I meant to write this all down before too much time had past, but too late, and things are hazy.
So, Saturday at the Club.
DJ No Name Bland was doing alright this time. Less pulp, more substance. And more impressively, no dropped beats. His song selection is gravitating more towards the accessible end of the Dark spectrum, and even his happier, more hardcore beats were still pretty good. Boy can't remix worth a damn, but he is finally showing some decent taste. There were no major clashes, no dance floor dump outs, and all in all pretty good. If he keeps this up, I might actually have to learn his name.
I liked his method of warming up the house. Some subtle, dare I say lounge groove at the beginning, and winding up to the more electronic sounds as the night wore on. Not bouncing back and forth like a beatmatched iPod on Random, but a series of progressively matched themes. If you are trying to please everyone, this is how you do it; let everyone in the house get their groove on for an hour or so, and those with broader tastes can work it all night.
Cast and Crew:
Malasia: A new friend of the Muse. Shes been out with us a few times now, and seems very nice. By nice, I mean a good wholesome girl, with a big ole streak of dirty running right through her middle. She is to laugh, and the light-hearted drunken bi-curiousness she brings with her is pleasantly entertaining. In reality, the Muse doesn't play that way at all, but on the floor, everyone's a bit of a showman, and my Muse knows how to milk an effect. Ah, sweet lesbianistic tendencies, surely you are a trump card in the hidden deck of wiles. Good fun, and she doesn't mind leaving us alone when things get a bit more focused.
Bookkeeper/Librarian: Both out tonight, The Librarian in her full length latex evening gown, and the Bookkeeper in a new brocaded corset and dress. It's always nice to see those two out. We don't speak, but we mutually acknowledge. The Librarian seems to have lost her toys, they tend to gather near when they want to be vulture free.
I am a vulture free zone. I have a presence that seems to affect about a ten foot radius. Generally speaking, boys do not feel comfortable dancing within the zone. They don't feel comfortable hitting on people in the zone. They don't feel comfortable sliding into the zone. There's a couple of reasons for this.
Firstly, if you're pretty much any boy dancing within a few feet of me, you're going to look like a disproportioned midget. If you are skinny, you're going to look gangly; if you're big-boned, you're going to look fat. I'm not saying I'm all that, but I will say I look exactly as I should. Anything you've got that's out of whack will seem exaggerated.
Secondly, there is no free space around me where one might pop in unannounced. I'm using all of it. It looks as though I'm using all of it. If you have your back to me, it is safe. I do not grab, pinch, fold, spindle or mutilate. If you're especially lucky, I might even catch you if you trip. My movements will take up as much or as little space as I want.
Lastly, I am going to make any boy without a few years of movement practice look like a shambling autistic. I don't have moves, I'm not even trying to impress. I just connect to everything, smoothing it out, making the music and ambiance real. I can do this by barely moving, I can do this by capturing five feet of space. I am into it, the people around me are into it.
That's why we are here.
If you need a place to put your soul for a while, by all means come in, we are open. If you're just looking for someplace to put your penis for a while, then buddy, we are closed.
Shame: So as we are dancing, the group next to us drops a bottle of cooler and it smashes all over the dance floor. The voice of the DJ briefly sounds over the music, "Busboy to the dance floor, busboy to the dance floor." And so slinks in a tallish gangly shape with a absorbent broom. His cowboy hat (out of place here) is pulled down low, he avoids eye contact as he begins the nasty work of cleaning booze and broken glass around people stepping mostly around it.
There is something about the way he keeps his back to us, something about the way he is dressed to conceal. I recognize the build. It is Shame. He is not a bartender, he is a low-totem busboy. He is embarrassed, hoping the Muse won't recognize him. It is too late. I have already pointed out the young man at our feet. She laughs. I laugh. Not at the fact that he is cleaning up the sticky, pointy mess - a boy's gotta eat - but at the general revelation of his character as a whole. It was a beautiful thing.
Also: Steev, Dienhard, Noah.
Coat Check: Hellen, then Qwinn
Bartenders: Jet Black and some newbie who reminded me of Boots.
Drinks: Tequila. Not bad. Hella pricey though.
The Muse looked fantastic in a red and black corset with skintight black latex pants. Amazing, simply amazing.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The Ring
(Sorry I've been lax on making poast, I am fascinated recently by this whole Questionable Content strip. I... I don't even know why. I started reading at the beginning, and even though the dialog is chunky, the artwork is a bit rough, and the pacing is brutal, the characters themselves are hauntingly familiar, and I can't... stop... clicking. It's got a lot of niche language in it, and watching the artwork style and storytelling technique evolve before my very eyes inspires the same sort of captivated interest as time lapse photography.)
So a couple months ago, the Muse buys me a ring. It is an industrial steel, black banded 'I Love You' ring, and I liked it.
I don't usually wear rings. I think most people just slide them on and forget about them, showing them off when they remember. I feel them all the time, constantly aware of them. I wore a wedding band for about 6 years once, and never got used to the feeling. It's the same reason I would never get a piercing, I know I would feel uncomfortable with it all the time, and never be able to relax into I removed the offending object from my skin.
This particular ring, the largest one in stock, was still too small to be worn on anything but my pinky. So the Muse took it in to be resized. Apparently, you can't resize steel, so her options were at that point to either give up the chase and leave me with a very fine pinky ring, or go ahead and purchase something more significant. Which she did.
It's not an engagement ring, our relationship just isn't there yet. Certainly a harder core version of the "I Love You" ring, and a little less substitutional than a promise ring. It's more like an "I'm Always With You" ring, a reminder of her wherever I go. Literally, in this case, as I will always be aware of the ring on my finger and what it means.
In most relationships, I have here and now tendencies. While you are here, right now in front of me, there is a relationship. When you are not, that relationship is put into stasis, and the next time I see you, it is brought out and carried forward. In the meantime, there is no real maintenance there. It is assumed to exist, fading over time, without ever completely ceasing to be.
This is just the result of moving, country to country, town to town, my whole life. My parents were always on the move, sometimes traveling in a direction to get somewhere, sometimes moving around villages and towns in the same area like the world's slowest tourists. Even when we were standing still for a while, the community, filled with people like my parents, would shift around us, making and breaking relationships every day.
You would meet the nicest person, the cutest girl, the neatest friend, and you would never know how long you had to spend with them. It could be three hours, six days, or six months. Never more than a year. Often, you would re-meet these same people a year later, and again, never really know what you had left. Even then, although it was always assumed that you might meet up later, chances were slim, and so if you found someone you liked, you treated them as if those were the only moments you had, because likely, they probably were.
You never really dissolved the relationship, you never said goodbye. Children growing up in that situation, children like me, grasped onto anything with even the slimmest hope of permanence. It was always maybe I'll see you later, and yah, that would be great. Make enough of those kinds of friendships, and sooner or later a few come back around. Not many, not many at all out of the hundreds of thousands of people I have met, but a few.
People wonder how it is I can pick a person out of a crowd and make friends with them, instantly. Some of my long term friends, the ones I have met since moving and staying here in Edmonton, call me Slider. As one of them would say, 'He just slides right in.' And its true. Any group of people, any place on earth. I can find a way to hang out for four to six hours, no problem. Not for anything more than a few days, but for one day? One night? Simple as breathing. It's what I do.
I can tell you what sort of personality you have just by watching you for a few minutes. You may be unique, by there are only so many different themes, and they weave and bend around everyone.
Your life is written in the small, detailed lines on your face, how often you smile, how often you frown, how excited you get, how solemn you are. Your eyes, clarity, focus, perception, tell me how you see the world and absorb information. How you talk, what words you use, the timing and inflection, tells me your vocabulary, your cognitive thought pattern, your sense of humor, your state of mind. How your body is built tells me how you are used to moving; strengths, work habits, life experiences.
When I am choosing to blend, I am prepared. My clothing is layered, my hair is neutrally set. I have no logos, no sports teams, no brand names. My jeans are washed and black, not new, not worn. When I enter a room, it's as if I've been there before. I have a small, neutral task to do. I am every person you've passed by without thinking about. An extra in the movie of your life.
Within the first few moments of entering a scene, I've already grasped the theme of the joint, got the layout of the establishment and mapped out the different parties gathered there.
