Hexxt On Wheelz 2: Eclectic Boog-A-Loo!

Sunday morning. I wake up on the floor wrapped in my rug for warmth. The CD player is still on, it's been looping Death In Vegas's Scorpio Rising since four or five in the morning when I crash landed into sleep after wrestling my way out of a vicious tornado of bed spins. Two Gorillas have used my skull as a Honeymoon suite and it's only when I hit the toliet and i'm washing the ashtray out of my mouth that I start to remember.
Turn the clocks back.
Spring forward
fall back.
Bye-bye Rob and hello Jack!
It's been over a year since I stood here. Not in this space but in this situation. Cases slung over my shoulder, gripped in my hand, phones around the neck & butterfly stew cooking in the guts. I look up at the booth, the Pulpit. New club, new space, new boss...same old song. It's a few minutes to ten and everybodys hustling around me. Getting lights up, putting out snacks, last minute adjustments, fixing the projector and trying to connect the electronics up. Just like Jay & I in the old days, running around trying to put out a hundred little fires that seem to always pop up minutes before you open. I pop up in the pulpit to see what i'm working with. I twiddle and adjust the dials. I check the channels. Every system is different but theres usually more similarities than not. I get 'it' down pretty quick much to my surprise. I step down and take in the geography of were i'm working. The space itself is beautiful. It's not a night club though, it's more like a speak easy with serious opium den potentail. The door to the space is symbolic of it's clintelle. The door is plain, unassuming sitting stacked in a row down Spring, it could be a print shop or a real estate office closed for the weekend. But once you step in, you strip down & mount up. Inhibitions are dropped off at the coat check, a catacomb of little rooms each offering little delicacies of punishment & vice. I'm a diplomat from another country here. I'm not one of the locals but i've been granted a visa via the music. I climb up to the booth were the proprietor is fiddling with wires & laptops to get the movie screen going. I have time for a smoke to kill the jitters, to steady the hand. I pour half my flask in a red plastic cup mix it with diet coke. Nutra sweet & Caffeinated, song possibilities still buzzing in my head like static. The lights go down and there is nothing but a purple glow and a blue screen along the wall in front of me. I climb the steps to the booth. My discs are all spread around me. I cue up my first song. Take a sip off my drink. breathe deep from the gut. I hold my breath and clearing my thoughts is like blowing dust off an old book. I exhale and hit PLAY.


( Playlist )

Much love and respect to 000100010001 for inviting me, to 111011101110 for using his Jedi mind powers on me while I was drunk and getting me to agree to spinning ;), to ozgolith for letting me play in his sandbox, to liam_mysteriis & DJ Aesthetic (whose LJ I don't know off hand) for putting up with my sheninagans & laying down a great set after mine was done. I hope those of you that showed had a good time, I know I sure did. Who knows maybe i'll get over my shyness more often and give it another whirl?

Just another story to tell

The sunlight glows red behind my closed lids. Traffic music all around me: Engine bass & brakes that hit with the urgency of a saxophone. A bird is singing somewhere above me, theres a breeze gently unbuttoning my attitude, telling me to hop out of my ego and jump bone naked into the bed of the world. I open my eyes and the city rises out of the highway ribbons like a gate, like the broken teeth of an Irish smile, like a simile without a poem. The hangover has settled into a warm fuzziness around my eyes. I head back down Wesley Dobbs & glide up & over to the Highland Bakery which ironically sits by the CHURCH OF BREAD. I'm delightfully invisible right now, the aches in my muscle have given way to a warm numbness. I drift down the trail, stop arbitraily, hop off my ride and take a seat in the waves of grass around me. I look over and only a few yards away from me is a collapsed lump of rags with a bare ass showing through. Just another abandoned soul who sleeps here because he has no where else to go.
I close my eyes again and let everything go red again.
( Just another story to tell )

Come back....

Sunday and standing on the porch sharing a smoke. Her silver Kimono seems to glow under the night sky. The cherry on her cigarette burns as bright as the satellites & stars above. I repress an urge to shiver and look up longingly.
"You didn't tell me about Friday" she says.
"It was alright" I shrug. Truth be known i'd rather hear about your day but ROME is on in a few minutes. So I flick my cigarette all the way up to the Orion Belt, and for a second there I know it'll reach, and when it does it'll orbit there forever. A tiny orange star, a cigarette that never goes out.

I took my bike all the way up Ponce, maneuvering in and out of the crazies, the potholes & other sundry traps laid out across the city. I carried a wrestling mask in my back pocket for the costume contest. I arrived early, got in free and sat around nursing a Jack & diet coke. The night air and excercise put me in a good mood. I remember thinking about someone else. I remember how she broke my heart into a hundred pieces and those pieces kept on beating blood to fucked up head. But each piece of that broken heart had it's own beat, it's own rhythm now, different from the other pieces. But I taught myself to make music out of those competing cadences. I learned to stop wearing my lonliness like a life sentence. Instead I wore my solitude like a cripple would wear a sportscar. No one here yet but me and the staff. I smile with each sip, each drag, each shadow shift along the bars surface.

"Come inside" you say your eyes sparkling like those stars above "It's cold out"