Intro

    Will has probably never been a Bhodisattva. He is instead, I think, the current incarnation of a Hindu visionary mystic - the sort of serene and holy lunatic accostomed to dancing and goofing on the backs of jeweled elephants - a kind of come-as-you-are saintly type - almost remembering his brown burnt days spent reciting the holy "OM" on the straw dusted mats of approaching eternity - when no-one knew what year it was and the question on everyone's lips was, "How shall I stop asking?" He could easily remember it all now as he sits cross-legged and skinny on a pile of square pillows. But instead he leans over his bass guitar and makes vaguely rhythmic sounds that ring completely un-musical to the Western ear. "We need some riffs, man," he says. And he's right. And I mean riffs, man, riffs - the raw meat of rock 'n' roll. We need the sonic blast of the exploding primal essence - that beautiful sound of God's hammer colliding with the planets in infinite space. I mean Bodron, man - The Sound of Thunder. The brutality truth-wreck of some illiterate poet's guitar hiaku - a perfect and insane electric noise...the discreet, complete, and incredibly loud sound of everything happening at once. It's all so cool when you have riffs. It's also a lot harder than it looks. It's much easier to plan the tour. So we duck out quick to buy a copy of Maximum Rock 'n' Roll thinking (wrongly) that it will list clubs in the cities we want to visit. So there we are at Will's kitchen table tracing our fingers over different parts of the same atlas like ancient long-haired rival warlords arguing over how best to invade the Empire and we can't even imagine what those finger paths really represent. And I think, "Does Van Halen do it this way?" And the truth is they probably do. And then everything stops short and BANG! roaaars off into the ever-present moment and I feel instantaneously that I am at the center of everything and all is in a reeling motion and excitement. And suddenly I'm thinking "NOW I can THINK again." And who cares...who CARES that I have spent the last two years staggered and dull-eyed stupid in self pity and age-feeling remorse...because truthfully, and yes, it is truthfully, I have seen myself lately as the gone gray lion posing for a Save-the-Greenpeace poster while my beloved and mad-brained other halfs talk convincingly about the past as though it really happened. And they don't realize that we are making the same sad sound as the fabulous Flying Walendas thumping in dead succession to the circus floor. But I - always I and I and why no-one else? - I still want to be in a state of outrageous flight, God-fuck-it. And so I associate with this beautiful and holy crazy-man so that we can keep telling each other what lies we're going to commit - which is always the first and last step towards anything. And the big lie...the gigantic and delicious big lie of the kitchen table historic Dirt Bombs planning session is that we are a rock 'n' roll band. And we're going on a tour. But we're having some disagreement over where our tour should go. I'm thinking we should drive straight-arrow out to San Francisco because I've never been to California and so I just don't believe that there's a place where the sun always shines, the beaches are nude, and people still go to work every day (do you?). Will, however, is conversing with the little fear angel that has just landed on his shoulder. And she's telling him some scary...ooooo...scary stories about cracked radiators and broken axles on the up-side of the Rocky Mountain Range. And they are seeming more real to him than anything. So he'd much rather go south to D.C. And I'm saying, "But Will, man, who cares if we break down?" - still feeling the intoxic effects of the nude beach vision - and Will points out that it's probably legal for cops to shoot people like us out west. And he has a point. But, then, for all I know, it's probably legal for cops to shoot anyone out west. But who knows for sure and neither of us is convinced of anything. So we decide to not decide....and it really doesn't matter where we go...and it's too early for sleep...and we are still young...and I am still hungry - even though I've eaten twice...and there is still too much to get done. So we push the map aside...we take a break...and we start rehearsing our interview answers.