily go unnoticed by the unfortunate. She was thorough in her thought process, not to be confused with slow. The swiftness of her intuition and sense of humour became obvious with her little laugh that bubbled up at moments when I asked myself, ’did I just say that thing I was thinking?’ The two complimented each other perfectly, the Ninja and the Buddah. We went back into town and panhandled for another twelver (panhandling is so much easier with a buzz on), we went to the benches over by City Hall to pound. My friend Jenny pulled up in her Mazda fastback. "Hey Dinosaur Sr!" (She called me Dinosaur Sr.) I said "hey Jenny, have you killed the Skinners yet?" She didn’t want to talk about the skinners (I’ll explain later), she was in a good mood. She joined us and I handed her a cold one and introduced her to Ammonia and Welfinda. "Yeah, I’ve seen you rebel rogues around here before", she said something to that effect. Jenny knew everybody, but she was in no way a scenester. Blonde with deep, yet quick brown eyes she was fun, birdlike and ubiquitous on the upswing; with an unpredictable downswing to the darkside that was equally compelling. She was also a wicked rythm guitar player who could riff as quick as she thought. We drank and joked and laughed. The sisters began naming everyone who walked by with rediculous, yet somehow fitting monickers. "Hey Jorgens Jorgensen.....Hi Amelia Melbatoast.......greetings Llewellyn Livingston!....." Llewellyn turned around and said "How’d you know my name?" We all erupted with laughter. Jenny gave the sisters a ride home. As the sisters walked up to the front door, Jenny turned to me and said "Ammonia likes you." ... "Nu-uh" I said, smiling more than slightly. "Yes she does, I know these things", she said. "Where are you going to spend the night tonight?", she asked I had very recently lost my job at the newspaper and moved out of the haunted Victorian house. I was basically homeless yet found relative comfort alternating between Jenny’s house and an abandonned military hospital in Pasadena at the top of Orange Grove, right next to the old fashioned bridge called ’Suicide Bridge’ on the southern tip of the Rose Bowl ravine. It was too late to catch the bus to there. She said "You can spend the night at my place, but I’m letting you know right now we’re going to fuck. Do you have a big dick?" "I’m upright for whitey" I said in surprise. It was the first thing that popped into my head. The couple of times I’d spent the night at Jenny’s she was paranoid and spoke non-stop about the ’Skinners’, who; as far as I’d gathered, were her nosey, vivesectionist, hillbilly neighbors with a talent for human taxedermy. She described their technique in such detail she had me believing it was true. Those were strange nights. I just sat there and held her hand while she became more and more convinced the Skinners were going to get her. I could relate somewhat, at least to the process of becoming paranoid, as I have many times fallen victim to my own bizarre and dark imaginings. I never tried to take advantage of Jenny during these times, and I know she appreciated that fact. Other guys probably did. speaking of guys, Jenny controlled a parade of guys whom she used to hustle, steal, or buy her all kinds of stuff. She never tried to do that to me, and she always shared cool stuff with me when I came over. Now she wasn’t paranoid, she was lucid and horny. "Well, it’s up to you; you can either go in there with the rebel sisters, or come home with me, it’s up to you." Talk about a most delicious crossroads. For some seemingly unfathomable reason, I got out of the car. "Don’t forget your bag", she said. She was so good to me. She handed me the brightly patterned red India printed drawstring type compartment that held stuff she had recently given to me, including a Joy Division tape (Unknown Pleasures), a Killing Joke cassette (their first and I think best album), a Hawkwind tape (Space Ritual), a 70’s style knit w/split-in-half beer cans hat (remember those?), and a red velvet hat TaraTavi had given me. I walked up to the open front door of the unusually dark home (well, it was rather late after all). From within the shadows stepped into view a rather good looking Lady who I knew must be the sisters’ mom. I did an immediate about face and began walking back to Jenny’s car. The Lady said, "It’s Okay, you can come in". I waved goodbye to Jenny, then turned and entered the still,dark house. The Lady was already elsewhere, so I followed the sound of music and laughter to Ammonia’s room where I almost immediately fell asleep on the floor. I awoke (or thought I awoke) not long afterward to the sound of someone asking, "You’re the one who’s going to take the kittens to Pasadena?" It was the Lady at the open front door from earlier, only she had a big cat’s head..... "Yes", I said.... "Oh good," she smiled and walked out the door and shut it behind her. Then I awoke for real to the sound of someone saying "I found the key"... I was relieved to see the girls, and they were hurriedly gathering blankets, pillows, clothes, and