| dewy decimal |
2004-01-13 - 5:45 a.m.
At the concert, it is a fucking humidor. I am folding in the mass of bodies. In the swarming frenzy. One thousand literal breaths amassed in the air; expanding thick and hazy, holding us like a summer fog. I am expecting so much.
Then I am startled by a song.
In the fire and noise of hell's protest, a chill arrests my senses. And I'm throwing my bony limbs outward, just to let go. Just to grab freedom by its whipping tail at the very last minute.
I'm in the beast's gut and it's passing me through like a pill until I'm smashed up against (suprise!) "Charms", skinny as all hell with an olive windbreaker in this furious heat. But my body is so smashed against his that it pulverises any cheap thrill that I may have gotten.
I look up to the stage that is shooting songs, lights, and fevers.
And I'm demanding, in my most convincing voice, "Sing me a song you beautiful fucking bastard!"
*****