"damaged goods/ send me back/ i cant work/i cant achieve/send me back."
i stood at the corner of terri's bar alone sobbing through the whole of the song. i didnt even cry when my grandfather and grandmother died. i could barely speak to chris last night and when i went up to see him in the middle of the night i had to leave the booth- we could barely look at each other.
one time i knew the cool kids. one time i guess i was one of them but solely through the accident of genetics-because of the way i looked. but i was the cool kid who seemed to be barely hiding a sadistic arch ss officer under the surface. it took a lot for anyone to approach me for any reason. for the longest time i went out ,didnt drink, didnt take drugs and danced. for hours. whether anyone else was there or not. not a few had commented on how odd that was-man ray's old dj before chris told me she thought i was insane. i didnt get it- music is for dancing. why are we too cool to dance in a dance club? white people are fucking dumbasses. ive gone out looking as i do to old skool house loft parties with hardly any crackers present and been treated like a long lost friend because of the way i danced. fucking whities... and lets be clear- you probably fuck the way you dance. fucking pathetic. no wonder the caucasian birth rate is down across the globe.
it was impossible to dance last night. i tried but it ended up with me threatening to shove a drink up someones ass after they poured half of one down my leg. i guess it's just as well i stopped trying as i was too torn up inside to do anything but freak out over nothing and pound the piss out of some drunken, half my age saturday ' regular' troll lolling around the dance floor like a doorstop. i floated around with the rug perpetually pulled out from under my feet in a suspended state ,near falling ,but somehow staying aloft.
i'd been going to man ray for awhile when i met chris who had just moved here from the midwest with his band. that was in 1986/7. he is one of only 2 people from that time in my life who is 1) still alive and 2) will still speak to me. since then ive gone through periods of not going to man ray for years- particularly when i was djing-but id come back and it's as if i hadnt left. we always get along so well. we love music in a lot of the same ways, with the same passion and similar tastes and can articulate it. if chris hadnt been there i probably, especially in the last decade, would not have kept going back, intolerant as i am of those, particularly djs, whose lack of a sense of musical history and shitty affected tastes more often than not make a mockery of a culture some of us built without the aid of a charge card or the internet from the remnants of our angry punk ass, loss -scarred souls. oh sure you may LOOK a certain way, but i feel a certain way. l lived a certain way. some of us died a certain way. i could barely calculate my losses then. they all smashed down on the top of my skull last night.
"the size of my heart is the size of my fist."
my life was not the mtv/" oh mickey "kind of experience so lovingly danced to on a retro night by those who werent even born when siouxsie got her tits out and put that swastika armband on. if the music that truly represented my past , the past man ray is an acknowledged, marketed symbol of, were actually played at one of these faux nostalgia drinkfests, bodies would litter the floor and everyone left barely standing would be thinking of slitting their wrists or shooting up in the restroom.
they say , even at the death of someone, we cry for ourselves. man ray was a connection to that jagged, pain strewn past i sometimes try so dilligently ,so unsuccessfully to' resolve', to get over, to forget. but we're a part of that past and part of the future as we stand here now. there's no shaking that. in the end, in this end i see that it is the music that was ultimately redemptive for me, that made it possible for me to transend and survive.
so much in my life seems to be changing, dying, ending right now. it's made me appreciate the smaller pleasures of being alive it's so easy to take entirely for granted and indeed almost totally ignore-a cooler, gentle summer day, being surrounded by cats who love me and all want to sit on my lap at the same time, a stupid joke, the familiarity with people you get on with and whose company you enjoy, the lemony , buttery goodness of a well made risotto, a ripping fucking bass line that threatens to take a wall out.
this is the first time in months that ive slept well even though i'm sad, weepy, lonely and lost feeling.
we break down to be able to go forward. it's the fire of destruction that gives birth, from the ashes ,to the phoenix of the future.
jump in the fire.