ZID VI CHAPTER NUEVO FUEGO

[The Urbane Spaceman]

There are individuals who exude a certain quality that can neither be learned nor taught. It is inherent, inborn, natural, and it is marvelous to behold. We call it animal magnetism, joie de vivre, exuberance, and inclusiveness of others. Another word for it is charisma.

Sean owned this thing.

It is the choice of someone who holds this key, on how they will use it, once they discover that they have it. Some folks never accept this gift, and will be pursued by others against their will. They may hide in fear of “what the hell is going on here?” That will make them even more attractive.


Some will use it to skate through life, like knife blades on ice. They will take the easy way out.

Many will take advantage of this gift by taking advantage of other people. These are called “grifters” because they steal.


And yet,
some folks do not have this quality, so they resort to drugs and fancy sports cars to attract others. That would be Jerry.


But Sean, well he used his gift to get pussy. At this party, before everything went to hell, he saw a young lady standing near the line for the cocaine, and she was talking to her friends. But she was not in line for lines. He saw this.


The fact that she did not intend to partake of the illicit materials intrigued him. She was different, in this place where everyone else was getting wrecked. Maybe she was worth it to him to seduce her. He always liked to look at tall chicks with dark brown eyes and long, wavy hair. He decided yes that he would pursue her.



Keep in mind his appearance. He wore nothing but burnt jogging shorts, crisscrossed belts over his torso, and long, melted black boots that went up over his knees to mid-thigh. He had bloody scabs all over his skin and his hair was singed off. He smelled pretty bad from his baptism by fire and glass in his bathtub. The dichotomy of this appearance was that he listened to pop music, not punk in those times. I will spare your ears from the ‘80s pop. This is from today, similar.


He approached his target.

“Hi, I’m Sean. You have some lovely hips.”


She stepped back a bit and looked directly at him. “Uh, I’m Monica.”


She was tall like he was, and mostly from her legs. She did not hold out her hand to greet him, but neither did he. He looked down at her shoes, and kept silent. He could follow that her eyes ran all over his body. He must look like an insane person to her.


He did not blink once at all when he did this next thing: he ran his eyes up her legs, stopped at her crotch, and then looked up further across her taut belly under her dark purple skirt, and then he paused at her breasts. Not huge, but high and firm. Then he looked up her neck and paused at her lips. They were the angel’s bow.

He met her eyes and he could feel it in his bones, he could sense it: he had made her get wet.


He said, “One day, when you have a baby, those hips will spread out. Then they will be even better. Would you like me to spread you tonight?”

Yes, a very cheesy line. Not many would get away with saying this, without a slap or a drink thrown at his face. But Sean could do this, and he made it work.


It had to do with his intensity, for he appeared to be sincere. He was not trolling across the whole room at each girl, desperately seeking anything at all. He selected one woman, and then he pursued her. His confidence made him ignore all of the other females in his vicinity. No matter what they were telling Monica, he did not hear them. So, she did not hear them either.

She had her lips slightly parted, and she licked her lips without thinking that she was doing it.

Sean smiled. He snatched her with nothing but a look and some words.

He did not take his eyes off of hers, but he nodded over his shoulder. Then he turned around and walked off. She followed him, not hearing her friends who stayed in line.

They had some things to say.

“Ewww! Gross! Don’t follow him!”

“Monicaaaa! What are you doing?”

“Omigod! Becky! Go after her!”

“You go after her, I’m not losing my place in line!”



Sean led her past the rest of the line to the table. He nodded at Jerry, and that guy pushed the mirror over to Sean. Sean did his business quick, pushed the mirror back to the giant punk rocker, with a wink, and then walked out onto the deck. There, the punk band tuned their instruments and tightened the drum kit.



He turned around, and of course, Monica was right behind him, following like she was hypnotized. No rufie at all. Just charisma. This meeting of those two became something else, and that is for the future telling.



Now it is time to destroy a house.



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The punk band played music that was enjoyable only to misfits, miscreants, and rebellious, angry kids. I will spare your ears from hearing this now because you are young and you might not understand.


Here is what folks today think sounds like punk rock. Make your own decision. No harsh on you for your own enjoyment of music. If music that someone has created makes you get your rocks off, then good on them, and good for you. I know what I like, and my song doesn't have just one note.


By now, the house was filled with people from all crawls of life. Punk rockers, metal heads, jocks, cheerleaders, rich preppy kids, club kids, hippies, gangsters, and all sorts of drug dealers. Basically, a real house party.


When the band began to play, that was when the metal heads and the punk rockers took over. These were the ones who started the mosh pit, in the living room.


Fat Jerry immediately put his shit away and those kids in line all moaned and begged him to not take it away. But he knew how to protect his investment. Stop when everyone wants more, not when everyone wishes you would go away.


