Naked & Alive In Vegas
Sing your heart out. Squander your life for a peculiar purpose or you'll regret it. Trust me. Find your spot and light it up or you'll just be a firefly on some damp night, dying in a dimmer light.
(from my growing unpublished drafts - will start putting some of them out there for reading. About my Oct. trip to Vegas and the Grand Canyon. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, unless you are a writer.)
Listen. I’m not perfect but there is one thing I know perfectly well.
When there is a calling within, you respond, you rise to that bell. Werewolf, a prophet come down from the hills, girls California bound, you follow that sound, therein.
So, I was just back from the Golden Nugget. A fist full of dollars in my pocket. Greek money, his gold sunglasses and accusing finger firm in my memory, as I left the tables.
I stopped at the 7-11 and bought the winos 3 pizzas and drank a few tetra packs of wine with them outside, the dogs licking my face, wolfing down pizza as well, as we laughed at the cops trying to drag away some oldtimer who was pissing outside in the few remaining geraniums.
I saddled up and headed back to my motel with a few more tetrapacks of wine and shared them with the guys, laughing deeply into and with my soul. The ladies were all working. I was well on my way.
I invited my new friends out for some brewskis and we crossed a few empty streets into the Arts District and visited Rebar. I never made it in. I tossed the guys some bills and hung out, outside.
I sat outside listening to a couple of teenagers trying to play their guitars. They were at the bottom of the learning curve, praying for a few bucks, passerbyers would throw into their open case. And then it came upon me. The calling ….
It happens all the time, but when it comes, you just got to go with it. So I did.
I threw all the cash I had in one of my pockets into their guitar case and said, “let me sing, I gotta sing”. They looked at each other and said, “Hell, okay”. And so I sang.
They couldn’t play worth shit. Maybe I couldn’t sing worth shit. Didn’t matter. I sang. I thought of Drahos, my Czech, Gitane brother … that’s another story but he’s a kindred soul from Bohemia. We’d go to the Gypsy bars together and do this late into the night.
I was there. All in. It was all good. They played, rather strummed and I made it all up. Like god did. If god almighty can make all this shit up, why not me? Words just came out and everything was in its place. A slice of sidewalk heaven for my inner Dylan.
A crowd gathered round. I just shrilled like a disheveled banshee, the words running like butter off my hot tongue. Fire and brimstones. Prophetic words into the wind. All good. The wine was doing what cheap wine does, its Dionysian thing.
At a break, a young, chiseled kid who’d been clapping as I sang, became my best friend. He introduced me to his posse. The head of which he said was “a big time music producer”. We chilled and then he said, “Let’s arm wrestle.”
It was like the night had been created for me. My own canvas.
There was a little unused bar outside, in front, where the security guy sat and we locked arms and went at it. I put him down without a flinch. So then, he backs up, with a crazy smile all over his face and says, “Let’s go!” He ripped off his shirt and charged.
Damn. I side stepped and he half grabbed me on his way by. I swung him around and landed on top of him, on the sidewalk. Shit. I really didn’t want to hurt the kid. Kind of liked him. He was kinda like me, raring to go after a few, me, a few centuries ago.
And then there were three or four “rrrwwwee” “rrrweeee” police siren like sounds. That’s how the man squeals. We knew the message. The kid rolled over and off and with his posse, they scattered down the street, a million miles an hour.
Me, I was pulled up by LV’s finest and dusted off. Then, they put the cuffs on.
The security, slash doorman had seen it all and offered his opinion. They almost arrested him too. He was black, that might have played into it. Wasn’t the time for talking. But I thank him for that.
I left the station in the morning with a sore back and without a dollar to my name. I do hope those guitar kids had a good time with all that cash. I got back to the motel and started drinking wine again.
Damn, it was so good to sing, just sing, blessed is that day. We all have a peculiar calling.
Later that afternoon, I went back to the Golden Nugget to try my luck and see if the Greek would show up again. He did. I was happy.
Waits was a very early influence. Later, learned how intelligent he was ... about music and more. My favorite is "clap hands". It has a rhythm that is primitive, complete, everything that art should be. Pure genius. I'm sure he must have got it from some romanis or a klemzer band. Only real close similarity I've ever heard. Where you almost expect the words and music to run off and out of your mind. I put the lyrics here for anyone else who might chance on this ...
Sane, sane, they're all insane, fireman's blind, the conductor is lame
A Cincinnati jacket and a sad-luck dame
Hanging out the window with a bottle full of rain
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Said roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
The moon in the window and a bird on the pole
We can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to Harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a Palladio's hat
And nobody's sure where Mr. Knickerbocker's at
Roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
Moon in the window and a bird on the pole
Can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
I said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to Harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a Palladio's hat
And nobody's sure where Mr. Knickerbocker's at
Shine, shine, a Roosevelt dime
All the way to Baltimore and running out of time
Salvation army seemed to wind up in the hole
They all went to heaven in a little row boat
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Loved it! Tom Waits would have loved to have been there singing "the piano has been drinking (not me)"