Friday night..beaming in the unlight...

Shhhh....it's early in the morning, and the door makes a loud creak when you open it...shhhhh....

I missed the moon come up today. I was too tired, and for some strange reason, the fear and the sadness hit me during th day. I haven't done a bit of legitimate work since 2:30 this afternnon. Sure, I sat on the floor of the foor of my office and wept for a while, but hey, them's breaks when you live life this high strung.

I got home after ripping through traffic like Luke Skywalker on a speederbike, and sat down in front of a cold, well addicted computer trying to figure out what was new to livejournal, and what was just old fluff. It's all fuff if you think about it too much, but really, it's good fluff, so I forgive every one of my fellow contributers to internet overload.

I didnt' hear my mother come home. I'd tuned out all the noise of the world, since I was reminded by Dave, the hairy one that I was in severe lacking of Anthony Space. I'm only really ever truly alone when I'm in my car racing back home to the computer, or en route somewhere, cursing traffic, and singing along to some obscure, outdated, or unliked CD track.

(Then there's when I'm in the shitter, but that's another day's rant.)

I sat in the living room, just for pleasantries, trying to be socialble with the family as it were. Grandma was going off about UFO's again (this is starting to scare me) and what Governer Schwartzenegger is up to now. Mom was kvetching on work and the stupidities of people trying to claim it was Rosh Hashanna on Yom Kippur. dumb asses. But she was unhappy, but letting it out, I was unhappy and keeping it in, and Grandma was busy trying to ascertain if I was okay.

I said "I'm fully functioning on all physical parameters." Mom said it was a nice way of telling her to "fuck off" and that I was having a bad day. I remained silent in my agreement.

(You can't tell a grandma to fuck off. No matter how bad you want to. It's just doesn't jell. It ain't Kosher, I tell ya.)

I called up Dave, called up Mel (pussycatmeow), and tried to figure out the night and tomorrow. Then I crashed out. Rebooted for a hot second. Not a full reboot. Just a quick systems shut down and recharge. Two hours sleep and then I was up again like a Weeble Wobble. Knocked down, but won't fall.

Got up, shaved some (Not fully. Just "some."), cleaned up, changed clothes and got out with Dave and Drew (snuff_daddy) and Alice in the Hairy Canadian Mobile and headed up to Hollywood (West Hollywood for anyone keeping score) to hit Underground.

We had a couple of swigs from Dave's Flask of Doom--Stroh--181 proof Scandanavian Rum--and then headed for the door. Paid our five bucks to get in, said hi to Dia and Larry (the only DJ's on tonight) and then made our way to the bar. Larry bought us drinks in celebration of Drew's 25th (!!!) and we stood around chatting in the middle of the floor.

The middle of the floor is a wonderous place to be. You see everything, everyone sees you, and you're obnoxiously in the way all at the same time. Great place.

I decided to go for my next drink. Johnny looked at me funny when I ordered a Vodka Martini--with Belvadere. Good--nay--GREAT stuff. I decided to sit and write, so I did. With a few interruptions, I managed to bang out most of (not all, but most of) my article for Liz and Karen's (kar3ning) E-Zine The People's Dance Party. (You should check it out. It's good stuff.) I think that I have something workable, and maybe afte a little look at it today, and tomorrow, it'll be worthy of the next issue. Maybe.

I got drug into conversation besides my best efforts to be cold and aloof. Tonight my agenda was to sit and drink and write and be bitter. Circumstances would not allow this. Nature would not allow this. My vaccuum must have been too large. As much as I attempted to cultivate my unhappiness of the day (and believe me, I was unhappy) the world kept on trying to make me smile. The world sucks, but it's a good suck. Sometimes, anyway...

Sat and chatted with Julie for a long while. She's doing much better, and even though I know it's her an not me, it's becoming less her and much me. We shall see. Or perhaps not. It's still much me though. And a little bit her, though it's becoming less and less. And though I said this not two sentences ago, I don't care. It's my prose, so fuck you. Thank you.

