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semi-autobiographical
creative writing 
new york and los angeles.
isolation, identity, autonomy, globalism.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

hustler

bass guitar tumbles up the rainy street from the whisky on sunset and larrabee. sirens spin into the distance. the cars make a slick slipping sound as they cruise the boulevard lined with sex shops and pizza joints. I sit on the patio and listen. another guitar pounds out a methodical rhythm occasionally punctuated by a singer's yelp. I cross the street and blend into the crowd. the venue is nearly at capacity, the patrons in their mid thirties, wearing flannel, ripped levis, and motorcycle boots, holding cups of foam and budweiser.

the song changes into a melody and I see the guitarist bent over with sweaty curls flopping in his face, framed by orange light. the drummer sits shirtless, smashing cymbals and snares. the bassist stands upright and stared up at the lights while his fingers worked their way up and down the neck of the guitar. to his left stands the singer. he cradles the mic, whispers words that echo back from the pa system. his voice sends me spinning into galaxies and exploding stars that soon won't exist. the rhythm changes and he detaches the mic, snaps its cord and howls, reaches one hand up to the fiery stage lights and begs for forgiveness. the song stops and the audience rewards his effort with one handed claps and half hearted shouts. a few enthusiastic fans jump and scream from a cluster in front of the singer, inches from the stage. i wonder if the sound engineer has flashed the five minute sign yet. the singer looks down and curves his lip into a sinister smile in the near-silence. then the drummer counts off and the band dives into one more rollicking nameless song. when the singer looks up again, a look of disbelief flickers across his rumpled face and he stretches his lips into another howl.

we teeter on the edge of closeness. and everything insane. rain falls down and covers everything below. we can't pretend we're everything. we're not each other's missing piece. I feel myself slipping away with this realization. I draw a line to keep you far behind. I know I can exist somewhere.

About Me

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Influences besides NY&LA: Francesca Lia Block, Mary, Courtney Love, Janet Fitch, Casey & Nick, Lindsay, My sisters, Rachel, Jessica, Melina, Gabe, Annie, Peggy Ellsberg & the Ells Girls aka Meli Julie & Sherrie, Jenny, Bob Dylan, Suede, Shirley Manson, Heidi Sigmund Cuda, Gwen Stefani, Bad Religion, Beyond Scents, thrift stores, JetBlue & the Airtrain, Telluride, Faith Hill, Peeps, Pete Wentz