2002-07-12 - 11:09 a.m.
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Belmo got the Rock.
Tonight was time for celebration.
The weekend is upon us. Although I haven�t celebrated much since 4th of July, that�s just too much to bear on a diary entry. Separation from families, near and far, on this cool summer�s night, with the music in the air everywhere I go; I know I�ll hear it. Sounds from instruments wailing in pain from the strums and the strikes on their skins and their veins. Pumping through headphones or blaring loud speakers, I enjoy the notes as they cascade on my brain.
CD MP3 player, vast playlist playground, songs from every corner of every angle of music collide on a shitty plastic CD-R, one of 100, cost pennies and nickels, and it follows me everywhere I need helping.
Oh I tasted the fruits of a buddie convention. Crowned king of the crown, my corona I wield with new grip on life. Red sox conversion to Belmo icon, I took that B before me and made B a !B! but in Spanish. Like Zorro delivering slashes on chests. Belmologo on hats shine like golden jewel headbands.
Saw man�s best friend and best friends and best friends of best friends. Befriended friends of my friendly friends� friends. Sat and talked about stuff and the stuff, while we went to the place to get stuff and the stuff. Played the games, laying cards in their place. Clearing assholes and social card playing scenes of power fights, with double faces and Aces, pass people, make them drink, you know just what I mean.
And then downtown for bands.
Not the same as last time, not the same location as my last encounter with a crowd and a stage. I was in it. I was jumping along with the music, but didn�t know anyone playing the strings. I heard pretty decent notes floating in the air, but the feeling was weak, too mellow, too tame, not too many people sharing their intense inner joy, dancing wild and free, just a drunken sway and bobbing and weaving, like a loom of tired dancers, sewing out a memory. Lights flickered and bickered with each other and put on illuminate shows, the people dancing in furies, throbbing in joy but unable to release their pent up aggression.
Why did shows get so tired and lame? Where did this standing around crap come from and when can it go? Zombie stance, swaying slyly and without feeling. I feel sorry for the people who don�t let their furies out.
But in dancing out my worries, I lost track of friends and dogs. I lost the crew that rode down in the car, scrunched up on each other. I lost the people I came with. I wandered around wondering where they would walk, with dog on a leash, and a taste for some beers. In smoking a cigarette, I ran into problems.
�What�s that you got there in your hand?�
Authority members question my authority. Question my legal stance stumbling around.
�It�s a cigarette, sir� I shot back. I didn�t mean anything but good old truth.
�Is that a marijuana cigarette?� with extra emphasis on �Jew- WANNA� and a pissed off attitude.
I froze inside, but outside I sweated. �No sir, just tobacco like they sell in the store.�
�Let me see that� he said and I wondered if he could notice that I�m drunk, but he just takes a puff on the cigarette I gave him.
What if that was a joint, sir? Then you�d be infected by the poisons of stupid illegality. You would be part of the drug culture, roaring. You�d be given a taste of the filth and the trash, the worst class of mankind, the scum of the Earth, the slime of the slime, the stoner disgrace. You�d taste Mary and dance with her briefly, if I had just passed you a rollup of grass.
But nope, he just smoked a cowboy wrap. Marlboro man smoking rough and tough, as roughnecks flaunting balls. He puffs the Marlboro and smiles, knowing just what I fear. The taste of the beer from my lips on the end.
�You�re ok, here you go� he retired my butt. But I passed on that ass, passed the �backy back to him. I didn�t want the taste of authority slobber to mess the messed up booze inside of my gut.
I left and came home, and retired and slept.
My writer�s block broke and I�m ready again.
BMC
What did you just say? - What's he gonna say next?