Within the first two minutes, I've decided on a persona and hit the bathroom. My hair is now slightly altered to suit the theme of the place, and the people I'm going to hang out with. It might be slicker, maybe shaggier, maybe more unkempt. Maybe my shirt was just too obviously out of place, its gone, and lining one of the many deep pockets in my ubiquitous jacket. Maybe my shiny silver watch is now neatly resting above the shirt sleeve. Maybe I look snappier, maybe I look worn out.
Within the first ten minutes, I've got an advanced grasp on every relationship in the room. I know who the buddies are, who the daters are, I know who the meetup groups are. I know if those two guys just met that girl in the corner, or whether they've known her for a year. I know if everybody in that group of ten people knows each other, or whether they belong to a function and just happen to be there together. I know who is killing time, I know who is open to conversation. Then I listen to the noise of the place, open myself up to the situation, and I know where to be.
It's all by ear from there. You will find that I can do anything you can do, but you will likely be better at it. Do you like to play pool? I'll challenge you, and you'll win, but it will be damn close. Close enough for a rematch. Close enough to continue the conversation. Do you play darts? Same deal. Pong? Golf? Video Games? Political outrage? No matter the game, I can play it, and I'll be just difficult enough to beat to be fun. A run for your money. I'll ask you for tips, and when I win, as I will always win at least once, I will probably do it by using the same trick you just taught me. Everybody wins. You're the man, I'm the man, everyone's The Man. Let's drink.
You will find that I have a piece of history in common with all the major players in the scene. Moved up from a small town? Me too. Small towns are great. Or they might suck, depending on why you moved. Injured? Me too. Check out this scar. From a different country? Me too. Speak a different language? Me three. College? Broken Home? Military? Nuclear Family? I can relate. Oh, I have my differences here and there, but all in all, we're on the same page. I hear what you are saying. I speak your language.
Because I do. Within just the first few minutes of conversation, I've already started to sound like you. My intro was done in a very neutral accent, and as I hear you talk, I've been switching that pronunciation to match yours. I use your words when I speak, I use your meanings, and once I gist the flavour of it, I can say anything and still sound like I grew up twenty miles away from your home town. If I explain something, or inquire about something, I use the words and timing that will bring that meaning home to you. There are very, very subtle shifts in dialect, especially here in Canada; its more about how one puts words together and uses them more than just mere pronunciation. I know I've hit the right vein when I crack a mild joke and get the timing right to make it sound humorous.
Humor is mostly about timing and presence, not about content, at least it is for me, as I don't know what 'funny' actually is. I know when things are funny, and I laugh at comics and jokes and people, but I can't make something funny. I can make people laugh if I am with them, for some reason I know how to do it if I am tuned into them, but in a neutral set, like in writing for example, I'm completely lost. The jokes I try to make usually pan, and things I never intended to be funny turn out to be.
So I just tell it like it is. Life is funny, and thank god, because otherwise I'd never be able to bring someone to laughter, and its a handy thing to do sometimes.
We can spin tales the whole night. You can tell me a story, maybe its real, maybe its embellished, but if you like to tell it, I like to listen. I like stories. I collect them. I might even tell a few of my own.
If I like you, I will probably play a little game with you at some point near the end of the evening. I doubt you'll be aware we're playing it. I do it because up until this point, the persona I'm projecting is tailor built for wherever I am. It's not actually me though, its essentially a glorified coping strategy.
For whatever reason, I needed to be there for that amount of time, and I have made the very best of it. I have had the very best time it was possible to have given that situation, according to my needs at that time. I did my best to make sure you had a good time, and most likely, if I liked you, you were on fire tonight. The invisible hand turning your every move into gold. This is my gift to you, for being open to a new person and a new experience, no strings attached. I may not exist, but surely there are others who do, and hopefully that same openness is shown to them. It's the best that I can do, under the circumstances.
Here's the game: I will casually tell you two stories about myself, and it will seem as though one is true, and the other is not. The tale that seems true will fit in with the easiest to believe, that I really am just an ordinary boy, like everyone else you meet. That I have my place in the world, and for whatever reason our paths have crossed. This tale is usually swallowed whole, with few exceptions.
The other story will fit into something far more difficult to believe, that what you are seeing as this guy, is just one tiny fraction of what actually exists. That I could be anywhere, or anyone, and have the same kind of experience. That there is no one place for me, that I fit in everywhere and nowhere, adapting to different cultures, lifestyles and ways of thinking.
Most people laugh at the second tale, everybody has wanted to be somebody or somewhere else at some point. Sometimes its chalked up to being a dreamer, or that maybe I had to much to drink, or that I'm just spilling out bullshit. Sometimes its completely ignored, it doesn't compute and the whole thing is skipped over. However you take it, I'll agree. Oh, I nearly got you there, yah, no, its not exactly true, but it is a good story. Heh, maybe I saw that on Discovery or something, man am I wasted.
Every once in a blue moon, somebody at the table has their own iceberg. The girl nobody thought was paying attention. The guy who used to talk so much he was hushed down into a year long quietness. There is a specific look that moves across their face when they hear the change of tone in the last piece, when they hear my voice, when they hear my timing peek out for those few seconds, and you know they believe. Sometimes people will squint at the first tale, and suspicion rears its head. They think it's a fabrication, but can't process the why or how.
Those who find the truth, almost always find a way to talk to me alone. You know, it was really nice meeting you, they say, maybe we'll catch up later. Yah, I smile back, that would be great.
Even though life tends to be more stable when one is always in the same geographic location, there are no absolute certainties. You can cuddle up, you can care, you can love someone as hard as you want, but after they leave your presence, you never really know when or if you'll ever see that person again. Tragedy strikes. The unexpected occurs. The situation changes. The truth of it is, is that all we ever have with someone is Right Now. It doesn't matter how many times you seen or been with them before; there is a first time, there is a last time.
And so it is, that I play with my new ring; feeling the cool metal of it wrapped around my digit while its edge digs gently into the webbing between my fingers. A part of her always with me in the here and now. It's quite comforting, really. I love always being reminded she loves me, and is out there right now, wanting and waiting to be with me again.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Faith
It's important. There are upsides and downsides to every situation, and every situation is changing all the time. Faith is what allows a person to stand firm, believing in a particular outcome, despite the immediate demands of the present. If you believe in someone, you by extension have faith in them- you believe that person will ultimately win out over the situations they are presented with.
If you believe in a relationship, you put a certain amount of faith in that; you believe it will ultimately win out over the many challenges it is presented with. You cannot love without faith, you cannot be committed to anything or anyone without it. To live or to love without faith, is to render one's self an emotional mercenary, supporting whatever side happens to offer the most to you at that specific point in time. Switching partners or sides in a relationship has been thus coined as being unfaithful.
Faith is not granted, its a form of trust, and trust has to be built over time. If you break trust, if you break the faith or belief of another, it will never be restored in the same way. You can, in certain aspects, form a new kind of faith, a new Big Picture, and trust a person to be true to themselves. Without belief, without faith, love is just a word.
What is the difference between being faithless, and being unfaithful?
I suppose one is a state of being, and the other is an action. I think it is fair to say that one leads into the other. In most cases of infidelity, first the faith in the relationship is removed- the belief that a person can get what they think they need out of the current relationship is broken or dismantled, and then that person acts. Perhaps the action is neutral, perhaps it leads against the previous faith.
It certainly can't go in favor of the previous belief; once torn down, those old beliefs aren't really motivations anymore. Even if it it did go in favor, it would be dismissed as coincidence or habit. On a long enough time-line, with only neutrals and negatives, at some point a negative is going to occur. Unfaithfulness then moves out from being a possibility of a broken faith, and becomes an eventuality.
So what to do when someone is consistently and demonstrably faithless? Is it just a matter of time before they head to the other side? Should one just accept the inevitability and cut things off before the damage takes place?
As we've previously established, The Muse is definitely the jealous sort. She sort of expects to be cheated on, it's her history. She's easy to victimize, and its obviously been done before. No doubt her hyper-vigilance is the result of bad personal experiences. It's been a rough road, and one I generally don't mind traveling. I get questioned and harassed constantly, and god forbid I should ever mention anyone female in a positive light.
