Did The Rock Star Kiss Your Mom Goodnight?

Within the pages of Rock's best kept secrets lay the lines that connect musicians with their fans. Not just any athletic supporter but the keeper of the key hole. The bending over of hard driving guitar licks, pounding drum solos and bass beats that stain white sheets of paper with lyrics of confession. I was kind of jealous that my Mom wasn't born in the age of Metal with its finest late night hours. Through her I learned of music. Beside her I'd sing in ways that painted the horizons unperfected edge. Sliced from the soul of a secrets biggest wish might have been the push. The hand that exposes the real world of music to those whose vow is to keep it fresh. Rocks that rolled, rooms that spun, doors that opened when the musicians were done. I'm not talking Groupies but rather hard core fans of Rock that happen to lose what rightfully belonged to someone else. But...inside the sliver of a creative river the steps leading upward opened the attic giving off every reason for time to stand still. The unrehearsed, "Yes..." when you meant, "No..." But then again who'll ever know? Sought are the paths of innocence. The undocumented of what feels like an embarrassment; chapters stuffed into a metal cabinet locked in a heart assumed un-telling. Until the day your Mother begins to say, "Do you know?" How many best friends still hide from the ride that poked them through to the other side? To the grave does it grow or do the decisions so often accused of being a different you...fade from the page like pencil sketches scratched rather than penetrated into the promise of a better tomorrow? I would love to read the stories based on the discovery of being the shape barely lit by a bathroom light while the mask of the Rock God falls from its protective grace. The mark of a favorite songs now a scar. The grip of what it must be like to live but only for a moment. To send not shivers into the air of maybe or might but physical presence of Rock's darkest shadow as seen by the tips of a naked eye. If your Mother had been with Gene Simmons of KISS would you hold it against her? Would you want to know why? Is it your right to her privacy? She speaks so softly upon the arrival of the Rock to which he crosses. The scent of leather pants wipes from her tears reasons to turn away. Captivated the release of vocal tones and harmonies all that falls witness does so through unknowing. Unless the keeper of the secret begins to undress. I bring this up because of a Rollingstone Magazine story written about Slash being caught off guard the day he walked in on his mom naked in bed with David Bowie, Slash now says he is "embarrassed" by the tale and is trying to downplay any dirty deeds between the pair. Openly he admits, "It was a very casual conversation with somebody on the phone in Australia that I had no idea was going to get blown up. It became this big headline and it was very awkward. I'm embarrassed because I'm sure David didn't appreciate it... And my mum, rest in peace, probably wouldn't have dug it either." I can respect that. But what does that say about how he could have once played? I can't say that he did but if he did and her name was that of your mother. Would you be the same respectful way? Or would it be on the book called Face? Slash also dispelled any notion of controversy about the incident. "All it was: they dated for awhile, which is common knowledge," he said. "All I said was there was one occasion where I happened to walk into the bedroom when they weren't fully dressed... That was it. It wasn’t anything more lewd than that. End of story." What if your Mother's best kept secret went beyond a wish? And she actually lived? What would you write? Or is it your right? arroe@arroe.net