LET IT BE UNDERSTOOD that I am not the kind of guy to just throw himself at the feet of any woman who asks me to. Oh no. I had certain priorities, even then. My one overriding priority was the music. Night after night, club after club, I’d be on the floor banging my head, joining the mosh, throwing myself into the pogo. Even the odd moonstomp, just for a change of pace.
Being the student of mysticism that I was, I’d developed a theory that headbanging was akin to a mystical experience, when done properly. Sort of like the whirling dervishes, or any other trance-inducing activity. Think about it – your head’s bouncing up and down in time to some hellishly fast beat, your brain (already in shock from alcohol poisoning and dehydration) rattling around inside your skull. Alcohol (at the very
