Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Deleted Excerpt - 3

This lengthy excerpt was deleted as it would have deviated too far from the narrative flow But had it appeared it would have been in Chapter 36, page 244:

..Although the signs were very subtle, I had begun to notice that the others were beginning to very tellingly pull away from my influence and assert their own tastes (for want of a better word). The first clue was the sudden proliferation of dull, uninspired and uninspiring bogan musical clods who started dominating our lounge room stereo.
Everyone from that bore from the USA, Broooooce Springsteen, to Bryan Adams with his hideous anthems "Run To You" and "Summer Of '69", and even Mark "Jacko" Jackson with his stupid "Indi-bloody-vidual" novelty hit. Then there was that ridiculous corporate punk Billy Idol, whose lip-curling sneer, and fist-pumping gestures were being aped ad-infinitum by Ritzy, despite my admonishments that a true punk like Johnny Rotten wouldn't even deign to spit in his eye.
Even more irritatingly revelatory though, was the absolute relish with which Ritzy would sing the line about the injustice of "the little faggot with the earring and the makeup" having his own jet airplane in "Money For Nothing (and Chicks For Free)" by the appropriately named "dire straights". The contempt for Bowie and his legion of '80's clones in that dreadful song was palpable.
An album that I did like to play a lot, which also came out that year was "Aural Sculpture" by The Stranglers. Its' big hit single "Skin Deep" contained a lyric that was chillingly prescient to the shifting of the power base that the sharehouse at Longmore Street had undergone.
"Many people tell you that they're your friends", warned Hugh Cornwall, but I wasn't listening."Believe them, heed them, but watch round the river bend. Make sure that you're receiving the signals they send".
There was no misreading the signals my friends sent me the night that a case of the screaming munchies drove the three of us to the local 7-11 for some junk food though. As we piled out of the car and through the front door, Mister "Indi-bloody-vidual" himself, Mark "Jacko" Jackson was exiting the store. Immediately, Ritzy and Shane's eyes lit up.
"Hi-yer Jacko", they both cooed in unison, completely starstruck like a couple of giddy schoolgirls.
"G'day boys", Jacko replied. Then, noting their bloodshot eyes, he added, "Got a case of the munchies have yer"? With a knowing grin. But his grin quickly turned into a disapproving frown when he looked me up and down as I lagged in behind the others.This was because I was wearing smudged eyeliner, and chipped black fingernail polish.
"Geezus", spat Ritzy after his hero had departed."Couldn't you have dived your hands into your pockets, and put your head down"?
"What do you care what Jacko thinks"? I spluttered. "The guy thinks blowing kisses to his opponent, and putting lit cigarettes in club officials pockets at parties is the height of humour. He's a moron".
"Yeah, well moron or not, it's embarrassing to be seen out with you all dolled up like that", added Shane, weighing into the debate.
The three of us argued about it all the way back home.

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