Confessions of a Fuck-Up Artist
Apr. 4th, 2015 03:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonJust another Friday Night Vampire Country Rendezvous. Rallied up at the Cafe Perilous with the Magpie and Bob Dracula. Around them sat a flock of geisha eyed and tattooed vampiras who giggled as children giggle when they first learn how to play with matches.
They were ahead of me drink wise so I did my best to catch-up.
The plan was for us to sneak into this show next door. An aerial dance interpretation of Dante'S Inferno. "Come hear angels' trumpets and devils' trombones" and all that. Which is exactly what we did, cloaked by my companions unflappable confidence we snagged seats way up in the Gods while the doorman struggled to articulate a gasp. On stage 'prutty' aerialists dangled from loops, snapped whips, clown tumbled, weaved provocatively while trapeze perched, or simply plummeted down tangles of white silk before landing with feline grace.
Needless to say after the show everyone was amped up on the performance.
I mean Jesus Christ, a decent, law-abiding church-jockey can only look at lithe, ram horn crowned youths and goat-toe packed lycra spread open to the heavens before something in them snaps. But when you put up such a spectacle before a crew of experienced deviants and there's no end to the inspired mayhem to come.
It was too much, even for us and the only solution was to hit the Yacht for the Nosferatu Disco to do a little dancing of our own.
At this point folks have come from all over the city to see the Magpie or at least hitch a ride on his whirlwind for a few hours. Some old friends, some new, laughing, goofing, talking shit, dancing, drinking, spending a few dwindling moments on the illusion of our immortality.
Or at least that's what I did.
I got drunk, I got high, and then I got down. Danced the way I write I suppose, clumsy, wild, and with a sprinkling of grace in between. Danced to the Stones and the Violent Femmes, to the Jackson Five and Queen. Danced theatrically, danced stupid, danced dapper and danced blind.
It's been way too long since I last danced. New Year's Eve I think. Same place, same DJ, same crew when I did. Men living as loud as the thunder to come, women who you can't stop looking at even hours after they're gone.
Finally, after exhausting myself, I managed to bum a ride from Elvis and Kat. Got home. Stripped down to boxers and bare gut. Collapsed on the bed. Lit up a cigarette just as the rain opened up across the roof.
Just another Friday Night Vampire Country Rendezvous I suppose and I much obliged for each one it is mine to part of.
They were ahead of me drink wise so I did my best to catch-up.
The plan was for us to sneak into this show next door. An aerial dance interpretation of Dante'S Inferno. "Come hear angels' trumpets and devils' trombones" and all that. Which is exactly what we did, cloaked by my companions unflappable confidence we snagged seats way up in the Gods while the doorman struggled to articulate a gasp. On stage 'prutty' aerialists dangled from loops, snapped whips, clown tumbled, weaved provocatively while trapeze perched, or simply plummeted down tangles of white silk before landing with feline grace.
Needless to say after the show everyone was amped up on the performance.
I mean Jesus Christ, a decent, law-abiding church-jockey can only look at lithe, ram horn crowned youths and goat-toe packed lycra spread open to the heavens before something in them snaps. But when you put up such a spectacle before a crew of experienced deviants and there's no end to the inspired mayhem to come.
It was too much, even for us and the only solution was to hit the Yacht for the Nosferatu Disco to do a little dancing of our own.
At this point folks have come from all over the city to see the Magpie or at least hitch a ride on his whirlwind for a few hours. Some old friends, some new, laughing, goofing, talking shit, dancing, drinking, spending a few dwindling moments on the illusion of our immortality.
Or at least that's what I did.
I got drunk, I got high, and then I got down. Danced the way I write I suppose, clumsy, wild, and with a sprinkling of grace in between. Danced to the Stones and the Violent Femmes, to the Jackson Five and Queen. Danced theatrically, danced stupid, danced dapper and danced blind.
It's been way too long since I last danced. New Year's Eve I think. Same place, same DJ, same crew when I did. Men living as loud as the thunder to come, women who you can't stop looking at even hours after they're gone.
Finally, after exhausting myself, I managed to bum a ride from Elvis and Kat. Got home. Stripped down to boxers and bare gut. Collapsed on the bed. Lit up a cigarette just as the rain opened up across the roof.
Just another Friday Night Vampire Country Rendezvous I suppose and I much obliged for each one it is mine to part of.