1. The horse stampedes and rages
Dashboard Hula Woman was listening to Skid Row long before she understood what horse was.
What she knew was Steven Adler’s drumming made her body vibrate in irrefutable ways. It was like watching your breath float away into a freezing, moonlit sky, or the feeling of clean sheets against skin. No. It was like—
She remembers getting drunk and shaving her head, the reverberation of the electric razor against her skull, the lightness. A bare scalp against a cool pillow & sleepdiving backward from the stage into a thousand upraised arms.
2. The transducer will seduce ya
Hula was a browner version of Janet Weiss, and had the white underwear to prove it.
She was 16 the first time she saw Dr. Frank throw the switch. She didn’t know the moves, just sat in the back row of the theater in a stained green velvet jacket which reeked of Canadian Mist,
huffing amyl nitrite when her date passed it to her, then letting him put hickeys on her neck, which would be hard to cover later.
She wondered why nothing he did to her seemed like very much fun.
3. Just put me in a wheelchair and get me to the show
In the end—actually the beginning—she was seduced by Jesus, stopped smoking weed, and became a shiny toy some of her friends admired.
She rolled her hips, but trust me, it was a clean show. Nothing else had lit her fire. She wasn’t even sure she had anything hot and melty inside. Still—
she listened to Bad Brains, knew a guy who had been punched in the face at a Black Flag show. Sometimes she scrawled Hula Ramone on her notebooks, but felt sedated.
Later she discovered she did in fact possess some fury of her own.
4. Corrosion of Conformity
My god, remember that night? That may have been the moment. The reefer, the deafening crush, a man desperate for her. She was splendid and terrible in her power.
They shut down the Brewery not long after that, and it would be another decade before Hula punched somebody in the face. Then another few years before she did it with skill.
5. r/evolution & human juices
There’s a certain violence to love, don’t you think? Sometimes you want to crush someone, eat them up. D.H. loved women that way, and men, both gods and fledgelings. There is the power of life in her kiss, death behind her teeth.
Student of weeds and crows, Lisa Creech Bledsoe is a hiker, beekeeper, and writer living in the Western North Carolina mountains. She has two books of poetry, Appalachian Ground (2019), and Wolf Laundry (2020), and poems out in Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, Softblow, Waterwheel Review, Otoliths, and Lammergeier, among others. She can be found online at AppalachianGround.com.