Wine (Part II)

Not really wine this time; more of a combination of other intoxicants. New impressions from wonderful wonderful Toronto "scenes", whatever the fuck that's supposed to indicate. A corner? A particular club? A generalizable "I plan to die at the age of twenty-seven" ethic? Anyway, from our well-lit crumbling marble edifice fast-food joint to the cavernous bowels of the tavern it's all the same and all similarly generalizable. A preacher tried to save our souls and one man mercilessly mocked him. That's what we need more of: easily refutable alternatives to solidify our own "positions". Tonight's musical entertainment: guitar timbres that could only be described as "filthy"; walls of waveforms and their bvarious Fourier transformations acting pretty much like earwigs; impish phrases solidly thrashing along the ceiling beams carrying the weight of a thousand people; human meat thrashing and sweating; beards lifted in ecstasy; jeans shredded at the knees, at the edges polka-dotted in sweat; haze of actual drosophila scattering (an aside is in oerder to explain this one. You know how when you leave a banana open out for a day, you get huge globs of fruit flies, and then they scatter in this almost powder-like puff when you shake the banana in disgust? Well, that, but fruit flies equals body heat and banana equals the patina of hipster dress and bodily features/modifications. Loud droning, loud interference patterns. Everything about it was big: big gestures, huge buildups, only the hugest arms extended making the sign of the "rawk". At the bar, more intoxicants. I wondered who believed what. Minds begin to wander after the sixth song of captivity. I like to watch, not participate. I participate only insofar it informs my watching, so that I'll know what to look for. So it goes for moshing. I can notice the power-stances, the loose pacts among friends, the balance verticals and horizontals lined up, the lack of glasses and tearables. What would the preacher think of the inside? For a while, lead singer appears as some freedom-loving pagan, but sinks back to an ape looking for sex. Outside: cigarette clouds that momentarily look like the Indian subcontinent; free condoms and movie passes; hubbub overshadowed by exclamations of approval directed at the studios. I got movie passes. I'm being realistic. Wit wasn't working quickly enough. Accidentally rubbed past the pyramidal breasts of a potential love of my life; I had to remind myself that I believe in nothing. I needed the intoxicants. I can't run with these kids otherwise; too much enerrgy: hollering and beeping people, accidentally overturnign catatonic store shelves. At the fast food joint an old lady disapproved of our language (phrases like "so then I fucked his asshole"); I almost leaned in close and screamed "I don't have to explain to you the way I live!". But I do. The secret faery queen on my shoulder makes me fight God and fight the old lady, but also fight the moshers and the flailing locks of hair containing razor blades come to cut my marrow from my bones.

Consider: "...it was the Law of the Sea, they said. Civilization ends at the waterline. Beyond that, we all enter the food chain, and not always right at the top."