Did I mention I am slightly masochistic? Not yet? Seems a good a time as any. I enjoy a bit of pain and hardship in my life. I think it builds character. Also, I'm used to it. My life was so hard for so long, that eventually I grew to be comfortable with it. If things are going to smoothly, I seek out the rough bits and roll around for a while. I mention this because I don't want you to think that I am bothered when the Muse gives me the gears; the truth of it is I enjoy the concern and attention.
I am worried though, that it has been some time, and there seems to be no letting up on that front. She is as skeptical now as she is the day I met her, and just as quick to jump to these wild conclusions. Believe it or not, I am very much a Good Boy, despite the aura I tend to give, and one would think after being proven wrong again and again, she wouldn't fall off the deep end at every little thing.
I have done some shady things in my past, fair enough. But for years I've been beyond reproach. Now I am living beyond 'beyond reproach', and getting more crap than I did when I was behaving badly. Karma, I am truly your spanked up little bitch. This time through though, I've been nothing but Good, walking down the right path and doing good things. I don't deserve this kind of faithlessness.
Alright Karma, since you'll have it your way anyhow- maybe I do.
If you believe in a relationship, you put a certain amount of faith in that; you believe it will ultimately win out over the many challenges it is presented with. You cannot love without faith, you cannot be committed to anything or anyone without it. To live or to love without faith, is to render one's self an emotional mercenary, supporting whatever side happens to offer the most to you at that specific point in time. Switching partners or sides in a relationship has been thus coined as being unfaithful.
Faith is not granted, its a form of trust, and trust has to be built over time. If you break trust, if you break the faith or belief of another, it will never be restored in the same way. You can, in certain aspects, form a new kind of faith, a new Big Picture, and trust a person to be true to themselves. Without belief, without faith, love is just a word.
What is the difference between being faithless, and being unfaithful?
I suppose one is a state of being, and the other is an action. I think it is fair to say that one leads into the other. In most cases of infidelity, first the faith in the relationship is removed- the belief that a person can get what they think they need out of the current relationship is broken or dismantled, and then that person acts. Perhaps the action is neutral, perhaps it leads against the previous faith.
It certainly can't go in favor of the previous belief; once torn down, those old beliefs aren't really motivations anymore. Even if it it did go in favor, it would be dismissed as coincidence or habit. On a long enough time-line, with only neutrals and negatives, at some point a negative is going to occur. Unfaithfulness then moves out from being a possibility of a broken faith, and becomes an eventuality.
So what to do when someone is consistently and demonstrably faithless? Is it just a matter of time before they head to the other side? Should one just accept the inevitability and cut things off before the damage takes place?
As we've previously established, The Muse is definitely the jealous sort. She sort of expects to be cheated on, it's her history. She's easy to victimize, and its obviously been done before. No doubt her hyper-vigilance is the result of bad personal experiences. It's been a rough road, and one I generally don't mind traveling. I get questioned and harassed constantly, and god forbid I should ever mention anyone female in a positive light.
Did I mention I am slightly masochistic? Not yet? Seems a good a time as any. I enjoy a bit of pain and hardship in my life. I think it builds character. Also, I'm used to it. My life was so hard for so long, that eventually I grew to be comfortable with it. If things are going to smoothly, I seek out the rough bits and roll around for a while. I mention this because I don't want you to think that I am bothered when the Muse gives me the gears; the truth of it is I enjoy the concern and attention.
I am worried though, that it has been some time, and there seems to be no letting up on that front. She is as skeptical now as she is the day I met her, and just as quick to jump to these wild conclusions. Believe it or not, I am very much a Good Boy, despite the aura I tend to give, and one would think after being proven wrong again and again, she wouldn't fall off the deep end at every little thing.
I have done some shady things in my past, fair enough. But for years I've been beyond reproach. Now I am living beyond 'beyond reproach', and getting more crap than I did when I was behaving badly. Karma, I am truly your spanked up little bitch. This time through though, I've been nothing but Good, walking down the right path and doing good things. I don't deserve this kind of faithlessness.
Alright Karma, since you'll have it your way anyhow- maybe I do.
Monday, April 21, 2008
SHIFT Work
The Muse and I had decided to picnic amongst all the Little Brothers this Sunday night, but our plans were laid to waste by snowfall. It started early Sunday morning, and has not stopped, though at least it has died down to a few small flakes here and there. So instead we stopped by our favourite haunt to catch Master Dervish in play once again.
His musical choices are lightening up a bit, while still keeping within a few darker, more underground tones. His partner in crime, who is currently Nameless, did a fantastic job of holding down the fort while Dervish himself got down to the art of moving. The man is connected, no doubt about it. His own unique style of aggressive punk movements, bedrocked in the intricate subtle motions of vintage gothic underworld, is a wonder to behold. It uniquely reflects his own style and personality, is not contrived or preplanned - simply the result of his own internal reactions to the sounds around him. Dark Tribe at its finest; it is good to have an artist like this in control of the music itself. Small wonder his sets are so immensely satisfying.
I had a hard time getting into the music, but through no fault of the sound itself; firstly, my side still feels empty, and I had a hard time keeping my mind off it. I usually light my myself up, that is to say, open a channel to all the nerves running along my skin, and use that energy to seek out movement. There is a sort of critical mass that must be built, all the pieces are put into place, and then everything begins to work synergistically with each other- becoming more than the sum of its parts, so to speak.
Without the pieces on my right side to cart over and transport that energy effortlessly and efficiently, the system as a whole begins to suffer. It takes more work, more effort, to maintain myself, and the resulting self consciousness takes away from the connection to the music. The deep bass only ripples on one side, the lighter trebles that demand quick arcs and arm placements are nearly unfelt. The whole experience is ungainly. In such cases, one should allow form to dictate motion, series of movements performed a thousand times can still be called upon despite the roots of their origin being displaced.
If I were counselling on a psychological disability, say, unhappiness towards a specific person, I would say 'fake it'- put on a smile as close to genuine every time you see someone whether you feel it or not, and soon one will find their disposition towards that person improves. The body moves, the mind follows; this is human nature. And so it goes that I take this same advice towards my body, even though I feel nothing there, I should move as I wish to move, as though those feelings were in place, and perhaps they will return. Nature will always fill a vacuum, if the pressure is strong enough.
Secondly, I thought I had enough supplies to manufacture two handlights for the session, and turned out to be mistaken. I love my rings, I love moving them, I love watching them. I love the endless flow that comes from bearing them. Their movement makes demands on my form, pushing it, drawing energy from me when I would think I have nothing. When I dance, complete, I do not feel self-conscious, or tired, unhappy, or anything other than driven contentment in doing so.
The Cast:
Qwinn: Getting friendlier, we've exchanged hellos a couple times now. The Muse excels at these kinds of relationships, whereas I never know how to act. I would like to be friends, and I would like to sit and chat with them, but I have no idea how to go about doing that. I know how to seduce, to tease and to play; if that were the goal, I would have no end to the means in doing so. But it is not, and so there is a great hole in my thinking, where ordinary chit chat and friendly actions lie, and so I stumble about trying to look as though I am comfortable with the minute and a half of conversation. I'm sure it will get better with practice, everything usually does. It is something I am desperate to learn.
Dannika: Looking as pleasant as always. She danced with us a couple times, she always looks as though shes having fun. I wish I could have light-hearted fun like that. I am too serious by half.
Dawwit: In fine form and a new coat. Always stylish, that boy. He only hit the floor twice as far as I saw, he seemed to be more into the mingling tonight.
Genova: I've seen her twice now, 'dresses like a hippy' the Muse says. She has a sort of easy flow about her, obviously a kind-hearted, fun loving person. She's too psy-trance to be Dark Tribe, but shes connected, no doubt about it. I quite like her, the Muse I think feels threatened by her somehow. My Muse has the most beautiful gray-green eyes that have ever been placed in flesh, and they flash constantly with jealousy. I am at One with this, some people prefer to live in stillness, others prefer the storm. I would say without a doubt, that I am one of the 'others'.
