I throw in one of my trademark SHRILL between-the-front-teeth whistles of
enthusiasm and Dice seems to like that.
But then, it seems he needs very little encouragement.
He then carelessly thrusts
Shaggy's guitar - one-fisted by its neck - directly at Shaggy, nearly smashing
him in the face with it. Shaggy grapples,
then grabs his guitar - sighs shakily: Thanks, thanks, man…sounding
good…EDDIE….
And then, a shocking detail comes to light, when
Shaggy's Gal Pal pipes in as well: "Yes, Eddie -
very nice."
SHAGGY AND GAL PAL ACTUALLY KNOW DICE!!! (And Dice's name is really Eddie!) Seems they actually INVITED him to Dakonda's
shindig! Dice is some kinda weird
neighborhood friend they know…from THEIR neighborhood…!!
Dice booms into the mic: "OKAY, SO YAZ HOYD what I can provide ON A MUSICAL LEVEL -
AWRIGHT???!?! But for MY NEXT T'ING -
YEAH, I GOT MORE…ANYBODY HERE FAMILIAR WIT' HENRY ROLLINS?
BLACK FLAG?"
Everyone seems to be holding
their breath and The Head Krishna is back on HIGH ALERT - actually, he's been closing
in steadily - if a bit ineffectually - all along.
Dice continues:
"Well, I happen ta be a BIG FAN of da
SPOKEN WOYD. So for my NEXT T'ING, I am
gonna share witchoo all a STORY. NOT A
POEM. NOT A SONG. A STORY. A REAL STORY. A STORY ABOUT MY MOM."
Head Krishna decides to move
now. Smiling tautly, voice even tighter,
he pronounces: "JUST NO CURSING."
Dice whips his head at Head Krishna:
"Say WHAT, my brutha?"
Head Krishna: "I said NO
CURSING. NO BAD LANGUAGE."
Dice appraises him in a
rudely superior manner, nodding. Goes:
"Okay, my brutha. WHATEVER YOU
SAY."
Head Krishna says:
"Good. Thanks." But you can
tell he doesn't believe Dice will comply.
None of us do.
Dice, not being one to
disappoint, begins:
"MY MOM was a poor woman but she
was FUCKIN' PROUD. PROUDER THAN
NINETY-NINE-FUCKIN' PERCENT OF THE POPULATION OF THIS MOTHER FUCKIN' PLANET,
GODDAMIT…."
Oh, hurrah…Head Krishna
starts to try to say something, but no way baby…
"I REMEMBER my MOM goin' to the
OPERA and COMIN' HOME…TELLIN' ME that she cried FUCKIN' TEARS as BIG AS
ALLIGATOR SHIT (????) when she heard a song that she liked. AND DID SHE FUCKIN' CARE? NO SHE DIDN'T! This was a PROUD FUCKIN' WOMAN. FUCK ALL THESE BITCHES WHO TRY TO ACT like
they are SOMEBODY - THEY'RE WHORES compared to MY FUCKIN' MOM - A SIMPLE
BROOKLYN WOMAN…BUT NEVER A WHORE…"
The Head Krishna has OFFICIALLY
had it - he lurches forward yelling: ENOUGH.
DAKONDA simultaneously
(and shockingly, since I wouldn't have guessed that he had it in him) jumps up and flips off the amp that is
powering the microphone.
Dice seems completely prepared
for this turn of events. He steadies
himself, standing with his legs and arms braced, WRESTLER-STYLE, against this
roomful of poets and Krishna's… he BELLOWS:
"WHAT? YOU WANNA STIFLE ME? What are you SCARED OF? YOUR LIFE is a LIE if you can't hear what I
have to say. YOUR LIFE is SHIT!"
Head Krishna: "ALL WE ARE ASKING IS THAT YOU
DON'T USE PROFANITY IN THIS ROOM."
DICE: "WHY?
WHAT MAKES THIS FUCKIN' ROOM SO MUCH MORE SPECIAL THAN ANY OTHER FUCKIN'
ROOM???"
Head Krishna: "You miss the point. You should
leave. You are no longer welcome here."
DICE: "I miss WHAT point? YOU should leave, Zipper-Head, because the POINT
is on top of YOUR FUCKING HEAD. You got
shit for brains if you think you can protect yourself from the WORLD - and I AM
THE fuckin' WORLD, my BRUTHA. I am YOUR
world whether you like it or not, MY MOTHER-FUCKIN' BRUTHA!!!"
Gal-Pal jumps up:
"EDDIE! PLEASE!
This is not what this place is about!
We did NOT invite you here to make this kind of scene…"
My head is spinning at this
point: It's just so much pristinely asinine
chaos, I tell you. But at the same time,
it is Chekhovian in its pure angst and lack of connection between beings. I remember longing for a tape recorder then,
and I'm just grateful for my memory of
ANY of it now…
Dakonda suddenly
grabs his blue solid-body electric guitar - violently plugs it in and starts
pounding on it: A heroic defense
mechanism to diffuse the current DICE situation. It's a
3-chord barrage of annoying, tinny sound.
But IT WORKS. Dice immediately turns his attention to this
mess and starts screaming the lyrics to ALL ALONG THE WATCH-TOWER.
But then Dakonda
starts yelling (never breaking stride with his strumming): "NO NO - THIS
IS NOT 'ALL ALONG THE WATCH-TOWER'!!
IT'S MY OWN ORIGINAL SONG. IT
ONLY SOUNDS LIKE 'ALL ALONG THE
WATCH-TOWER'…"
And then Dakonda
starts screaming his OWN lyrics over the 'ALL ALONG THE WATCH TOWER' chords,
that go something like this:
"WE WILL NEVER
BE LED…
WE WILL NEVER BE LIED
TO…
WE ARE STRONG…WE ARE
POWERFUL….
JUST STOP MESSING
WITH US…."
And then all the
sudden, Dakonda and Dice just decide to TAKE IT OUTSIDE….
Dakonda puts his
guitar down, and the rest of us watch stupidly as he and Dice march out the
front door of the café` and proceed to debate loudly, out there on the moonlit sidewalk,
about the RIGHTS OF BEING ABLE TO CURSE IN PUBLIC SOCIETY.
Well, all I can add about
the conclusion of this is that I know for a fact The Utopia Café discontinued
their monthly OPEN MIC after that particular event. So I can always say that I caught the ass-end
of that scene…
One can never know
where these types of things can lead.
All I can say is that on the particular night that me and Chris attended,
it was a welcome diversion. We were in a
rut, and this was exciting. It was
dysfunctional, but exciting. And it was very
much ALIVE...
And ALIVE
Is
GOOD.
* * * * * *
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