Spent a bunch of time talking to this girl Kristin, and ended up getting her nubmer. She most likely won't call me back, but I'm used to that. And really, it was a test to see if I could still do that. And apparently I can. Oooh, look. Funny. I can still talk the talk, even if my heart's not in it. Neat trick that. Fucked up on many levels. But who cares, right? It's all about the illusion of confidence, the trick of the light, the fake of the dance.

Besides, what do I know of 19 year old girls anymore. I'm old, bitter, and just not caring enough to take the time to cultivate. Screw Jedi Mind tricks. It's all about tending the gardens.

(Best of all possible worlds my ass. [See! See what's happening to me? Cynical again. I had gotten away from that shit. I was all, "Woooo woooo woooo! This is the best of all possible worlds! Yay Candide!"] Feh. But still smiling. Feh and smiles. What is this world coming too?)

I got a couple more in me (on Dave, thank you very) and then danced out a good string of boogie nights action. Elephant (guilty pleasure) and The Smiths, and Bis, etc, etc, etc. Dia fussed that they only dance to the hits, and you know, it's true. But sometimes, I think, you have to take the risk, say fuck it, and just play music that is good, or even better, GREAT and unappreciated. But that's just me. Track two (I think) would rock the floor if anyone would take the chance.

Dancing around the floor, I noted all the couples hooking up, and the happy people. It's a neat thing to see that much joy going on. Even if it's fleeting. Kisses on lips, bodies grinding into each other. It's quite a thing to see. Even better to be a part of.

I'm just an observer, watching the game, not playing in it. Not so much.

Banged around the floor, said hello to some old friends who showed up after not being anywhere for a while. Got to see Crazy Jeff, Tim, Lisa (anodetolisa), Chris, Danielle, drunken-hood-of-the-car-makeout-session-girl (she did not recognize me...figures), just to name a few. Dawn (themissdawn), Michael (europopkid), Brett (vintagelife), et al., also made an appearance or five.

We made our way out at the end of the night, Drew a bit tipsy from Asian Mike buying him drinks, and me a bit worn out from the day, from the night and from life (And not really eating. I'm scarfing down a good old fashioned TV dinner as I type), we got in the car and drove, Grant Langston playing the whole of the way.

The moon is waxing, near to wonderful completion of it's yello-white glory. The face of the man in the moon is almost a full smile, and he knows what's coming in the days ahead, even if the rest of us don't. He sits low in the west, not quite ready to go to bed yet. Not unlike the rest of us up this late at night, riding, drinking, eating, fucking, hanging out, socializing--fighting the urge of sleep, and the breaking of another day, albeit Saturday.

The car is quiet save for the music that plays moderately from the car's stero. Dave looks at me, and we both turn and look at the couple in the back seat. Half asleep, but not really. Cuddling. Quiet, happy, good. Dave makes the turn down my street, and drops me off.

All is quiet here, too, and the moon shines down on me. Old. Yellow. Voyeuristic.

A key in the door, a click of the lock, and five minutes later, I'm online, ready to work out this thing that's in my head, buzzing like a song that I don't know the words for, but have heard before.

It's nearing Five o'clock in the morning. This little bit of random thought taken long, too long to chart out and put down, as I click through other sites to ensure that I don't lose my connection. Click-click here and there, even though I'm only intersted in getting out this thought and that sentence.

Not losing the connection.

Ther's a glass of water by my side. It's clear, and cold, and wet. And it has purpose that I don't yet know. Something deep down within my insides that churns, and cleans, and purifies. That makes part of the whole, work. No one knows wy, but it's what's needed. It's what keeps it all flowing. Moisture is what keeps the parts working one into the other. Keeps them connected.

Connection.

Take a sip, type a phrase. Blink an eye and catch everything that you missed while you were too busy looking. It's about making the connection while trying to see in the unlight of the strobe.