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We are Skullstryke and we won’t stop rawkin.
Man, playin Chicago tonight, still one helluva city even after you rawked there two fuckin billion times. But I feel blue as hell for some reason. Oh. May 19. Occurs to me that it’s been 21 years to the day since Skiv choked to death on his own puke in the shitter of a Shoney’s in Sioux Falls. Pour half my bottle out in the sink and then take a few swigs myself. Fuckin rawk, Skiv. Look in the mirror and my makeup’s running.
Thinking about Skiv makes me think about Dieter, makes me wonder where the hell he is. In ’83, he didn’t show up for a gig so we had to cancel. Detroit was pissed. Went back to the hotel thinking we’d find him dead in the bathroom like Skiv, but he was just gone, and he didn’t even take his stuff. Turns out he talked to Buddha and caught a plane to Russia or someplace to find him. Kinda sad to lose Dieter. Fuckin rawked hard. Hope he’s happy, wherever he is. Hope he found Buddha.
Thinking about Dieter makes me think about U-Bert. Helluva drummer. Musta been ’88, found him dead in some alley in Chicago and the doctor dude said he died of a heart attack, which was weird, because he was like 39 or something. The magazine people kept asking me how he died, so I told them that all I knew was that it was probably somebody else’s decision, like God’s or somebody else’s.
Thinking about U-Bert makes me think about Reggie. Man, that’s a fresh cut. Two months ago, numbnuts forgot to take a pill and his skin got all fuzzy and he flailed around on the ground for a while backstage. Then he died. Weird. Kinda wonder why he didn’t just take his pills like he was supposed to, but I guess when you got like, two fuckin billion pills to take, you probably forget once or twice. And then you die.
Then there’s me. Guess I’m the only Skullstryker left. Not all bad, though. The dudes I rawk with now are these college kids. Like, they went to music college and shit. Skiv would laugh his ass off about that. Music college. Anyway, they don’t rawk as hard as Skiv and Dieter and U-Bert and Reggie, but they know a lot about music, I guess. And they laugh at all the stories I tell, even if they ain’t all that funny. Ain't the same, though. I mean, we got the same name and we play the same songs but we ain’t the same band, dig? Sometimes when I walk to the back of the bus, I think I’m gonna see Dieter doing whippets and U-Bert banging some chick in the aisle. But it’s just these college kids sitting around. Don’t even like to go out after shows, these kids. They just sit and talk, then go to sleep, like kittens, these kids. That’s alright. I get tired too.
But hell, I love to be on the road, alive and rawkin. Like to get off the bus and stand around some gas station parking lot and think about how that place has always been there and I won’t ever see it again after I leave. Ever think about that? And then I get some beef jerky and a burrito or something and hop back on the bus and listen to those college kids talk real quiet. A rawk lifestyle, even if my band is dead and the crowds are small and the dressing rooms are dirty as shit, all these freaking moths flying into the light bulbs above the mirror. Makes me sick watchin em. Do they even know what they’re doing? They just keep flying into the lights, again again again. Wonder if it hurts.
Anyway, this show is gonna rawk some shit. Before some gigs, you get this energy, and you know the show is gonna rawk some shit. That’s how I feel about tonight, and it is a very good feeling. Ain’t the same without the boys, but I guess that’s just cuz it’s 1997, not 1975. Shit’s different now. But sometimes when I close my eyes on stage and just fuckin wail into the mike and do some flying kicks, it feels like Skullstryke again. I’ll do anything for that feeling.
Pull out the old pillbox and pour some chaser in a glass. Down my reds, my greens, my yellows, my blues, walk out on stage …
Man, playin Chicago tonight, still one helluva city even after you rawked there two fuckin billion times. But I feel blue as hell for some reason. Oh. May 19. Occurs to me that it’s been 21 years to the day since Skiv choked to death on his own puke in the shitter of a Shoney’s in Sioux Falls. Pour half my bottle out in the sink and then take a few swigs myself. Fuckin rawk, Skiv. Look in the mirror and my makeup’s running.
Thinking about Skiv makes me think about Dieter, makes me wonder where the hell he is. In ’83, he didn’t show up for a gig so we had to cancel. Detroit was pissed. Went back to the hotel thinking we’d find him dead in the bathroom like Skiv, but he was just gone, and he didn’t even take his stuff. Turns out he talked to Buddha and caught a plane to Russia or someplace to find him. Kinda sad to lose Dieter. Fuckin rawked hard. Hope he’s happy, wherever he is. Hope he found Buddha.
Thinking about Dieter makes me think about U-Bert. Helluva drummer. Musta been ’88, found him dead in some alley in Chicago and the doctor dude said he died of a heart attack, which was weird, because he was like 39 or something. The magazine people kept asking me how he died, so I told them that all I knew was that it was probably somebody else’s decision, like God’s or somebody else’s.
Thinking about U-Bert makes me think about Reggie. Man, that’s a fresh cut. Two months ago, numbnuts forgot to take a pill and his skin got all fuzzy and he flailed around on the ground for a while backstage. Then he died. Weird. Kinda wonder why he didn’t just take his pills like he was supposed to, but I guess when you got like, two fuckin billion pills to take, you probably forget once or twice. And then you die.
Then there’s me. Guess I’m the only Skullstryker left. Not all bad, though. The dudes I rawk with now are these college kids. Like, they went to music college and shit. Skiv would laugh his ass off about that. Music college. Anyway, they don’t rawk as hard as Skiv and Dieter and U-Bert and Reggie, but they know a lot about music, I guess. And they laugh at all the stories I tell, even if they ain’t all that funny. Ain't the same, though. I mean, we got the same name and we play the same songs but we ain’t the same band, dig? Sometimes when I walk to the back of the bus, I think I’m gonna see Dieter doing whippets and U-Bert banging some chick in the aisle. But it’s just these college kids sitting around. Don’t even like to go out after shows, these kids. They just sit and talk, then go to sleep, like kittens, these kids. That’s alright. I get tired too.
But hell, I love to be on the road, alive and rawkin. Like to get off the bus and stand around some gas station parking lot and think about how that place has always been there and I won’t ever see it again after I leave. Ever think about that? And then I get some beef jerky and a burrito or something and hop back on the bus and listen to those college kids talk real quiet. A rawk lifestyle, even if my band is dead and the crowds are small and the dressing rooms are dirty as shit, all these freaking moths flying into the light bulbs above the mirror. Makes me sick watchin em. Do they even know what they’re doing? They just keep flying into the lights, again again again. Wonder if it hurts.
Anyway, this show is gonna rawk some shit. Before some gigs, you get this energy, and you know the show is gonna rawk some shit. That’s how I feel about tonight, and it is a very good feeling. Ain’t the same without the boys, but I guess that’s just cuz it’s 1997, not 1975. Shit’s different now. But sometimes when I close my eyes on stage and just fuckin wail into the mike and do some flying kicks, it feels like Skullstryke again. I’ll do anything for that feeling.
Pull out the old pillbox and pour some chaser in a glass. Down my reds, my greens, my yellows, my blues, walk out on stage …
Pending revision/a quick fold into the shape of an origami swan, a merry toss town the memory hole.
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