Occasionally however, jealousy stirs up the razorblade edges of the Muse's personality, and she makes the meanest remarks I have ever heard. Not so much the saying of things, as the meaning implied behind it- I think she forgets that I hear intentions just as well as I hear words. I am no expert in dealing with jealousy, but here is some helpful advice for the men out there when confronted with a similar situation:
If your girlfriend makes disparaging remarks completely out of the blue about another girl you may or may not be watching, do not simply jump to the defence of the innocent as may be your habit. If at any point, you feel the need to not only defend but to add a counter-argument, upholding the nature of the person in question, and perhaps even making firm mention as towards their positive traits, or the misconceptions your girlfriend may have about said person as a whole, find the nearest syringe full of novocaine and inject it directly into your penis.
This strategy will approximate the end result of your defense without having to hear about for three days afterwards, and also disallow the possible use of your comments when, in the next week, some guy is hitting on your girlfriend, and you make use of the same strategy she did.
Just a friendly heads up there.
Shame: The aforementioned guy. Still hitting on the girlfriend. I want to eat him. Oh, he's so witty. Oh he's so charming. Oh, he's so in with the establishment in general. Oh, he's so pulling the exact same shit I would pull if I was twenty-two and trying to get into her pants. He seems so nice. Of course he does, that's his shtick. To be just friendly and outgoing enough, to be charming and genuinely interested enough that the boyfriend can't punch him in the face without looking like an ass. Riding that edge of civil decency, the common code of courtesy, to slide right in and plant the seeds of a relationship.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not threatened by the guy. He wouldn't last a week with the Muse, and she would tear him to shreds for trying. But he lies with his smile, like a high-functioning psychopath, and I want to tear his mask away from his face and expose his inner crapulence for what it is. Shine the Light down on him so hard he burns up in it.
Hatred is a connection between two people. Non-committal reactions are the absence of a connection. In order to really get your hate on for someone, something, some quality of that person has to reverberate within yourself. We are quickest to judge others for the things in which we are most guilty, and we hate others for the qualities we hate in ourselves. That's the connection.
Shame here reminds me of everything I hate about myself, of the monster that lurks inside of me, banging against the bars, begging to be let out. I want to feed him every kick in the teeth I ever gave myself for being like that, because on some level, I feel it is something that should be destroyed. I can't fault him for having the same beast, I think we all do really. Can't fault a man for being born. But you can smack the beastly little paws that swipe out through the bars, and so I believe I will bide my time; be good, and be patient. If it poses a problem, wipe it out. Maybe he will find a reason to hold himself back. I'll give him every chance to do so until he makes it impossible. It is likely I will have to deal this up one day; I want to be sure I am on the right side of the conflict.
Bartenders: Bruno and Boots. Boots likes to watch me drink for some reason, and Bruno likes to pour. I guess they found a piece of their calling, I tend to do both.
Drinks: Lil predrinking with a few Jaeger shots. The Muse was staying sober, I didn't realize that until after. Interesting.
DJs: Dervish and Nameless. Pretty amazing. They remind me why I like to go out in the first place.
Duration: Just under 2 hours. Couldn't slip into it, stayed for the music. Danced with the Muse for a while- no matter what, she is always something I can lose myself in for a while.
The Muse was looking fantastic as always. Latex pants and a black corset. Mine mine mine mine mine. I love the way she moves, I love the way she moves me. Pretty kickin', all the way around.
His musical choices are lightening up a bit, while still keeping within a few darker, more underground tones. His partner in crime, who is currently Nameless, did a fantastic job of holding down the fort while Dervish himself got down to the art of moving. The man is connected, no doubt about it. His own unique style of aggressive punk movements, bedrocked in the intricate subtle motions of vintage gothic underworld, is a wonder to behold. It uniquely reflects his own style and personality, is not contrived or preplanned - simply the result of his own internal reactions to the sounds around him. Dark Tribe at its finest; it is good to have an artist like this in control of the music itself. Small wonder his sets are so immensely satisfying.
I had a hard time getting into the music, but through no fault of the sound itself; firstly, my side still feels empty, and I had a hard time keeping my mind off it. I usually light my myself up, that is to say, open a channel to all the nerves running along my skin, and use that energy to seek out movement. There is a sort of critical mass that must be built, all the pieces are put into place, and then everything begins to work synergistically with each other- becoming more than the sum of its parts, so to speak.
Without the pieces on my right side to cart over and transport that energy effortlessly and efficiently, the system as a whole begins to suffer. It takes more work, more effort, to maintain myself, and the resulting self consciousness takes away from the connection to the music. The deep bass only ripples on one side, the lighter trebles that demand quick arcs and arm placements are nearly unfelt. The whole experience is ungainly. In such cases, one should allow form to dictate motion, series of movements performed a thousand times can still be called upon despite the roots of their origin being displaced.
If I were counselling on a psychological disability, say, unhappiness towards a specific person, I would say 'fake it'- put on a smile as close to genuine every time you see someone whether you feel it or not, and soon one will find their disposition towards that person improves. The body moves, the mind follows; this is human nature. And so it goes that I take this same advice towards my body, even though I feel nothing there, I should move as I wish to move, as though those feelings were in place, and perhaps they will return. Nature will always fill a vacuum, if the pressure is strong enough.
Secondly, I thought I had enough supplies to manufacture two handlights for the session, and turned out to be mistaken. I love my rings, I love moving them, I love watching them. I love the endless flow that comes from bearing them. Their movement makes demands on my form, pushing it, drawing energy from me when I would think I have nothing. When I dance, complete, I do not feel self-conscious, or tired, unhappy, or anything other than driven contentment in doing so.
The Cast:
Qwinn: Getting friendlier, we've exchanged hellos a couple times now. The Muse excels at these kinds of relationships, whereas I never know how to act. I would like to be friends, and I would like to sit and chat with them, but I have no idea how to go about doing that. I know how to seduce, to tease and to play; if that were the goal, I would have no end to the means in doing so. But it is not, and so there is a great hole in my thinking, where ordinary chit chat and friendly actions lie, and so I stumble about trying to look as though I am comfortable with the minute and a half of conversation. I'm sure it will get better with practice, everything usually does. It is something I am desperate to learn.
Dannika: Looking as pleasant as always. She danced with us a couple times, she always looks as though shes having fun. I wish I could have light-hearted fun like that. I am too serious by half.
Dawwit: In fine form and a new coat. Always stylish, that boy. He only hit the floor twice as far as I saw, he seemed to be more into the mingling tonight.
Genova: I've seen her twice now, 'dresses like a hippy' the Muse says. She has a sort of easy flow about her, obviously a kind-hearted, fun loving person. She's too psy-trance to be Dark Tribe, but shes connected, no doubt about it. I quite like her, the Muse I think feels threatened by her somehow. My Muse has the most beautiful gray-green eyes that have ever been placed in flesh, and they flash constantly with jealousy. I am at One with this, some people prefer to live in stillness, others prefer the storm. I would say without a doubt, that I am one of the 'others'.
Occasionally however, jealousy stirs up the razorblade edges of the Muse's personality, and she makes the meanest remarks I have ever heard. Not so much the saying of things, as the meaning implied behind it- I think she forgets that I hear intentions just as well as I hear words. I am no expert in dealing with jealousy, but here is some helpful advice for the men out there when confronted with a similar situation:
If your girlfriend makes disparaging remarks completely out of the blue about another girl you may or may not be watching, do not simply jump to the defence of the innocent as may be your habit. If at any point, you feel the need to not only defend but to add a counter-argument, upholding the nature of the person in question, and perhaps even making firm mention as towards their positive traits, or the misconceptions your girlfriend may have about said person as a whole, find the nearest syringe full of novocaine and inject it directly into your penis.
This strategy will approximate the end result of your defense without having to hear about for three days afterwards, and also disallow the possible use of your comments when, in the next week, some guy is hitting on your girlfriend, and you make use of the same strategy she did.
Just a friendly heads up there.
Shame: The aforementioned guy. Still hitting on the girlfriend. I want to eat him. Oh, he's so witty. Oh he's so charming. Oh, he's so in with the establishment in general. Oh, he's so pulling the exact same shit I would pull if I was twenty-two and trying to get into her pants. He seems so nice. Of course he does, that's his shtick. To be just friendly and outgoing enough, to be charming and genuinely interested enough that the boyfriend can't punch him in the face without looking like an ass. Riding that edge of civil decency, the common code of courtesy, to slide right in and plant the seeds of a relationship.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not threatened by the guy. He wouldn't last a week with the Muse, and she would tear him to shreds for trying. But he lies with his smile, like a high-functioning psychopath, and I want to tear his mask away from his face and expose his inner crapulence for what it is. Shine the Light down on him so hard he burns up in it.
