We got there early, and fast walked so that we could sit in the front row. it was slightly manic, the desire to be as close as possible to the gay men. I hate saving seats, it makes me nervous, but i felt deserved of the seats we retained because we got there so early. i watched the community trickle in. Professors and gays, a bunch of lesbos, a few drag queens in the audience, the coffeehouse girl who is currently in rehab.
Im sorry, i have to pause briefly to remark, out of the story's context, about the horrible electro that my neighbors are raging to. I feel so boorish. ho hum. horrible. As long as i am talking about horror, i am also imagining my ex whatever at said electro party, fists pumping, horible red acid wash girl jeans from urban turquoise studded belt with monstrous buckle and possible fake hot pink wayfarers and chiodis shirt. shudder. hatred.
I hope i am on the rag soon, bc i have not felt so much disdain and abhorence for things that used to interest me. Some trash can lid bass infused downbeat makes me want to pierce my eyelids and i find myself uncomforted by france gall or beachhouse. Instead of xui xui of whatever the FUCK their name is being interesting it sounds like noise. or a cat taking a shit made out of crystal. i want something awful and campy, sublime is almost good again for the first time since seventh grade. Gypsy kings, makaha sons, moonight sonata, my fathers bavarian radio station, anything besides what i have already heard the aa hoodied razor haired silly silly group stomping around to. some alive, sweaty, chubby brunette guy singing the blues. flamenco guitar. my best friends band from high school. someone with a first name and a last name. barbara streisand being strangled. Not a badass. reggae.
I will have to get back to the drag queen later. right now im too preoccupied. MIA is playing.
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