I miss you. I miss the inky blackness, the abraisive smell of beer, the rough tips of your fingers I miss your rich, thick handfuls of hair, your slim dark body. Your muscular back, the low slope of your nose, your breathtakingly beautiful eyes Your thick lips The almost unlikely native Your body curled in the beachgrass Rare steak You handle me, my body as if I were a feather Make the worst decisions Fatal mistakes Hold my face in your hands so hard I want to cry out The music stops, the crowd fades away and we are facing each other A moment of chance The hood under me buckles A muffler in the night A baby cries, and you are gone.
the asskicka I don't want to own my past. I don't want to sift and feel and relive the memories in my mind, in my heart. In my nose and in my ears when I smell stale beer and cigarette's, and hear sad wailing Patsy Cline or Bob Seger. I look back and feel so much sadness for the lost little girl that grew up watching out the window for someone to come and save her. For someone to come home and feed her. For someone to give a damn. I should have been put in a god damned foster home. I don't want to see the pictures of my mothers ex-husbands, our sad little existence in tackily decorated party halls, ashtrays on table, holding prized bottles of tequila, cognac. I am lucky to be alive for the shame and humiliation she put me through, the lies, the deceit. My inheritance of her disease of the mind, her inability to feel appropriate, to covet and cherish my relationships.. my thirst for self destruction.. my hatred. My addictions, and my ridiculous pride. The battle against nothing. Shadows of whispers in the night.
I put you away, memories. I'm just not ready to deal. It can be fiction for now, for my own protection.
Kytami. She owns her electric violin, she wears it she is one with it. Under her jaw she soothes the strings, she saws them, she bumps them. She feels the thick bengal beats and she moves her body. I am mesmerized. The crowd throbs and jumps to one beat, one sound, perfect harmony of the sitar, the violin, the electronica. Syncronicity! Oh the joy! One perfect marriage of sound and Sanjay hits the stage like a bomb, sets off the whole room. Dehli 2 Dublin takes on the room, conquers it, and brings it back down. We chill, calm, feel the vibe and learn it all over again. The peaks blow my mind. Bongo drum beats in sync with my heartbeat and I am alive!