Hatred is a connection between two people. Non-committal reactions are the absence of a connection. In order to really get your hate on for someone, something, some quality of that person has to reverberate within yourself. We are quickest to judge others for the things in which we are most guilty, and we hate others for the qualities we hate in ourselves. That's the connection.
Shame here reminds me of everything I hate about myself, of the monster that lurks inside of me, banging against the bars, begging to be let out. I want to feed him every kick in the teeth I ever gave myself for being like that, because on some level, I feel it is something that should be destroyed. I can't fault him for having the same beast, I think we all do really. Can't fault a man for being born. But you can smack the beastly little paws that swipe out through the bars, and so I believe I will bide my time; be good, and be patient. If it poses a problem, wipe it out. Maybe he will find a reason to hold himself back. I'll give him every chance to do so until he makes it impossible. It is likely I will have to deal this up one day; I want to be sure I am on the right side of the conflict.
Bartenders: Bruno and Boots. Boots likes to watch me drink for some reason, and Bruno likes to pour. I guess they found a piece of their calling, I tend to do both.
Drinks: Lil predrinking with a few Jaeger shots. The Muse was staying sober, I didn't realize that until after. Interesting.
DJs: Dervish and Nameless. Pretty amazing. They remind me why I like to go out in the first place.
Duration: Just under 2 hours. Couldn't slip into it, stayed for the music. Danced with the Muse for a while- no matter what, she is always something I can lose myself in for a while.
The Muse was looking fantastic as always. Latex pants and a black corset. Mine mine mine mine mine. I love the way she moves, I love the way she moves me. Pretty kickin', all the way around.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
And So it Turns
My back is slowly untwisting, due in part to the healing ministrations of the Muse, and so the majority of pain is gone. The aftermath is still there, but it has started down the path of something I am able to bear. I can feel my mind restructure the sensations of my skin to push the muted tuning of that space aside, and create a whole new sensational map down that part of my body.
I'm relatively confident that with enough time, I will feel normal again. I worry about the blind spot, but as it tends to be, out of sight, out of mind, and there is hope that eventually I'll be able to stop thinking about it. The mind has a way of sealing things that cannot be changed away. Or at least, mine does.
Speaking of things sealed away, a spot of my troubled past has risen to the surface, in the form of a Facebook contact. It would be fair to say that I was a different kind of person then, and I'm not entirely sure I want to have those remnants in my new life. I am torn- on one hand a person is all they have been through, and there is a need to accept the past and learn from it, on the other, sometimes Bad Things happen for good reasons, and it is best to disconnect from those parts and those people entirely.
There is a certain segment of my life I am not particularly proud of; I went on a search for something at the bottom of a cesspool, and things got more than a little messy. The poem at the top of my blog is a three-way metaphor, and one of those ways is that I gave up an exceptionally moral existence in order to find an Answer that simply does not exist anywhere else.
Why am I broken?
Something happened to me when I was an infant. Actually, several things happened to me when I was infant, I nearly died at least 3 times before my first year; once from starvation, once from an aspirin overdose (I ate a whole 'family-sized' bottle of them), and once from a chlorine gas leak in a public enclosed swimming pool.
Sometimes I wonder if I am an unwelcome anomaly in the world, that if maybe in the Great Big Plan, I am completely unaccounted for. I do my best, I try and help, but in the end, there are a lot of lives that would just be better off if I had never existed. I tend to live a life of non-interference now, a Watcher, simply observing. I only act if there is need, a clear cut case of assistance. I am a good man to know in the short term, in the long term, it would be fair to say that I am a challenge. However, back to the point.
Something occurred in my first year that left me permanently sexually aware. There could be a few direct causes, but I would guess, like all scars that grow with you, it was probably a combination of things that has made things what they are. It could have been sexual abuse, there was an individual going about doing that sort of thing at the time, and I have some very strange recollections about the house. It could have been the moving, it could have been the naughty friend of one of my female cousins, it could have been the one of the backyard neighbors (the house was the entry point to the local mobile home park my grandfather owned, there were kids of all sorts around constantly) Certainly there was some of that in my second and third years.
At any rate, I have been sexually receptive and aggressive for my entire life, and it has presented challenges in a lot different ways. Friendships and relationships of all kinds specifically, spirituality, dealing with a conservative Christian family pool, dating and sexual relationships- everything tends to be affected by this at one level or another.
When I turned twentyfour, I became particularly engaged in Eastern Philosophy, and found a way to unravel the tremendous burden of guilt I felt all the time, even though at that point, I had done nothing wrong. As it turns out, I went down a long road of finding out what is Wrong and what is not. I spend a great deal of time learning about what happens when one does something Wrong, trying to figure out what it is about those situations and actions that makes them so. I was trying to find a good life by learning to recognize the crap, and went about it in utter disregard for many of the conservative teachings I had been handed as 'truth' up to that point.
Unfortunately, my learning style demands personal involvement to acquire knowledge; kinesthetics learn by doing. Not by listening, although I can often get the gist, not by reading or watching- all these things are superficial. For me to know something down to the bone, and accept and understand its nature to the core, I have to be there.
Mistakes were made, lessons learned, milk spilled, pasts rewritten, and futures destroyed, and now, in my thirtyfirst year, I finally feel like I am on the road to something meaningful and worthwhile. The Why has become irrelevant to me, I am what I am. The Wrongs I have done are behind me. What concerns me now is how to live Right.
Let's see how that turns out.
I'm relatively confident that with enough time, I will feel normal again. I worry about the blind spot, but as it tends to be, out of sight, out of mind, and there is hope that eventually I'll be able to stop thinking about it. The mind has a way of sealing things that cannot be changed away. Or at least, mine does.
Speaking of things sealed away, a spot of my troubled past has risen to the surface, in the form of a Facebook contact. It would be fair to say that I was a different kind of person then, and I'm not entirely sure I want to have those remnants in my new life. I am torn- on one hand a person is all they have been through, and there is a need to accept the past and learn from it, on the other, sometimes Bad Things happen for good reasons, and it is best to disconnect from those parts and those people entirely.
There is a certain segment of my life I am not particularly proud of; I went on a search for something at the bottom of a cesspool, and things got more than a little messy. The poem at the top of my blog is a three-way metaphor, and one of those ways is that I gave up an exceptionally moral existence in order to find an Answer that simply does not exist anywhere else.
Why am I broken?
Something happened to me when I was an infant. Actually, several things happened to me when I was infant, I nearly died at least 3 times before my first year; once from starvation, once from an aspirin overdose (I ate a whole 'family-sized' bottle of them), and once from a chlorine gas leak in a public enclosed swimming pool.
Sometimes I wonder if I am an unwelcome anomaly in the world, that if maybe in the Great Big Plan, I am completely unaccounted for. I do my best, I try and help, but in the end, there are a lot of lives that would just be better off if I had never existed. I tend to live a life of non-interference now, a Watcher, simply observing. I only act if there is need, a clear cut case of assistance. I am a good man to know in the short term, in the long term, it would be fair to say that I am a challenge. However, back to the point.
Something occurred in my first year that left me permanently sexually aware. There could be a few direct causes, but I would guess, like all scars that grow with you, it was probably a combination of things that has made things what they are. It could have been sexual abuse, there was an individual going about doing that sort of thing at the time, and I have some very strange recollections about the house. It could have been the moving, it could have been the naughty friend of one of my female cousins, it could have been the one of the backyard neighbors (the house was the entry point to the local mobile home park my grandfather owned, there were kids of all sorts around constantly) Certainly there was some of that in my second and third years.
At any rate, I have been sexually receptive and aggressive for my entire life, and it has presented challenges in a lot different ways. Friendships and relationships of all kinds specifically, spirituality, dealing with a conservative Christian family pool, dating and sexual relationships- everything tends to be affected by this at one level or another.
