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| PAGE0002 'BLOOD OF ROCK'N ROLL'� - PART I PEARLCOPPER� Mark Spiewak - PEARLCOPPER PROLOGUE The legend was retaining its peak - found main structure of his 'Rhythm of Time' symphony that shocked the world. He took it with him on the road, where he always heard a voice of legendary guitar. Most of guitar performances he did at old cathedral. It was huge, medival building with modern sites around. Structure of the building was what shocked his creative senses. Most of guitar performances he did at cathedral - days and nights, and the years to come; there in his imaginations and on the stage. It was that loud and magnificent. It was a vision of sound - form of soundscape - piece of art. ***����������������������������������������������������������������������������� 'Who the fuck you are?' - He heard astonishing voice of a drunk motherfucker. His, or someone's, voice echoing across the hall of a loft building. The building was built way before Communists came to power in north part of that magnificient city. By the time he opened his eyes and rolled sideways to see someone, or to see the sound, the door on the right side of a hallway was being closed. Then the light was turned off with the silence prolonged through the ages. ***����������������������������������������������������������������������������� ��� It was night. And it was brightest night ever on the open field of ocean. The half-anchored, massive ship was heading slowly to a little island in north-west part of mysterious ocean. The Vikings were asleep after exausting rituals and ceremonies with Celts at Stonehenge, England. It was a long, Festival of Spirits, gathering at which human, mostly slaves, and animal sucrifices were made to gods of war and justice. Athena, as only remained slave from slaughtering, of fourty-six of them from Mesopotania, was sitting on the upper deck of the ship with chains on and clothes ripped off. She picked the flower from the sea and holded It high to the sky. The light spreat above the sky, and shined on some chosen at night. Some of them already sliced and burned to ashes in rituals. Their innocent blood, mixed with sperm, women's eggs and fetous, drunken. The light was so strong, it blinded anyone who would close his or her eyes. ������ ***���������������������������������������������������������������������������� The music can touch people, just like the painting of something. For let it be the painting of two young wolves, watching after tired and sleeping, traveling musician. He'd be, and, or actually really is, sleeping under the tree at night...freezing one. And this is where the legend of symbolic wolf and Rock'n Roll is approaching Its peak. Even way before Rock'n Roll revolution in 1960's. For Rock'n Roll is everywhere where someone is. Also, Rock'n Roll is made alive everywhere someone goes. For it's always a part, piece by piece, someone adds to It - to the wheel of Rock'n Roll - as to legend...sacred one. And roaming and rolling raw. For the night before... ���������������������������������������������������������������������������� . |
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