one of the grey tabby kittens that huddled next to her brothers in the closet. "You coming dude, or what?" "I’m going back to sleep", I said..."Okay, later" one of them said. It didn’t take long to realize that the idea of waking the next day in a strange house with one or both of the girls’ parents there did not sound like an option. ’Wait for me’......I had to hurry,as the van was already backing slowly and silently backward down the driveway. The engine was kept off, for now. I jumped into the Volkswagen Vanagon and shut the sliding door as quitely as i could as it picked up speed and backed into the street, Ammonia straightened it out, and coasted forward and downhill and through the stopsign at the bottom of the road. She turned silently right onto Arrow Highway and only then turned the key and we were off through the streets of very early morning Pomona on the way to the 10 freeway west toward the coast. The chilly air felt good as Danzig belted out "Long Way Back From Hell" as the opening track for this adventure seemed fitting ’Do you want to take a life?, do you want to cross that line?, cuz it’s a long way back from hell, and you don’t want to go there.....’ The following tracks also seemed appropriate, ’Deathwish, Romeo’s Distress, and Will O’ the Wisp’ by Pomona’s own Christian Death. The feeling of freedom and possibility, mixed with dark delight began to seep in, and for the manyeth time today, I couldn’t stop smiling. As we rolled through El Monte something smelled hot, very hot. Ammonia pulled the van into a gas station. I looked at the engine while the girls went across the street to panhandle at the 7-11. About all I knew about engines was how to check the oil, and I was even having a difficult time doing that in this krautmobile. It took a while to figure out where to put the oil, and even then I was kind of guessing. Ammonia and Welfinda came back with eleven $$! I couldn’t believe they got that much in such a short time. They said one guy gave them seven dollars, and nearly everyone gave something. Pretty heavy traffic for so early in the morning. We’d have to remember this place. We put two quarts of oil in there and put the rest in the gas tank. We must have put the oil in the right place because the hot smell went away as we headed on toward the coast. dawn had just begun began to come up at Ventura as we headed North on the 101, the horizon looked and smelled so wonderful, as only the early morning ocean can after not seeing it for awhile. We followed the crashing waves northward past Rincon and pulled off the freeway at Carpinteria and parked at the beach picnic tables near the campground. I love Carpinteria; that unforgetable smell of Eucalyptus, salt, and tar from off-shore refineries makes for an intoxicating olfactory experience. You could blindfold me five hundred years from now, fly me around the world and take me to this spot and I’d know exactly where we’re at. Ammonia fell asleep in the back of the van, exausted after the drive as Welfinda and I waded in the water that was freezing at first and then felt great. We couldn’t stand the thought of Ammonia missing out on this feeling of sand and saltwater ebbing between oustretched toes. Welfinda and I had the same optic white, almost blue complexion to our feet in the overcast morning silver twilight. We went back to the van and grabbed either end of the blanket Ammonia lay on, and smooth as we could, pulled her still sleeping body toward the water. It didn’t take long for her to wake up kicking, she struggled as I lost my grip on the blanket, and as I bent down to pick it up again she got some balance and kicked me in the side of the head, I went tumbing; She got up and kicked my ass as I laughed my ass off. We still tried to get Ammonia in the water but she kept kicking our asses. We finally gave up. "Motherfuckers!"...Ammonia yelled. "We just didn’t want you to miss out on how good the water feels". Ammonia felt that response deserved one more smack as she slapped me upside the head once more, then fell asleep again right there on the sand as we went back in the water. We drove to the bank of America and waited for it to open. I had, just yesterday, picked up my General Relief check for 347$, along with 120 in food stamps. I cashed the check and got an ATM card for the first time. Our adventure would now be financed for awhile, which was a relief because panhandling is usually a pain and can sometimes lead to trouble. We went to the supermarket and got good sandwhich stuff and a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and went back to the picnic grounds at Carpinteria. We ate and drank well ’til we were very well satisfied. We fed the seagulls. Ammonia absolutely loves birds. She notices all their individual attitudes and expressions as they vie for pieces of sesame roll, then entire rolls thrown into the air that one bird will try to snag and fly away with, only to be ambushed by incoming birds, sqwawking and bitching the entire time. It really is entertaining. We believe it is always good luck to feed the birds.
