Brenda Perlin - Punk Rocker

Published by arrangement with BlossomingPress

Copyright 2016 by Brenda Perlin

Copyright for each story is held by theindividual authors and/or publishers.

Burn Zone excerpts reprinted with permission:Jorge P. Newbery; Community Books, L.L.C.

All rights reserved. No part of thispublication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by anymeans, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,or by any information storage and retrieval system, withoutpermission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance ofcharacters to actual persons, living or dead, is purelycoincidental.

Cover design by Steven Novak

Photographs Brenda Perlin |BlossomingPress.com

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This is for all the young punks who were asmisunderstood as I was.

Thank you to the people who have shared theirstories in Punk Rocker and to my friends who were by my side duringthis time period.

Gratitude to KS Brooks and Stephen Hise ofIndies Unlimited. Their support of authors is beyond measure.

MAB, my Spartan warrior princess, workstirelessly on all of my projects with grace and finesse. She goesfar and beyond to help me no matter what the subject matter happensto be.

Mark Barry pulled these stories out of me. Hegave me the motivation and enthusiasm to go back to my punk days.Something I wasnt sure I wanted to do. He has made this more funfor me than I could have imagined.

Many thanks to the BILLY IDOL Female FansWorldwide #BIFFWW for their friendship and support.

To Ron, my significant other and best friend.He has more than tolerated the endless Billy Idol, Scott Weilandand David Bowie talk. He is my prince!

All my books are dedicated to my love ofreading, enhanced greatly after I discovered the hypnotic writingof Pat Conroy.

Brenda Perlin | BlossomingPress.com

David Bowie

The Thin White Duke 76

A Dedication

by

Brenda Perlin

I wake up this icy January morning to see theunimaginable: The words #RIP David Bowie typed all over my socialmedia.

My heart deflates. All I could think was ohno!!!! Not Bowie. Not him. No. Not yet. We are not ready to losehim. To me and all those who loved him David Bowie wasimmortal. He was supposed to grow old gracefully and with style. Hewould have, too. A hundred-year-old Bowie would have beenbrilliant. Still not conforming. Standing out in a way only TheThin White Duke could.

I thought back to one stellar point in time.Summer 1983. We had just made it backstage at the US Festival inSan Bernardino. Susie, my best friend, had a sister withconnections in the music business and generously, she sharedbackstage passes with us. We didnt have to be away from theaction, crowded amongst sweaty fans and caked in mud while burningin the summer heat. We were the lucky ones.

As we made our way around the bandstrailers, we spotted a small commotion to our right. Beingstar-struck teenagers, we needed to discover what the fuss was allabout and, thankfully, we did. Within seconds, there we stood.Right. Next. To. David. Bowie. To most, he was an icon. To us, hewas OUR hero. I wasnt even able to get a word out because I lookedinto those mismatched eyes, and thought this is a day I will neverforget. This is me making history. I didnt do or say anything, butI didnt have to: My hero crossed my path, and I would never be thesame again.

Shortly after, the man took the stage, andthere we were, watching Bowie in action. Doing his thing like noone else in the world could. As he sang songs such as Star, Heroes,Golden Years, Fashion, and loads of his other greatest hits, withthe music belting from the speakers, I had goose bumps all over mybody.

After seeing him on MTV, television programsand movies, to get a glimpse of him in the flesh practically put mein shock! My emotions must have been the same ones fans had whenthey saw the Beatles in the sixties. It was electrifying.

A legend was commanding the stage. Standingdead center. With his platinum rockabilly hairstyle, donning a glampink suit with shoulder pads to the max, he stood there like a Godfrom another planet. In that moment, I believed anything waspossible. For me, that afternoon was a life-changer. He made itokay to be direct. To be different. To stand out on your own and toshine no matter what. He personified what punk rock represents. Hewas no follower, not a preacher, never boring, but a true artist inevery sense of the word.

Spaceman, may you always shine bright andbring life to Mars the way you have to Earth.

Scott Weiland

Live at Pepsi Music Stadium April 16,2007

Picture Credit: Wikimedia Commons

A Dedication

by

Jim Kavanagh

Late morning, December 4, 2015.

After my early morning coffee and traincommute into New York City, I sat in a corner office of the EmpireState Building. A magnificent southern view with the sunrisebeginning to cast a beautiful light over downtown Manhattan.

An associate stuck his head into my officeand said, Did you see Scott Weiland at the Paramount Sunday? Well,he was found dead this morning.

My first reaction was disbelief as I surfedthrough the news on my iPhone. I wasnt convinced that this storywas true and suspected it could be a hoax. As most of us haveexperienced, these mistakes are insanely common in this world ofhandheld information technology. I had been duped in the past, andbefore I let this wave of emotion and loss totally engulf me, I hadbetter be sure.

I was on a five-week safari out in the bushwith local natives in South Africa Christmas of 2013. Besides mytattoos, they loved everything to do with Americana Rap music. (Notmy genre, and not music I have listened to outside of telling mykids to turn the crap down ... Ive become my Father.)Anyway...

I was the only one with a phone sophisticatedenough to retrieve any kind of Internet signal. I was able toaccess the Internet every day while driving on a remote dirt roadentering Kruger National Park.... so, with three days left to mytrip, there was a notice on my phone that the rapper 50 Cent hadbeen killed in a violent drive-by shooting. Stunned, I shared thisnews with my native friends, only to experience long faces, tearsand hearing track-after-track of 50 Cent songs for the remainder ofmy stay. I felt horrible being the bearer of such bad news. Thesepeople were so connected to his music that it moved me to watchthem, and listen to their experiences and introduction to hismusic. I was perplexed that 50 Cent music touched all of thesepeople in the wilds of Africa. We were a body short of having areal wake, although I was honestly stunned at their appreciationand affection this music gave them.