Saturday, September 21, 2002
Drink The Night Away - Gaelic StormWe set sail at half-past morn,
looking for a new tomorrow,
don't know when we're comin' home
so we'll drink
and we'll dance
and we'll drown our sorrow!
Weigh hey,
Hey, lad, hey.
Way, hey, hey!
We'll drink the night away.
Now I don't know what there lies in store
but it's better than this
That's why I'm willing
to stake my claim on a foreign shore
with me spoons
with me fiddle
and half a shilling!
Weigh hey,
Hey, lad, hey.
Way, hey, hey!
We'll drink the night away.
I drempt a place
I know it's true
Where the dolphins play
and it's always sunny
The girls are brown
and the ocean's blue,
less work to do,
but you make more money!
Weigh hey,
Hey, lad, hey.
Way, hey, hey!
We'll drink the night away.
I must be off by morning light,
I can her our bo'sun's whistle blowin'
so it's one more kiss
and one more fight
and one more song while the beer is flowin'!
Weigh hey,
Hey, lad, hey.
Way, hey, hey!
We'll drink the night away.
When the sky is grey
look out to sea
When the waves are high
and the light is dying
Well, raise a glass and think of me...
When I'm home again, boys.
I'll be buying!
Weigh hey,
Hey, lad, hey.
Way, hey, hey!
We'll drink the night away.
Weigh hey,
Hey, lad, hey.
Way, hey, hey!
We'll drink the night away.
Weigh hey,
Hey, lad, hey.
Way, hey, hey!
We'll drink the night away.
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 9:54 PM
Friday, September 20, 2002
She smiled to the darkened room, watching the bodies in the semi-dark as the lights flashed. Green light illuminated a pair of arms lifted above someone’s head. Red flashed on a face that was tilted back, quiet ecstasy written in the small smile and the orange hair that turned bright blue as the lights changed again.Every one danced, including the ones along the walls, those at the bar and the ones in the restrooms waiting in line or tapping their feet as they washed their hands or puked or pissed. Some of them were less involved than others; some were sunk so deeply that the music was all. Some danced with their partners, getting physically closer with every beat and slowly revealing something of themselves to the other. Some danced with the group as a whole, letting every one with eyes to see.
She loved it.
Absolutely loved it.
The taste of lust and the energy of the dance, the ways people gave themselves freely and barely realized it or barely cared, the ways the bodies twisted and rolled in the flickering lights…Beauty.
She checked the clock. It was time for the last call.
All things end. But there are things that last.
She grabbed the microphone as the song ended.
They would go to the bar, order their last drink; make their last conversation, exchange numbers, email addresses, wander out to their cars and go home to collapse in a haze of giddy, unfulfilled lust or with some one new.
There may be one-night stands; lonely masturbation while this person pictures the one they had seen across the floor; or relationships budding from the lusts. Nothing truly lasts.
But some things endure.
A bright smile flashed across her face as the song ended. She had given them her music, music of her making – taking words, beats and emotions of others and making them something new, something barely recognizable – and they had given her what she needed.
As she turned off the flickering lights, they drifted apart. She was a little sad to see them go, but she was buoyed by their earlier emotions. When the last of them had left; woken up from his self-induced stupor and sent home by cab she began to dismantle her things. The bartender offered her a ride home, but she declined.
The CDs went into the back room, padlocked and the key in her pocket. The mixing equipment was far to heavy for her to move, so it stayed, waiting for the next one to spin their own magic. She paid what she owed for her drinks and the few pieces of food she had requested and pulled on her coat.
There are things that endure. She would be one of them, thanks to those half-drunk on each others emotions, on the music and o their ability to forget as they danced. Her memory of them would endure, just as other nights were in her memory; though nowhere near the same.
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 4:02 PM
Well, Spots finally said she was sorry and Hope wants me to update. So now I have to find somehtign to type about.
Does anyone know how to tell a guy you're only interested in his friendship and not fucking him? Anyone? Something that he'll accept graciously.
I mean, I like David. He's a great guy in some respects. I just don't see my self getting qoute down and dirty endquote with him. *shrug*
*humms and skips about* Mom's sick. Ill-sick not that's disgusting-sick. So we're both having a lot of fun.
I need to do laundry. Should have gotten soap yesterday, but we didn't. Or more accurately - Mom didn't. I can't stand that aisle. Wal-Mart doesn't like it if you pass out in their store. Wonder what I'm gonna do when I move out on my own. Pay random strangers? *snicker*
All right. I've updated. Apology accepted CurlySpots.
.:.Uniquely maladjusted... But fun.:. 2:44 PM
An Introduction to the World
Web-Home of Parvastur Tultema, Tecilquar of the Spring-fed Field, Lover of Nature, Smiter of Idiots, Watch-Warden of the Squirrels of Inconvenience, Nazi of the Grocery, Wielder of Sword of Bronze and Emerald, Inciter of Bunnies, and Wereslut of a Thousand Forms.
Much more subtlety like that, and I'm going to have to become a used car salesman just to maintain my self-respect.
Being able to fly would be cool, but only if I could fly fast. Flying slow is floating, and that's just creepy.
Look, Lemmings -- a Cliff!
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