Twenty-First Century Schizoid Men
A Retrospective
Cat’s foot iron claw
Neuro-surgeons scream for more
At paranoia’s poison door.
Twenty first century schizoid man!
About six years ago, I took a trip back to the States and had it coincide with a concert that I wanted to see, as all good musically-inclined expats do.
This time, it was King Crimson at the Greek Theatre in the Hollywood Hills. Not too far from the Hollywood sign, it’s a great venue. And what a show!
A friend of mine gave me a good THC gummy before I headed out, and we grabbed some New York Style Pizza too. So by the time I got there, I was primed for the show.
One thing that happened that I will never forget: On the way walking up the hill, there were some Mexicans or Guatemalans or something selling bootleg T-shirts. I considered picking one up, just because. I mean, these folks were doing the best they could with what they had. They coulda been illegals or maybe like just low-income American citizens or whatever. And the girl was kinda cute.
“You’d have to be a real low-life to buy from them!” Shouted an angry, skinny old man with glasses who looked like a cross between Stephen King and Woody Allen. I shrugged, and kept walking. The girl was helping another customer anyway.
But I thought about the arrogance of that guy the whole walk up the hill. Imagine being so loyal to your band that you aren’t willing to throw some skrills for a bootleg t-shirt to some person who might just as well barely have a pot to piss in.
In any case, I did buy a shirt from the band shop. So the mealy asshole won but at least the band did too.
Blood rack barbed wire
Polititians’ funeral pyre
Innocents raped with napalm fire
Twenty first century schizoid man!
Another thing I won’t forget: when I went to get to my seat, the usher was basically useless. “Oh it’s over there.” Yeah thanks. Asshole.
By the way, I never found my seat. I sat down in the wrong one. In front of me was a guy with long metal rocker hair and his Thai wife. She had a broken leg, and he had helped her up the hill.
“That’s love, that’s love right there.” Said an older gentleman next to the couple. They did seem happy. She threw her leg up on her beau’s knee and he shook his head. “asshole.” She laughed. I looked to the empty seat beside me that was not the same empty seat that I paid for.
At the time, I’d bought two tickets, thinking I might find a girl who’d want to join me by the time the concert rolled around and forgetting that I was basically still hopeless with women at that point in my life.
The next thing that happened is that the band came on. “Welcome to a hot date with King Crimson.” I had to laugh at that.
Then this twenty something dingus showed up in front of me. “You’re in my seat!” He said, with the indignation of a nazi intent on identifying my jewishness.
I said nothing, slowly got up, dropped my phone, spent a few extra moments scrambling to pick it up, and moved to try to find where my real seat was.
By the way, I never found my seat. I ended up standing the whole show, which to be honest, was way better anyway. When they played ‘Cat Food’ I was captivated because it was a song that I never expected to hear live by the band that wrote it. Easily the highlight for me, even more than all their most famous tracks, because for me that song is Quintessential King Crimson.
I remember as we all filed out after the show ended, there was this pale skinned goth girl that took a good long look at me and I at her. If I had to guess, she was a screenwriter. I thought, there’s a kindred spirit, but perhaps too kindred. Keep on moving. I went to the bathroom and took a piss. Then I went back to my friend’s house and crashed on his couch.
In the morning, I boarded a plane for Bangkok, and went back to the Land of Smiles.
Death seed blind man’s greed
Poets’ starving children bleed
Nothing he’s got he really needs
Twenty first century schizoid man!
