Saturday, October 18, 2003
today should be a nice day
once around the block takes 10 minutes. a small gathering of fans. channel 5 news and a league of sore losers. a man psst-ing us from behind a wall -- he waves us closer. we keep walking.
"was that for me?"
we are #2 in line. boyfriend/girlfriend duo in black chucks stand, smirking. i smile. concrete step and soft, barely recognizable vibrations filter through locked doors. she doesn't fall through. remarks on cat ears, forgotten IDs and Ben Gibbard hair. third in line wears red chucks. black - black - red. broken pattern?
upfront to the right, no barrier. i can touch their feet as they try to keep balance. almost knocked out by a guitar and mic stand. i'm on my toes. his hands and wrists mesmorizingly moving over strings. i count chords. i keep a running tab of images -- the must not forgets of audio-visual failures and strengths. mostly i look at other people's faces.
plastic shot glasses with dime-sized dozes of intoxication. almost toppling lemonade liquor balances on the edge of a speaker. i keep waiting for it to topple -- stop the show. get a mop. rock on. kiss on the cheek more sexual than touching tongues.
ugly boys hide faces with pretty hair. you're in the band pity fucks. i want to live on the road. hide in the glove compartment just for the ride. no rock, just ride.
there's a screen of fake stars and the light show is almost as hypnotizing. perfect timing.
he's blonde and she thinks of me. he's blonde and i think he's mine. he's blonde and that's not my type. i still want to lick the sweat from his neck and feel him hard against my inner thigh. this is more than groupie sex -- i want to take part of him home, so that way i dont' feel as gyped afterwards. not as empty.
"they're a super band." and the way they pump through their set and the way he plays bass gives me the impression that i'll feel miserable after the show. i'll want more but the house lights will go up. there's nothing i can do. i'll take him and him. fucking to forget. fucking to remember.
they were so much better than my expectations.
¶ 9:33 AM
|
once around the block takes 10 minutes. a small gathering of fans. channel 5 news and a league of sore losers. a man psst-ing us from behind a wall -- he waves us closer. we keep walking.
"was that for me?"
we are #2 in line. boyfriend/girlfriend duo in black chucks stand, smirking. i smile. concrete step and soft, barely recognizable vibrations filter through locked doors. she doesn't fall through. remarks on cat ears, forgotten IDs and Ben Gibbard hair. third in line wears red chucks. black - black - red. broken pattern?
upfront to the right, no barrier. i can touch their feet as they try to keep balance. almost knocked out by a guitar and mic stand. i'm on my toes. his hands and wrists mesmorizingly moving over strings. i count chords. i keep a running tab of images -- the must not forgets of audio-visual failures and strengths. mostly i look at other people's faces.
plastic shot glasses with dime-sized dozes of intoxication. almost toppling lemonade liquor balances on the edge of a speaker. i keep waiting for it to topple -- stop the show. get a mop. rock on. kiss on the cheek more sexual than touching tongues.
ugly boys hide faces with pretty hair. you're in the band pity fucks. i want to live on the road. hide in the glove compartment just for the ride. no rock, just ride.
there's a screen of fake stars and the light show is almost as hypnotizing. perfect timing.
he's blonde and she thinks of me. he's blonde and i think he's mine. he's blonde and that's not my type. i still want to lick the sweat from his neck and feel him hard against my inner thigh. this is more than groupie sex -- i want to take part of him home, so that way i dont' feel as gyped afterwards. not as empty.
"they're a super band." and the way they pump through their set and the way he plays bass gives me the impression that i'll feel miserable after the show. i'll want more but the house lights will go up. there's nothing i can do. i'll take him and him. fucking to forget. fucking to remember.
they were so much better than my expectations.
¶ 9:33 AM
|
