| dewy decimal |
2003-05-06 - 6:47 p.m.
We meet again for another Birthday, another day to celebrate someone we care for who has crossed another pseudo finish line in one of hopefully many preliminary races, last night was Lee�s. (Everet. Jon. Jacky. Kevin. Astra. Lee. I.) We were there to celebrate the idea of time, its fragile nature, the understanding of its limits and rewards. I drink to dilute my unrelenting awareness.
It�s Cinco de Mayo, the bar is humming lowly with the conversations of a barely noticeable crowd.
M**** and R**** give me kisses, cryptic sexual invitations. I decline, they receed.
My friends and I move through the space marked by soft lights that doze on the empty barstools, and the shadow-painted faces of columns that hide behind the rest of their mass and is being visited by the attention of the moonlight. We dance, drink, charm, and listen. The cadence dips into our recollection of the 80�s, faces turn upon one another, Astra�s request has been granted. I can tell Lee�s a little toasty. His birthday has rolled itself out into a seat of drunken confidence. I look at my watch, it�s about 1:30 and his day of homage has technically retired. All the same we dance. Astra spins. John pushes the floor with his feet, the music with his hips. And in this moment, I allow myself to believe that life is dancing, that birthdays are regressive. And we are dancing ourselves back into the womb.