When I turned twentyfour, I became particularly engaged in Eastern Philosophy, and found a way to unravel the tremendous burden of guilt I felt all the time, even though at that point, I had done nothing wrong. As it turns out, I went down a long road of finding out what is Wrong and what is not. I spend a great deal of time learning about what happens when one does something Wrong, trying to figure out what it is about those situations and actions that makes them so. I was trying to find a good life by learning to recognize the crap, and went about it in utter disregard for many of the conservative teachings I had been handed as 'truth' up to that point.
Unfortunately, my learning style demands personal involvement to acquire knowledge; kinesthetics learn by doing. Not by listening, although I can often get the gist, not by reading or watching- all these things are superficial. For me to know something down to the bone, and accept and understand its nature to the core, I have to be there.
Mistakes were made, lessons learned, milk spilled, pasts rewritten, and futures destroyed, and now, in my thirtyfirst year, I finally feel like I am on the road to something meaningful and worthwhile. The Why has become irrelevant to me, I am what I am. The Wrongs I have done are behind me. What concerns me now is how to live Right.
Let's see how that turns out.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
A Broken Wing
So as it turns out, for the last week or so, I have had shingles. It is essentially a re occurrence of the chickenpox, which I had when I was little, and is related to stress, fatigue, or pretty much anything that takes the immune system down a peg or two.
It is a small flaming patch of pain. It hurts all the time. It doesn't itch exactly, it tingles, like the pins and needles of something falling asleep, and the reason it tingles is because the nerve endings of the affected skin are slowly being eaten and dissolved. It leaves little pock marks, just like its predecessor, and the redness fades, and the skin will eventually be mostly unblemished.
But it is numb.
There is some sensation there, but I have lost the fine tuning over a patch of skin the width of my hand, and about three hand lengths across, starting just underneath my nipple in a widening band heading back towards my spine. The doctor says the damage is permanent, and it will never feel the same again.
The parts that still hurt are slowly pulling the muscles in my shoulder and back out of alignment, and I am now in pretty much constant, screaming pain from the top of my shoulder to my waist. It feels like an angry painting of jagged spikes, dark and dripping with malignance, and the only comfort I have is that at least I am still feeling something around the edges, which is why my body is reacting in this way.
This is probably no big deal to a lot of people. I feel silly even trying to relate just how emotional I am about this. But my skin, my ability to feel and perceive through it is like a second sight, capable of recognizing thousands of shades of sensations and pressures. I know where all my nerves are, like I named them, like they are my children, and I can feel them dying one by one.
Imagine if you woke up and realized that you had just lost 7% of your eyesight, and there was nothing anyone could do to get it back.
Everything feels different. Shivers, music that makes your hairs stand up wash normally over one side of me, and either flare in pain or simply vanish on the other. I look at something beautiful, something stirring, and I can feel the heat wash up in part of me, and nothing, I feel nothing in this great, ragged hole. I used to delight in in the sensation of swimming in my own thoughts, of feeling my emotions ripple over my skin, cascading over every bump and hair. Now it is off center, uneven, ugly and incomplete. A great scar, twisting invisibly over every thought and my most intimate and personal of feelings.
I feel disfigured by it, I feel assaulted by it, and there is nothing I can do to change it. It is hard to express my rage and sorrow at the loss. For the rest of my life, that part of me will have a hearing impairment within the language of sensation. It's my mother tongue, and the one I prefer using whenever I can. I'm not entirely sure what it will mean for me in the future, I suppose I will make do with whatever I have left.
It is a small flaming patch of pain. It hurts all the time. It doesn't itch exactly, it tingles, like the pins and needles of something falling asleep, and the reason it tingles is because the nerve endings of the affected skin are slowly being eaten and dissolved. It leaves little pock marks, just like its predecessor, and the redness fades, and the skin will eventually be mostly unblemished.
But it is numb.
There is some sensation there, but I have lost the fine tuning over a patch of skin the width of my hand, and about three hand lengths across, starting just underneath my nipple in a widening band heading back towards my spine. The doctor says the damage is permanent, and it will never feel the same again.
The parts that still hurt are slowly pulling the muscles in my shoulder and back out of alignment, and I am now in pretty much constant, screaming pain from the top of my shoulder to my waist. It feels like an angry painting of jagged spikes, dark and dripping with malignance, and the only comfort I have is that at least I am still feeling something around the edges, which is why my body is reacting in this way.
This is probably no big deal to a lot of people. I feel silly even trying to relate just how emotional I am about this. But my skin, my ability to feel and perceive through it is like a second sight, capable of recognizing thousands of shades of sensations and pressures. I know where all my nerves are, like I named them, like they are my children, and I can feel them dying one by one.
Imagine if you woke up and realized that you had just lost 7% of your eyesight, and there was nothing anyone could do to get it back.
Everything feels different. Shivers, music that makes your hairs stand up wash normally over one side of me, and either flare in pain or simply vanish on the other. I look at something beautiful, something stirring, and I can feel the heat wash up in part of me, and nothing, I feel nothing in this great, ragged hole. I used to delight in in the sensation of swimming in my own thoughts, of feeling my emotions ripple over my skin, cascading over every bump and hair. Now it is off center, uneven, ugly and incomplete. A great scar, twisting invisibly over every thought and my most intimate and personal of feelings.
I feel disfigured by it, I feel assaulted by it, and there is nothing I can do to change it. It is hard to express my rage and sorrow at the loss. For the rest of my life, that part of me will have a hearing impairment within the language of sensation. It's my mother tongue, and the one I prefer using whenever I can. I'm not entirely sure what it will mean for me in the future, I suppose I will make do with whatever I have left.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Paradigm SHIFT
So DJ Dervish, a pretty damn fine DJ, and at least an honorary member of the Dark Tribe, has decided to run his own show Sunday nights.
I attended.
It was pretty amazing. The boy can spin.
Previously, I had reservations regarding his ability and taste - his sound is (or was) a little too grating overall, and hard to really step into for any prolonged period of time. Of course, these were also Dark Industrial outings, which calls for that sort of performance, so I was exceptionally pleased to find that when left up to his own devices, the man spins an even flow. Harsh in bits, soft in bits, damn near orchestral in others. A unique sense of timing, a remarkable ability for matching.
Some technical failure. I caught two mismatches and a full on dropped beat spread out over four hours, which all in all is not bad. I am very difficult to please; firstly because I have perfect relative pitch, and secondly because in being part of the music, harsh or technically incorrect transfers actually hurt.
I am a proprioceptive kinesthetic, meaning I have extra sets of nerve endings that run through my body. I feel with my muscles and movements what other people feel with their fingertips. Motion, emotion, thoughts and feeling are all the same to me. Dancing is like caressing the music with my body- it has texture and shape, it has movement and feeling. The vibrations of the sound itself are a sort of etherial medium to me, like water, or air - a substance that I become suspended in, and am a part of. When something is out of place, it is like a sharp edge on a smooth surface, or a rock thrown by a passing car. I feel it, and it is unpleasant to me.
The world is often a very harsh place to be. I take solace in loud, well written and well spun music, as it drowns out much of the painful noise I hear and feel throughout the course of a normal day. More on this later, I'm sure.
Three misplaced segments in an otherwise stunning session is a good enough marker to return.
Cast and Crew:
Quinn: Generally in coat check, but hangs out on occasion. Seems very nice.
Shame: Occasionally a bartender, sports an amazing tribal wing tattoo on his back. Seems likeable, but has the unfortunate habit of consistantly 'bumping' into the Muse. I am used to this, in some fashion, the Muse draws men like moths to a flame. Some are nicer about thier advances than others. Some are more respectful towards myself than others. I believe if you trust someone, you should let them take care of themselves, and so for the most part, I watch the Muse take care of those who approach her. When there seems to be any sort of situation developing, I simply make it clear that I am with Her, and so far that seems to do the trick.
