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2002-07-12 || 4:11 p.m. || 1964 || a movie was made the other night but no one was around to film it. the lights were set up to give the walls bruises: black and blue and shadow and light, and the disco balls threw bruises on the floor as well. there were pictures of keith moon. and ray davies. and james brown. the door was still open because the music hadn't started. the fans were on dancing alone because no one had come up yet. matt stood behind the turntables trying on his headphones, taking them off, checking the stylus, patting at his breatpocket in search of cigarettes, squinting at the light to check the door, flipping through records, arranging tables, dimming the lights, brightening the lights, shuffling james-brown-like to check for floor danceability, wondering aloud what the first song should be. i was seated at the table against the wall. hand in chin. exhausted. heart beat fluttery from vicarious nerves (branching and forging paths where the radio waves would soon ebb and flow). trying to write this all down so as not to forget later. wishing in that perpetual motherly way i had a camera and congratulatory speech. we were the only ones in the room. (within twenty-two minutes it had filled up. a gang of tattoo parlor kids and a mob of mods (impeccably dressed. you couldn't talk to them for fear of barging in on their already-in-progress movie.) and matt-related friends. and matt was still abot twitchy. but it was nice to see things turn out.) guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |