thirteen years.  the line at the blackcat box office is two blocks long.  the punk in front of me has pink hair fashioned in liberty spikes, his get-up complete with pocket chains and converse all-stars.  thirteen years.  i didn’t bring enough whiskey for this line, the flask is dry and i’ve still got one more block.  the girl behind me is chatting on her cell phone, relaying the play by play of the line’s progress.  her voice is candy enough to warrant a choking death right here on fourteenth street.  thirteen years.  the blackcat is a nondescript building boasting turn of the century brickwork and boarded windows.  with each step closer my adrenaline and anticipation rises.  for thirteen years and the albums that span, my self-awareness has been constructed through questioning authority and partying until daybreak.  for me, this show is the equivalent of a christian meeting jesus, without the disappointment.  the clerk at the box office has lobe plugs the size of golf balls and a monroe piercing on the left side of her face.  sweaty money in hand, ms. monroe beats me to the punch.  sold out.  thirteen years.  walking the four blocks to my car, a punker is bootlegging an extra ticket.  fifty bucks he tells me.  the show cost twelve at the door.  i tell him to fuck off and die slow.  back at the house i pour a double and grab the bottle.  out back i finish half.  with the remaining half, and my cigarette cherry still burning, i turn my vinyl collection into a trash can hobo fire.

talk about disappointment!  not the read but the result of thirteen years.  great details lawrence.  can't offer her critical comments at the moment, just wanted you to know i'd stopped in and that your prose got me.

ld

ha! lynn you crack me up, thank god the disappointment didn't fall in these lines for you.  thanks for dropping through with a read, and please, if any critical comments start to wander through your head, do share. -lawrence

Ha ha ha ha!

This is good Lawrence, really good.

"her voice is candy enough to warrant a choking death right here on fourteenth street"
this was one of my favorite lines, but the ending really killed this one

"i turn my vinyl collection into a trash can hobo fire"
Made me laugh out loud ha ha!

Anyways, excellent work Lawrence. Sounds like you get just as fed up with people as I do.

stirling glad i could deliver a laugh this afternoon my friend!  i don't find myself writing too much prose often, so it's good to get some positive feedback from you and lynn.  thanks again guys. -lawrence

Vinyl's back.

V I N Y L  !

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8Y2i7uJlQM

This seemed an appropriate Front Page to follow John Yamrus' recent post.

larry

Excellent write. 
Excellent selection.

tiko

Lawrence, congrats here.
Not entirely a downer, change comes and the cherry's still burning!
Tom

Congrats from me too. 

(I'm thinking how I'd like to say I miss vinyl: the smell of it, the gorgeous flex of those twelve inches in one's palm, the scratches recurring and recurring like milestones to other musical evenings, but I can't - much prefer Cds lol!)

I would have given the fifty bucks.
enjoyed alot
kevin

remember age 15 maybe, seeing Zappa "Absolutely Free" in record store, dumbly thinking it was, then being so embarrassed by naivete that when clerk asked for $ I coughed it up!

terrific to find this featured, lawrence! 

ld

I hope this was written in 1990. the band The Police killed punk in 1977
and is the only valid argument I've ever heard for marshal law.

whoa!  such an unexpected surprise this afternoon!  thank you larry for picking this and to everyone else who has read and left such positive comments.  there are so many talented poets in the poetry circle community, very honored to have a selection of mine chosen to represent our pen and voice!

lawrence

An fine pick for the front page. Excellent, Lawrence.

milner

superb piece, Lawrence
sorry it took me so long to add my voice to the above congratulations


Stella