I am six feet, four inches tall- the Muse is 6'2". It becomes clear to anyone that were are a match in more ways than association - we are of the same cloth, the same breed of people. I am solidly built; I have none of the gangly nature that generally comes from being so tall, and I consume vast quantities of sugar, leaving a light layer of extra weight covering my frame. Should I starve for a few months, I become quite cut, if I am contented for a few months, I lose some of that definition. At any given time I am between two-hundred twenty and two-hundred sixty pounds; even when heavy, the weight is evenly distributed along my body, and so I am neither fat nor slim, simply solid. To anyone with an eye for conflict, it is obvious that I can move faster and more solidly than most, and that I am practiced and proficient at what I do. This leaves only the mentally challenged who would attempt to to enter into physical conflict, and thankfully weak minds can be easily manipulated, leaving the vast majority of my life violence free.
Steev: An interest. He sports the nearly the same style of handlights I do, though seems to prefer handled glowsticks over my own uniquely fashioned rings. My own style is in fact reflective of what needs to be done to move in an endless, constantly shifting pattern of arcs and circles - the visual transference of ambient energy into a defined state. His style is far more aggressive, almost punk, with sharp bursts and pointed fists and stabs. He is learning more movement reversals, and is conscious of movement 'traps'; wherein the music or energy says to flow in a particular way, but the preceeding movement has rendered to required movement impossible to peform. He has been practicing, and I cannot wait to see how his talent develops.
Steev is interesting to me because he is on the verge of joining the Dark Tribe. His mind is establishing the connections between movement and music, and I beleive it will not be long until he has the spirit of it well in hand.
RedLocks: A larger girl with greenglowing dreads, in company of Steev. She works in LIFE, a gothic independant clothing store, creating and painting darker crafts of all kinds. I've seen her around.
Bartenders: Bruno and Boots
No Coat Check.
Time: 4 hours, with a fifteen minute break. I hit the zone fairly early on, and stayed up till the last beat.
Drinks: Barcardi Black at a predrink. Shots were 3.25, and so a few Jaeger were had. The Muse stuck to mostly water, feeling the rum pretty hard.
The Muse has taken to wearing her latex pants, and I for one, am all for it. That girl is sex and candy wrapped up in soft and pale skin.
I attended.
It was pretty amazing. The boy can spin.
Previously, I had reservations regarding his ability and taste - his sound is (or was) a little too grating overall, and hard to really step into for any prolonged period of time. Of course, these were also Dark Industrial outings, which calls for that sort of performance, so I was exceptionally pleased to find that when left up to his own devices, the man spins an even flow. Harsh in bits, soft in bits, damn near orchestral in others. A unique sense of timing, a remarkable ability for matching.
Some technical failure. I caught two mismatches and a full on dropped beat spread out over four hours, which all in all is not bad. I am very difficult to please; firstly because I have perfect relative pitch, and secondly because in being part of the music, harsh or technically incorrect transfers actually hurt.
I am a proprioceptive kinesthetic, meaning I have extra sets of nerve endings that run through my body. I feel with my muscles and movements what other people feel with their fingertips. Motion, emotion, thoughts and feeling are all the same to me. Dancing is like caressing the music with my body- it has texture and shape, it has movement and feeling. The vibrations of the sound itself are a sort of etherial medium to me, like water, or air - a substance that I become suspended in, and am a part of. When something is out of place, it is like a sharp edge on a smooth surface, or a rock thrown by a passing car. I feel it, and it is unpleasant to me.
The world is often a very harsh place to be. I take solace in loud, well written and well spun music, as it drowns out much of the painful noise I hear and feel throughout the course of a normal day. More on this later, I'm sure.
Three misplaced segments in an otherwise stunning session is a good enough marker to return.
Cast and Crew:
Quinn: Generally in coat check, but hangs out on occasion. Seems very nice.
Shame: Occasionally a bartender, sports an amazing tribal wing tattoo on his back. Seems likeable, but has the unfortunate habit of consistantly 'bumping' into the Muse. I am used to this, in some fashion, the Muse draws men like moths to a flame. Some are nicer about thier advances than others. Some are more respectful towards myself than others. I believe if you trust someone, you should let them take care of themselves, and so for the most part, I watch the Muse take care of those who approach her. When there seems to be any sort of situation developing, I simply make it clear that I am with Her, and so far that seems to do the trick.
I am six feet, four inches tall- the Muse is 6'2". It becomes clear to anyone that were are a match in more ways than association - we are of the same cloth, the same breed of people. I am solidly built; I have none of the gangly nature that generally comes from being so tall, and I consume vast quantities of sugar, leaving a light layer of extra weight covering my frame. Should I starve for a few months, I become quite cut, if I am contented for a few months, I lose some of that definition. At any given time I am between two-hundred twenty and two-hundred sixty pounds; even when heavy, the weight is evenly distributed along my body, and so I am neither fat nor slim, simply solid. To anyone with an eye for conflict, it is obvious that I can move faster and more solidly than most, and that I am practiced and proficient at what I do. This leaves only the mentally challenged who would attempt to to enter into physical conflict, and thankfully weak minds can be easily manipulated, leaving the vast majority of my life violence free.
Steev: An interest. He sports the nearly the same style of handlights I do, though seems to prefer handled glowsticks over my own uniquely fashioned rings. My own style is in fact reflective of what needs to be done to move in an endless, constantly shifting pattern of arcs and circles - the visual transference of ambient energy into a defined state. His style is far more aggressive, almost punk, with sharp bursts and pointed fists and stabs. He is learning more movement reversals, and is conscious of movement 'traps'; wherein the music or energy says to flow in a particular way, but the preceeding movement has rendered to required movement impossible to peform. He has been practicing, and I cannot wait to see how his talent develops.
Steev is interesting to me because he is on the verge of joining the Dark Tribe. His mind is establishing the connections between movement and music, and I beleive it will not be long until he has the spirit of it well in hand.
RedLocks: A larger girl with greenglowing dreads, in company of Steev. She works in LIFE, a gothic independant clothing store, creating and painting darker crafts of all kinds. I've seen her around.
Bartenders: Bruno and Boots
No Coat Check.
Time: 4 hours, with a fifteen minute break. I hit the zone fairly early on, and stayed up till the last beat.
Drinks: Barcardi Black at a predrink. Shots were 3.25, and so a few Jaeger were had. The Muse stuck to mostly water, feeling the rum pretty hard.
The Muse has taken to wearing her latex pants, and I for one, am all for it. That girl is sex and candy wrapped up in soft and pale skin.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Dancing With the Stars
I love to Dance, and try to go out and do it every week. I've decided to keep track of things on this front. I don't remember things very well sometimes, and often I get caught up in the moment. It's hard to keep track of background themes when the Muse is always in the forefront.
The Muse looked perfect as she always does, black bikini top, smooth alabaster skin. Long black hair, dipping just below the shoulders. She is an angel in her own right, though she is not entirely comfortable turning her face towards God. Nevertheless, doing is being, and in her own way, she becomes at as at one with the music and moment as any zen master or monk. The world fades, and there is only existence, only she and I remain in the hazy cloud of people around us.
It should be mentioned at this point, that I very rarely actually speak in public or in loud places, except to the Muse. I provide the illusion of conversation, which is to say I nod, and listen and provide understanding gestures, as if I was saying something. Most people when speaking are not actually waiting for responding information, or things to add to their minds; they are waiting for themselves to be understood and be given a social marker to continue. I provide this, and in their heads, they hear me say appropriate things, their mind fills in the gap with something reasonable, and it is assumed that I have spoken. In truth, I have gone years with out saying a word. I only speak when I feel that someone is really, honestly listening, and unsurprisingly, that isn't very often.
The Nights Cast:
Jim/John Blue - Looking good. He's a few pounds heavy, always wears a suit. He looked relaxed, which isn't always the case.
Danikka - A young punker with a colorful sense of flare.
Light friends with the Muse. She seems very sweet.
Noah: An older metro goth with an ear for music. He, like myself, is part of the Dark Tribe, the melange of musically connected people here in the City. I can't say for sure how many of us there are; we are at specific functions, new music outings, experimental DJ's, and dance clubs of all kinds. We are drawn to a darker, more ethereal flow in music, and generally have a good sense on where that will take place. I have been Watching for a long time, and seen many people come and go from this group. It's not so much a group as a state of mind, a set of preferences and a style of listening and being with music, new blood rises into this state, and old members - though I doubt they ever give up thier musical connection and appreciation - give up their search.
