November 29, 2013 § 1 Comment
“A big machine always moves slow.” Desaparecidos – Anonymous
To hear that music was to feel the hope again. To feel anything, again. I feel myself ticking over again. Fits and starts. Hope. I could whittle on and over complicate the explanation of this feeling to my hearts content, I will get no more accurate. Hope and youth. That sugar rush burst you feel over your arms. The bright lights in the dark and the rolling, inescapable drums, movement, everywhere. It makes you move like a drunk. Talk like a drunk, think, walk and drink like a drunk. It’s beautiful. It really is. A whole generation lucky enough to take a break from screens and dole ques to find themselves here, together, tonight.
Who knows about the morning? It’s a whole lifetime away. Right now is blood dance freedom. Right now is motorcycle happiness. Right now how we wish we could always be. A pulsating mass of noise and very little sense. A nice break from being asleep at the wheel. A million graduates on minimum wage, lied to before but lit up tonight. Do they care? In the long stays at their parents houses? Yes. Tonight? They don’t have a care in the world. The safety is off and it’s all wondering and stray dog freedom. The noise comes in waves and sways and spills across the floor. I’ll might just be ok tonight.
It’ll all be fine.
November 8, 2013 § Leave a comment
“Make a mess when we pitch our tents on the State house steps. Now we’re taking it, now we’re taking it back for the greater good, god dam Robin Hoods.” – Desparecidos – The Left is Right.
Sometimes it comes on strong and you just have to go with it. The choice is gone and your more than happy to lie down for it. I’ve always thought that the best cons in the world take place when the conned party knows that it is the conned party. There’s no surprises there. No alarms. They have accepted that this is just something that is going to happen, and they make their peace with it. The con man knows as well as they do and there’s nothing anyone wants to do. Nothing that will be done. You feel yourself getting brave. Like your waking up again. Waking from a rancid, dull sleep of peace. Asking for angst and pleading for madness again. You feel the desperation wash over you and it’s cool and cold and calm and refreshing. It’s not that it’s a pleasant feeling, it’s not that it’s a desirable feeling, it’s that it is a feeling. It’s a feeling being felt for the first time in a long time. Even one as sharp and unforgiving as desperation. It’s just nice to have something covering the veins. Something more. Something that is an extension of this routine. Something I’ve been missing.
It started at first with fits and starts. Like the old engine in an used car turning over for the first time in years. Spluttering and reluctant as that chunky expired petrol rattles around the pistons and pipes. I know how this particular story ends. The key takes. The spark hits and old petrol lights up just as good as the new stuff. The engine bursts into life. It’s thunder and noise and vibration and movement from the age old stillness. It’s a dusty brick through a plain glass window. It’s an old match found and struck. It’s a reaction at long last.