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Now where?
Dec. 17th, 2009 12:48 amThat night we went down to Diabolique. Like any other club the low lights would allow us to pretend we would never grow old while the drink specials ensured our remaining wise beyond our years. Unlike any other club, however, I could sneak in with a plus one because the door woman owed me a favor. In the parking lot we sipped vodka straight from a bagged bottle while watching the transexual prostitues shiver in their fur lined jackets and plastic mini-skirts. One of them is wearing a red Santa Hat but it doesn't seem to be doing much for her holiday spirit. Sometimes a car would cruise crawl by for inspection and the girls would flock around the corner expectantly. Long thighs thrusted and amplified torsos arched forward, midnight meat market bargains cooed and purred. But the drivers are just window shopping tonight. We kill the bottle and make our way in.
DJ's Apophenia and Vociferious are tag teaming up in the booth. Their dropping beats that fall somewhere between trip-hop sci-fi and industrial horrorshow with a series of captured EVP's flowing off their laptops straight into the mix. There on the floor everybody dances to the language of the dead. We decide to join them but only after a drink. At the bar a few tittering catamites mingle with the drama royalty. They melt around our approach giving us a clear shot at the bartender. Two Vodka-Crans... and whatever you want, Baby. I inhale the first one down to steady my nerves and nurse the second. Just in time too. They're playing your song and playing the Orpheus to my Eurydice you lead me by the hand to the floor.
Christ, I miss when clubs let you smoke inside...
... and there you go. Dancing vertically the same as you do horizontally. All eyes on you while I shut mine. Out of the depths of the song, a wave of disembodied voices washes over me. I can't tell which are real and which are the 'dead'. It doesn't matter. By tomorrow they'll all be ghosts in my memory... and where will you be, my love?
In a ravaged bed curled deep into my arms? In your car passing the state border, finally giving a long overdue goodbye to this puddle of a scene and the job that barely pays the bills? On the rooftop of that unfinished parking lot in Mid-Town perhaps, where we'll down the last drops of Vodka and shout obscenities to the waking city?
Back home with him, maybe?
Ah, but I forget... it's already tomorrow and here you are right by my side.
DJ's Apophenia and Vociferious are tag teaming up in the booth. Their dropping beats that fall somewhere between trip-hop sci-fi and industrial horrorshow with a series of captured EVP's flowing off their laptops straight into the mix. There on the floor everybody dances to the language of the dead. We decide to join them but only after a drink. At the bar a few tittering catamites mingle with the drama royalty. They melt around our approach giving us a clear shot at the bartender. Two Vodka-Crans... and whatever you want, Baby. I inhale the first one down to steady my nerves and nurse the second. Just in time too. They're playing your song and playing the Orpheus to my Eurydice you lead me by the hand to the floor.
Christ, I miss when clubs let you smoke inside...
... and there you go. Dancing vertically the same as you do horizontally. All eyes on you while I shut mine. Out of the depths of the song, a wave of disembodied voices washes over me. I can't tell which are real and which are the 'dead'. It doesn't matter. By tomorrow they'll all be ghosts in my memory... and where will you be, my love?
In a ravaged bed curled deep into my arms? In your car passing the state border, finally giving a long overdue goodbye to this puddle of a scene and the job that barely pays the bills? On the rooftop of that unfinished parking lot in Mid-Town perhaps, where we'll down the last drops of Vodka and shout obscenities to the waking city?
Back home with him, maybe?
Ah, but I forget... it's already tomorrow and here you are right by my side.