Skott Hawk: Dark Tribe. Militant. Graver. This boy can dance. I am inspired by him. His movements are like watching an explosion being carefully contained within the human body. We do not chat as much as acknowledge each other's presence, which for us is like catching up. I see him dance, and he sees me dance; our lives are written in flow and movement, everything important, everything deep, as already being said and being understood. Words would just be a shallow addendum to something deeper.
The Librarian: Sans Bookkeeper. The Librarian is a young twenty something goth, nearly always in a corset and full length tight dress of some kind, who nearly always dances with an older, sterner Victorian goth woman, the Bookkeeper. They are a duo, but lately the older one hasn't been coming out as much, and the Librarian has been seeing two or three different men there instead. She was hardly out on the floor at all last night, I think her boytoys feel uncomfortable either being out there with her, or her being out there at all.
Phade: An old friend, younger sister to another old friend. A sidenote really, I don't see her there very often. Shes kind of like a niece to me. Must have just turned 18, she's been out and about more.
Strawberry/Augustin: A twenty something redhead, very stylish, in the company of her Older Man, who is also very stylish. They look good together, and casually reflect my own relationship with The Muse, who is quite a bit younger than myself. She is very nearly Dark Tribe, though i believe she is more into poi and firespinning, rather than a body connection. Tools such as these provide a sense of disconnection with the music in order to be effective as an art, but that is another conversation entirely.
Dawid: Dark Tribe. Cyber-goth, light show fanatic. The man loves derblinkenlights. He can move; but the lunges are short and his sweeps reverse often, creating the illusion of an empty space. He still misses Angelique, his dance partner and friend - they dated for nearly a year and a half, and their dance styles reflected this. They would often spin lights with and around each other, filling in both sides with a dazzling display. His movements still remember her in his life, and its like he puts her there in his mind even though she is no longer present. He is starting to look around, but any one of Us can tell she has left a whole.
COAT CHECK: Helen. Newer, hangs out there in her time off. Little bit desperate for attention I think.
BARTENDERS:
Jet Black: Not on top of it tonight.
Newbie Ringlets: First time I've seen her, and fourth in succession of one night wonders. they are going through staff like a BC wildfire.
DJ: No Name Bland. (Half shaved head, shorter, thin) He 's trying to switch it up but his mixes are terrible. I don't think its his fault, obviously the brass is trying to get him to mix in some harsher metal and darker top forty crap, to hit up the mass appeal that is Saturday night. I think its safe to say that instead of making everybody happy, nobody was. Not the real dancers anyway. The ones that came to watch, drink, chat, and shake it were probably served up a dish or two they liked.
Time: Two Hours. Couldn't hit the groove at any particular point, and my side still aches from Friday.
Drinks: 6.25 a SHOT! Are you kidding me? That seems high. Pre-drinking, though I hate to do it as I believe in supporting the House, is becoming practical on a scale of five to one.
Still, two hours watching and being with the Muse was pretty much priceless. And we had a nice chat later about life in general. Love that girl so hard it kills me.
The Muse looked perfect as she always does, black bikini top, smooth alabaster skin. Long black hair, dipping just below the shoulders. She is an angel in her own right, though she is not entirely comfortable turning her face towards God. Nevertheless, doing is being, and in her own way, she becomes at as at one with the music and moment as any zen master or monk. The world fades, and there is only existence, only she and I remain in the hazy cloud of people around us.
It should be mentioned at this point, that I very rarely actually speak in public or in loud places, except to the Muse. I provide the illusion of conversation, which is to say I nod, and listen and provide understanding gestures, as if I was saying something. Most people when speaking are not actually waiting for responding information, or things to add to their minds; they are waiting for themselves to be understood and be given a social marker to continue. I provide this, and in their heads, they hear me say appropriate things, their mind fills in the gap with something reasonable, and it is assumed that I have spoken. In truth, I have gone years with out saying a word. I only speak when I feel that someone is really, honestly listening, and unsurprisingly, that isn't very often.
The Nights Cast:
Jim/John Blue - Looking good. He's a few pounds heavy, always wears a suit. He looked relaxed, which isn't always the case.
Danikka - A young punker with a colorful sense of flare.
Light friends with the Muse. She seems very sweet.
Noah: An older metro goth with an ear for music. He, like myself, is part of the Dark Tribe, the melange of musically connected people here in the City. I can't say for sure how many of us there are; we are at specific functions, new music outings, experimental DJ's, and dance clubs of all kinds. We are drawn to a darker, more ethereal flow in music, and generally have a good sense on where that will take place. I have been Watching for a long time, and seen many people come and go from this group. It's not so much a group as a state of mind, a set of preferences and a style of listening and being with music, new blood rises into this state, and old members - though I doubt they ever give up thier musical connection and appreciation - give up their search.
Skott Hawk: Dark Tribe. Militant. Graver. This boy can dance. I am inspired by him. His movements are like watching an explosion being carefully contained within the human body. We do not chat as much as acknowledge each other's presence, which for us is like catching up. I see him dance, and he sees me dance; our lives are written in flow and movement, everything important, everything deep, as already being said and being understood. Words would just be a shallow addendum to something deeper.
The Librarian: Sans Bookkeeper. The Librarian is a young twenty something goth, nearly always in a corset and full length tight dress of some kind, who nearly always dances with an older, sterner Victorian goth woman, the Bookkeeper. They are a duo, but lately the older one hasn't been coming out as much, and the Librarian has been seeing two or three different men there instead. She was hardly out on the floor at all last night, I think her boytoys feel uncomfortable either being out there with her, or her being out there at all.
Phade: An old friend, younger sister to another old friend. A sidenote really, I don't see her there very often. Shes kind of like a niece to me. Must have just turned 18, she's been out and about more.
Strawberry/Augustin: A twenty something redhead, very stylish, in the company of her Older Man, who is also very stylish. They look good together, and casually reflect my own relationship with The Muse, who is quite a bit younger than myself. She is very nearly Dark Tribe, though i believe she is more into poi and firespinning, rather than a body connection. Tools such as these provide a sense of disconnection with the music in order to be effective as an art, but that is another conversation entirely.
Dawid: Dark Tribe. Cyber-goth, light show fanatic. The man loves derblinkenlights. He can move; but the lunges are short and his sweeps reverse often, creating the illusion of an empty space. He still misses Angelique, his dance partner and friend - they dated for nearly a year and a half, and their dance styles reflected this. They would often spin lights with and around each other, filling in both sides with a dazzling display. His movements still remember her in his life, and its like he puts her there in his mind even though she is no longer present. He is starting to look around, but any one of Us can tell she has left a whole.
COAT CHECK: Helen. Newer, hangs out there in her time off. Little bit desperate for attention I think.
BARTENDERS:
Jet Black: Not on top of it tonight.
Newbie Ringlets: First time I've seen her, and fourth in succession of one night wonders. they are going through staff like a BC wildfire.
DJ: No Name Bland. (Half shaved head, shorter, thin) He 's trying to switch it up but his mixes are terrible. I don't think its his fault, obviously the brass is trying to get him to mix in some harsher metal and darker top forty crap, to hit up the mass appeal that is Saturday night. I think its safe to say that instead of making everybody happy, nobody was. Not the real dancers anyway. The ones that came to watch, drink, chat, and shake it were probably served up a dish or two they liked.
Time: Two Hours. Couldn't hit the groove at any particular point, and my side still aches from Friday.
Drinks: 6.25 a SHOT! Are you kidding me? That seems high. Pre-drinking, though I hate to do it as I believe in supporting the House, is becoming practical on a scale of five to one.
Still, two hours watching and being with the Muse was pretty much priceless. And we had a nice chat later about life in general. Love that girl so hard it kills me.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Message: To the Owner of a Small Red Puppy
He is out wandering several blocks to the North-East, and will return home by evening. He would love to play more ball, and does not like the large yellow wooden bee you have recently purchased to decorate your kitchen/hall closet. He thinks it is scary and intimidating.
And So it Begins
It has been almost three years to the day since my last messages were sent. It seems like I live a different life now. It is a different life. And I think, or at least I hope, that it is a better one. One may find the remnants elsewhere; I have left it in place as a sort of memorium.
Perhaps one day there will be a message here for you.
Perhaps one day there will be a message here for you.
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