There’s a cocksucker somewhere to my left, a motherfucker somewhere to my right. I would say where I was, but it isn’t important. I could be anywhere, customs change but people don’t. It might seem like a nihilistic viewpoint, maybe it is. We are not wired to get along with everyone, especially surly bastards that use the middle finger as a wave to the people they care about, my kind of people. There is a lot of falseness or trying to keep up in most places, true freedom is said to be in places like this and the old west where being yourself and supporting you and your own was important, a badge of honor and pride which can be looked at as bad things by many especially in these times. The beer was alright, the whiskey was better. I drank for free nightly. Moderation is key but not always held sacred.I may have had too much to drink, or too little sleep either one is a safe bet. I was fighting puking or passing out it was a race to see which would happen first.This was before my period of puking regularly that kept my fake crackhead figure. Not the smartest of times for me to say the least, but you only get to be old and stupid by being young and stupid. It was a bar on the border of town meaning the street next to it was the border. A place where criminals, lowlifes, and other people worth knowing for the interest alone would be. We looked out for each other it was almost primal. The border jumpers that would do something and cross the street without the cops following them. A sanctuary for bad behavior on the good nights and a haven for evil deeds on others luckily I missed most of the bad times. The women were as beautiful and dangerous as broken glass. The men as rough, foul mouthed, ugly, and loyal as how people romanticize irish catholic priests of days past.The bar was dirty and pretty empty since it was a music venue that hasn’t always embraced that and has paid the price in the times it has closed their eyes to it. Maybe that is enough background, those from the area will know the place the name does not need to be said or spread. It is a den of iniquity, chaos, love, hate, music, beer, and so much more.
This might not be a story as much as a tone setter since many stories will take place,in this fuck up working class mecha.
I booked shows there for years along with someone else that will go unnamed. The reason false names and in some cases no names will be mentioned is first of all I am no snitch, secondly if this bullshit I spew ever grows any traction I don’t want people finding the place I am talking about. It is home to some, hallowed ground to others, just a venue to some as well, a dump, a dive, a place of ill repute, a danger, a place that should be condemned, and so many other things. A place where I have spent seven nights a week for years.
In a way these stories will also be the stories of the petafylers, wreckless fate, slain husains, the impaler, arrogant bastards, the idiots, cl1, labor force, and so many other bands that had their vocals go through a p.a system that was found in a pool. Luckily the pool was empty at the time.
The stories are passed down orally like in old tribes. Then again we were like a tribe of our own.Whatever I say will never be able to give you a real feel of the place or people. I have heard stories from that have never breathed the smoke filled air that was there after the smoking ban had taken effect. Here’s to the drunken nights the hearing loss, the break ups the place has caused, the mix of tolerance and lack thereof. A place where legends were born and others drank to excess, sold coke, talked shit, and frankly had nights they will never remember.