We drove to the residence of the girls’ friend named Fizz. They found him straight away, then he suggested we find his friend in Santa Barbara, which we also did straight away. Fizz’s friend suggested we drive into the hills above Santa Barbara. Ammonia drove to where the paved road ended and the horse trails began. The sun had been out for a while now and she parked under the shade of a huge oak tree. The view was incredible. Once there, Fizz’s freind broke out the kindest sticky green bud he called Humboldt. I put on the Meat Puppets 2 tape, the song "Plateau" played. It took me straight back to 1987 when I first heard the Meat Puppets under similair circumstances: A view of the ocean, cool rock chicks, beer and bud. The bliss soon turned to terror as Welfinda took the wheel, started up the van, and drove higher into the hills. The higher she drove, the narrower and more deeply rutted the horse trails became, and the faster she drove. We were yelling in fear until finally she turned the engine off and relaxed her foot on the brake. Welfinda had reached the top of the hill, so the ground seemed fairly level. She opened the driver’s door and got out to admire the view, as the rest of us did as well. Then the van began to roll backward, so slowly none of us noticed at first. By the time anyone realized what was happening, the van rolled right into one of the rustic barbed wire fences. The driver’s door caught on a fencepost, which was good because it stopped the backward momentum of the van, but bad because the driver’s door bent all the way back past the point where it would fully open, and bent all the way back against the front quarter panel of the van. It took awhile to get the van untangled from the fence. The driver’s side door hung precariously from the lower hinge. The top hinge was completely detatched and twisted up. I lifted the door up and pushed it in where luckily clicked shut, but it couldn’t be opened without drooping way, way down on the remaining, damaged hinge. I locked the door and we agreed not to use that door until we could get it fixed We all pushed and rocked the van loose as Ammonia started the engine and got out of the deep ruts of the horse trail. Once free, Ammonia very carefully turned around, and we went back down and into downtown Santa Barbara. We smoked another bowl and found a shopping center with a really fast elevator. When the doors opened on various floors, differing chimes according to floor sounded. This really cracked the sisters up. We began striking different manechin poses as the doors opened, then reshut. We ended up playing on the elevators for way, way too long. Fizz and friend got bored and left. We played on the elevators some more. We couldn’t find them afterward. There was no discussion of where to go from here, so as twilight set in, and the girls went to sleep, I headed North on the famous Pacific Coast Highway. I drove along gradual curves, gentle hills, grassy glenns. It felt great, and looked brand new to me, as it always does when I take Hwy 1. I put in ’The Fall’ tape, the one with ’Hit the North’ on it, and the synchronistic soundtrack continued. Eventually Ammonia awoke and took over driving when I became too tired. I awoke to Ammonia saying "something’s wrong with the van." We were stopped right in the middle of the road, toward the top of a small hill. A copcar very soon came up behind us, my heart sunk when I saw that unmistakable outline of a searchlight (as yet turned off), and the square headlights. I had to move quickly to get out there and talk to him so he wouldn’t come up and catch a scent of the beer that had already spilled in the van. As I opened the sliding side door and got out, several unseen beer cans fell out with me and clinked to the ground. I quickly tossed them back in the van and shut the door. The smilingest cop I’d ever seen didn’t seem to notice. "We ran out of gas" I said through the open passengerside window. "Figured as much", said the still smiling sherriff. Very loudly and cheerfully he announced he would pull the bumper up to the van, and push us on up over the hill, where we could coast down to the gas station down there at the bottom. Ammonia heard this and raised her hand, "alright!" He did so very quickly, because I din’t even have time to jump back into the van. I ran along behind as Ammonia coasted the van downhill and pulled smoothly right into the gas station and up to the pump. The cop pull up and parked about twenty feet from the van. As I approached the station driveway, I saw Ammonia unlock and then open the driver’s door, which promptly fell with a clangin’ thud all the way to the ground. The lower hinge had given way, and we’d all totally forgotten about the damaged door. ’Shit!’ I thought for sure the cop would stop smiling, investigate, and find the empty beer cans, and possibly find the van reported stolen. Our adventure would have an abrupt end. He did none of these things. He laughed, waved, and said, "If you need any more help, just give us a call!", and took off! He musta been even more stoned than we were. We couldn’t believe that one! I still have a hard time believeing that one, though I swear that’s just how it happened. We hugged each other in celebration. I repeat to all: Wherever you find yourself, for increased good luck, ALWAYS feed the birds! (in chapter two, we visit Thomas Spectre)
2:35 AM
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