He slipped off without anyone knowing where he went. You know, he was creepy like that. You never knew where he went, or how he disappeared from view. Even worse, you never knew when he would suddenly show up. It might be outside your bedroom window, looking in while you sleep.


The folks who did not thrash in this crazy dance-pit went scurrying outside to the backyard like rats leaving the Titanic ship. The rest stayed in and dived into the wild animal display.


Then, wouldn’t you know it. Fat Jerry was all of a sudden right in the middle of the mosh pit, and he was throwing his arms around, stomping, and slamming his wide back against everyone.


The band cranked up their amps to 11 and the crowd inside went full-blown insane. Some of them damned punks smashed into the furniture and the side tables, and lamps broke. Then folks started to swing the broken lamps around by their cords, and this was when the fights broke out.


It is an asshole who seeks to hurt others with anything other than elbows and your back. No fists, no knees to crotch, no weapons.


Someone with a lamp got knocked down and then another one stomped on his arm with a bit heavy boot.


Another one went flying into the wall, and the sheetrock dented in. He got up off the floor and ripped the chalk board out and threw it into the crowd. Folks got hit in the face with this.

More struggles and wrestling and fist fights broke out.

Then the wall got town wide open and the studs were naked. These are the wooden 2X4’s that hold the chalkboard together. A few kicks, some splintering, and now there were broken studs pulled out from the top plate that supports the ceiling. These became baseball bats, or wooden clubs, or battering rams.


This cause more bodily injury, but also, more property damage.


Everything glass flew into clouds of dust. More walls opened up.


All the furniture got thrown out of the huge front picture window onto the lawn. Even the television set was picked up, carried over and chucked out. That was one huge beast to lift.


Folks ran through the house with these long, heavy sticks, and nothing was protected.


The house became structurally weak.


The ceiling in the middle of the place, without wall support beneath, cracked and began to sag.
The roof settled down a bit and creaked and groaned. Splitting noises shrieked out in pain and anger, and the walls began to buckle.


Someone flipped over the gas range in the kitchen, and this broke the connection to the gas line.


By this time, the band had stopped playing and were hauling their gear back to their van, and Sean stood with Monica off by the bonfire. Joey and I stood down below from the deck, and Joey said, “It’s time for us to get the fuck outta Dodge.”


The smell of Ethyl Moncapitan hit my nose and I said, “I think you are correct.” That is the telltale scent, the tracer that is put into propane or methane so that you can smell it when there is a leak. There was more than a leak. The whole place was filling up with this heavy gas that sinks to the floor and creeps around. This is the Ethyl that is not a lovely lady in a fine dress. It smells like rotting cabbage.


Of course, the owner of our ride there was nowhere to be seen. I grabbed Joey and shouted, “We really need to get the fuck away from this place.”


Joey nodded at Sean, standing there by the bonfire with a tall woman. “Maybe she has a car.”
It was worth a shot. We ran over to him.


“Sean, we all need to get the hell out of here!”


Sean nodded. He said, “Monica, these are my friends, Urb and Joey. Will you give us a ride back to town?”


She said, “I can’t leave my friends!”

Oh.

No.


Here is a lovely tune for you while I take a shot to settle my rattled nerves. All this brings up some bad memories.


It is El Scorcho, by Weezer.



.

[Palinka (RIP)]

Scorchio!

[oldsmartskunk]

Now that's the best part of the story so far! Even though i was born in late 80's myself, i can appreciatte true punk rock. Raw melodies, dirty antisocial/politic lyrics and a solo somewhere in beween this. Too bad true punk music ran out of steam kinda soon. Next thing you know they came in to make money and the result is - people consider pop-rock to be punk.

[oettinger]

Now that's the best part of the story so far! Even though i was born in late 80's myself, i can appreciatte true punk rock. Raw melodies, dirty antisocial/politic lyrics and a solo somewhere in beween this. Too bad true punk music ran out of steam kinda soon. Next thing you know they came in to make money and the result is - people consider pop-rock to be punk.

You mean Green Day and Offspring is no punk? World shattered.
Oh and also fuck all these wannabe Darby Crash and Ian Curtis alternative wankers vomiting their horrible music all over youtube since crica 2005.

[mistah willies]

Offspring.

Yup. They badass.


Punkology.

[givemesomepils]

Now that's the best part of the story so far! Even though i was born in late 80's myself, i can appreciatte true punk rock. Raw melodies, dirty antisocial/politic lyrics and a solo somewhere in beween this. Too bad true punk music ran out of steam kinda soon. Next thing you know they came in to make money and the result is - people consider pop-rock to be punk.

You mean Green Day and Offspring is no punk? World shattered.
Oh and also fuck all these wannabe Darby Crash and Ian Curtis alternative wankers vomiting their horrible music all over youtube since crica 2005.

well us kids nowadays don't listen to anything that would sound like punk,but i think it is the sentiment that counts

[givemesomepils]

I'm on 5 hits I got for free pretty much. Man I'm starting to trip