Tonight I recalled a memory. A memory worth having.
So I'm coming home from the bars drunk and alone (go figure, I only seem to write when whisky guides my finger to do so, and if I had gotten lucky I'd be a bit to busy making memories to be writing right now.) (( writing ... right now.. I like that))
The Cd playing in the truck is Ozzy Osborne.. the greatest hits collection. I found my long lost Ozzy CD's a few days ago the way Prometheus probably found fire, randomly in cave after a bender. Of course by cave I mean this black hole beyond the old VCR and between that untouched piece of cinematic technology and the entertainment temple which houses its long forgotten corpse as a city of DVRS and DVD players were built upon its ruins. ( fuck that's overly dramatic, and I'm suddenly wanting to dawn a leather jacket, a fedora and a bull whip. Bull whip.. fuck no, now I'm just horny again.) Anyway! It literally did make me think of Indiana Jones, even if literally is not the best choice of words after all Indiana Jones is not a piece of literature all. But guarding the gaping jaw of this chasm was a thicket of spider webbing, yet over taken with curiosity my hand plunged into the fissure and what did I pull forth? An old cd case containing the best works of the master of metal himself! Ozzy Fucking Ozbourne. This is what I was listening too on my drunken crawl home from the bar. As I pulled up upon the garage of my home, snow falling gently down on the windshields and Ozzy serenading my ears back on earth it hit me, one of my last memories hearing this song and listening to this cd collection, or at the least the year I purchased them, and the only memory of this that counted for anything at all.
This was in Seattle. Long before I had ever considered moving to Los Angles. I was still in college . ( let's be honest it was art school but College just sounds better doesn't it?) I was going through this "return to old school metal phase" and one of my favorite things to do was sit in the window sill on my 12th floor student housing apt wearing just my leather jacket as a shirt and facing my amp out the window as I shredded, or at least pretended to as my long black hair was blowing in the wind. (I've always had a flair for being dramatic) That year, had I gone to Tower Records, because record stores still existed in those days and no one had head of digital downloading, and even Napster was just a glimmer in his programers eyes. I purchased, Lita Ford, Sabbath, Metalica, Motley Crue, Sabbath and a shit ton of Ozzy. Then I met Trisha. Trisha and Dwayne. They went to the art school with me. There is so much of what happened between us that I could write about. Enough to fill several chapters, but so much I don't want to get into tonight. I'm not even going to explain at this late hour how she ended up with me, how it ripped my friendship with Dwayne apart. How that was my fault and even my intent when I seduced her in the first place and how I didn't care. Nor will I explain the roller coaster of our adventure. Our decent into black magic and the forces that stalked us and eventually tore us apart as well. Thee only thing that is important this night is this one lonely memory of Trisha, Me, and Ozzy Osbourne in my barren student housing studio on the twelfth floor on bell street. Across from Dan and Rays grocery store and "Crack Head Park" in Seattle, WA.
I had no furniture. I had built tables and bookshelves out of crates and boxes. random shredded bed sheets hung for drapes and made makeshift doorways, blowing like tattered white phantoms from the ceiling and archways. The main room was a wide empty space housing nothing but an old dirty mattress. The whole room was lit by tapered candles without sticks, a few of them set on a plate by the bed had melted down into a pool of red wax that had in turn caught on fire so that the whole dish was a large flame. The wind blew hard through the window that night, and the door blew the candle flames and ghostly rags that much more. It blew her short reddish blond hair all the more whilst it glistened in candle light. For all things which burn with light are granted halo's and we were blessed like angels that night. Legs hands red smeared lipstick upon my skin. Vodka bottles half drank and half spilt upon the hard wood cold icy floor. Her snow pale legs wrapped around my emaciated waist. Necked beneath our leather jackets. The jackets we used to shoplift food in the year that followed now stole not but to hide our frail heaving bodies our flesh and our hearts. Dripping candle wax and simmering skin, a flickering touch to kiss the wounds sealed. And a the last candle wick burned out Ozzy sang "Reveal ME!" Orgasms then dark and sleep took us both in sweet slumbered bliss. The deal was sealed and Ozzy was our priest and pastor. Or story had now begun. A story Worth Having.
