Low - Dark

The title’s more pornographic than intended, but I’ve been on a helpless shoegazing binge these past few days. With talk (very, very nervous talk stateside) of China’s space industry advancements, my mind naturally wandered to my favorite space station, Souvlaki. Slowdive never grabbed me by the horns. Instead they always flirted with promises of eyelid kisses until I found my lashes almost touching (something partially lost in their move to Mojave 3). Then, yesterday, I found a reason to be afraid of the dark when some jackass’s vomit splashed onto my shoes at a local gig. I looked at my blemished laces with a vengeful eye as the bastard slurred, “Hey, it could be worse. At least you weren’t wearing your Cons…”

This is for you, Mr. I’m Too Scene To Hold My Alcohol.

Slowdive - Dagger

I live in a beautiful state with beautiful people and beautiful weather. I am not a beautiful state. I am a maelstrom of angst in fitted jeans and a closet full of Polo shirts from a few years back that Spin wrote I should be ashamed of. I’m late to the Girl Talk show, or the Wolf Eyes show, or whatever. Was it Wolf Parade? Wolf Eyes? My friend told me Wolf something? Maybe he meant a song; maybe it’s Duran Duran. Maybe it’s TV On the Radio. Shit, it’s electroclash night and 80s night, too, and I said I’d meet the guys for a PBR beforehand. Okay, time to think. I can easily venue hop between the three with a Talking Heads t-shirt and a Depeche Mode wristband. Wait, Talking Heads or The Smiths? Will Moz know if I put him back in the closet? I didn’t mean that in a “gay” way. Did he hear that? Moz, if you heard that, I don’t think you’re gay, but this Smiths shirt is maroon and it won’t really show up under the black lights. Talking Heads and Depeche Mode it is.

I’m a mile from the venue and my bike’s rear tire is leaking air. I want to pedal harder, but I don’t want to sweat. Why did I wear two vests? It’s October in Florida! Shut up. Come on, you know the saying: no pain, no complaining about how you’re in pain. Well, maybe I can take off some layers for the ride over. Oh no (oh my)! Now it looks as though David Byrne is sweating. David Byrne does not sweat. “The world is full of noise, yeah / I hear it all the time.” I should not pant; it will contribute to the noise pollution and I’ll be just bad as those Exxon tycoons killing seals from when I was four. I’m no seal killer.

It’s getting late. The show has started. I should have eaten something after Krishna Lunch. Drinking that bottle of homemade wine was a bad idea. I’m hungry like the Wolf Parade and David Byrne looks awful plastered against my wiry frame. I told Athena I had my nipples pierced and now she knows I lied, and that I made David Byrne sweat. She’d said yes when I asked if she wanted to cry with me at the Xiu Xiu concert next week, but now she’s walking over to Zach and something tells me I’ve blown it. Where are the guys? The girl who works at the thrift store keeps looking at me. She’s holding a Red Stripe. Maybe I can buy her a drink, maybe I can get a discount off my next purchase, maybe she won’t be shallow. She’ll overlook my sweat and mess and tussled hair and think me a trendsetter. Wait, grunge is dead, isn’t it? She’s so pretty. We’re meant to be together. I know it. We could have a Killers poster outside our walk-in closet, and share each other’s pants, and fight about whether Bonnie Billy and Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy are the same guy. Hey, didn’t he have a wolf song, too? Wolves something? Maybe he’s up next! This is SO my night! Two PBRs, please. It’s all uphill from here…

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