This is from the first draft of the book
"Luminous Pink," This an excerpt called
BACKSTAGE it is a conversation between two
of the members of the Prom Dress Militia,
the band that makes up the center of the book.
"You think I'm kidding, right?"
"No, but I do think you're being ridiculous."
"Get out."
"No, really. She's in love, Larry, she's not stoned."
"Are you sure about that? Are you sure you're sure?"
"I don't even know what you're talking about. You're pissing on the memory of a great song, it's pure and sweet and you're turning it into some kind of drug anthem."
"I'm not turning it into anything. Katrina and the Waves' 'Walking On Sunshine' is a song about the joy she feels when she's tripping."
"That's patently ridiculous."
"No, hear me out. Sunshine is a very real term for LSD, true or not true?"
"Where are you going with thi-"
"Gwen darling, really, just answer the question. True or not true?"
"Okay, in some cases, I have heard it to be true."
"Alright. Good. Now. I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I'm sure - things that aren't clear in the lucid part of reality come into sharp and beautiful contrast under the influence of acid. Think about Tim Leary and Ken Kesey, not to mention Castaneda or, oh, Jim Lilly. But I just can't wait till the day when you knock on my door - She's waiting for her man, just like Lou Reed was, and the fact that maybe there's a bit of that ole hetero love going on there as well just adds a bit of - hey, I didn't say she wasn't into her dealer, I just said that's not the central theme of the song, alright? - anyway, it just adds some spice to what's already a stewing little emotion. Now every time I go for the mailbox, gotta hold myself down, Cos I just can't wait till you write me you're coming around - Um, I don't know, maybe she's getting her stuff by mail order and she's boinking the mailman or something."
"Larry, sweetie, you are so stretching here."
"Yeah, well anyway. Suddenly the music builds, and since the entire procurement and ingestion sequence has to be condensed into a three minute pop song, we fast forward to the first ecstatic rush of a glorious new high - And I'm walking on sunshine, whoa-ho, I'm walking on sunshine, whoa-ho, I'm walking on sunshine, and it's starting to feel good! Hey! Alright, now, it's starting to feel good! Hey! Yeah."
"Let me officially state for the record right this moment that I am not yet convinced."
"Oh, come on, Gwen. This is so obvious, I can't believe no one's thought of this before. I used to think maybe you loved me, now I know that it's true - more of that lucidness in ecstasy business - see, part of this is a fashion thing, remember she had the skinny flood jeans that came down to the top of her ankles, and then she had those Converse high top sneakers, and with the mullet and the lumberjack sweater, see, Katrina Leskanich perfectly crossed the Mod-Rocker divide, thus portending a new era of peace for all who dared to follow her rare vision and energy. But she knew how difficult this message of peace was really going to be - But I don't wanna spend my whole life just a-waiting for you - but still, she knows it, she knows this is the real thing, she knows that this is the real door of perception through which she can actually find real enlightenment - Now I don't want you back for a weekend, not back for a day, Cos baby I just want you back, and I want you to stay - once she passes through her little epiphany door, once the mods and the rockers coalesce, congeal, whatever, into one beautiful gelatinous popular mass, she never wants to have to come back into the dark ages of non-knowledge, of unenlightenment, y'know? It's a real subversive little song, there, if you think about it."
"The time you have wasted thinking about this is positively boggling to me. I mean, I'm impressed I guess, but Geezus H., Larry."
"Gwen, Gwen, Gwen, how can I explain how close you really are to seeing what the white-hot light of truth really is?"
"I'm not nearly high enough to get where you're going with this whole thing. How did we start having this conversation, anyway?"
"I know, I can tell in your pretty little oddly shaped eyes, you want to believe it, see, they're not all about girls and boys, right."
"What's wrong with my eyes?"
"Oh, nothing, they're just a little slanted and it makes you look . . . like . . ."
"Like what?"
"Like, well . . . "
"If you need any more rope, I'll happily provide it . . ."
"Well, you do look really beautiful. Your eyes, I mean. They're just this much exotic, and well, I'm not hitting on you, I'm just saying you're really gorgeous."
"Good save, Larry. Now, what's not?"
"What's not about what?"
"What's not all about girls or boys?"
"Oh, right, sorry, I meant pop songs, not all pop songs are about girls or boys or teenage angst or getting laid or getting up the nerve to talk to the prettiest girl in the room, you know? Some songs are about other things, like the world going to hell, or hating your job, or, or, or . . ."
" . . . or tripping on acid and telling the world about it in code?"
"Well, yeah, among other things, you know."
Gwen smiled. "Whatever."
"So?"
"So... what?"
"Do you feel the love?"
Gwen smiled. "I feel the love."
"You feel the love!"
"I feel the love. It's really real."
"You feel the love?"
"I feel the love, I feel the love, it's really real, I'm on sunshine, baby, Whoa!"
They danced around the table, high on the music in their heads.
