Monday, August 08, 2005
it was me
So you're in the hip place in the bigger city, and you're like "Well, yeah, I like that new Spoon album, but only the first seven tracks- hey, watch where you're going! Shit, these are suede. Fuck! Anyway, I don't really understand those last tracks- it's like the album has an 'A' side and a 'B' side... like grades! Hahaha! You like that?! Yeah hahhahahahahahathat'sgoodi'madouchebag."
Well, first of all, fuck you.
Second, follow these tracks (mine) and you'll understand.
We spent most of the day looking through the old house. We drilled a hole in the vanity fixture, wired in the switch, screwed everything in place, cut the power, wrapped it in electrical tape, switched the power on, and voila, like Ben Franklin's magic, we had light. We checked in the crawl space, pulled out a three wheeled radio flyer, and fiddled with the ancient fuses on the intercom system. It's a fixer-upper, but the possibilites are fininte, in sight, and hopeful. The three of us drew big plans in the air and had a couple of cold beverages. We shot the shit, and Andy told us the story of the sophmore and the coonskin thong.
It got dark, and then it got darker. The boys left, and I was about to get a call from across town. I hopped on the blue beach crusier, just trued the wheels last week, and was over in ten. We sat on the porch, and she told me about the fight, how she was scared about the move, and wondered when the uncertain present would turn into the bright future. I agreed- it was scary to be in your mid-twenties- shit, had it been really been ten years since we huddled in the basement and had that first sip? We talked till around one, and when I offered my hand, she gave me a hug.
As most good roads in honest small towns do, this one took me through the woods. Black clouds had dropped in around seven, and the asphalt was still wet. They always spray down the streets on movie sets, and it was just that perfect kinda damp. Uphill, I passed a nervous skunk and a newly fallen tree. Downhill, night birds swooped down, nearly kissing the handlebars. Right turn, down main street, officially a state highway, but locally two yellow lines. Without a car for miles, I tried to keep my wheels right in the middle, neither oncoming nor outgoing. As I began thinking about the day, I passed under a streetlight, then out of reach.
I am not in darkness, I am.
I am not in, I am.
I am not in, I am darkness.
In that great murky black, I alternated stranger, ghost, stranger until I reached the park. As a cop car came out from a side street, I stashed the bike behind the big tree and under the bush, and walked that last block home.
Did you get that? That's what the last four songs of Gimme Fiction are about. Hipster-yuppie scum, get your vintage bike and iPod out, wait till sundown, and see what I'm talking about.
Spoon-Was It You? ¶ 11:48 PM
So you're in the hip place in the bigger city, and you're like "Well, yeah, I like that new Spoon album, but only the first seven tracks- hey, watch where you're going! Shit, these are suede. Fuck! Anyway, I don't really understand those last tracks- it's like the album has an 'A' side and a 'B' side... like grades! Hahaha! You like that?! Yeah hahhahahahahahathat'sgoodi'madouchebag."
Well, first of all, fuck you.
Second, follow these tracks (mine) and you'll understand.
We spent most of the day looking through the old house. We drilled a hole in the vanity fixture, wired in the switch, screwed everything in place, cut the power, wrapped it in electrical tape, switched the power on, and voila, like Ben Franklin's magic, we had light. We checked in the crawl space, pulled out a three wheeled radio flyer, and fiddled with the ancient fuses on the intercom system. It's a fixer-upper, but the possibilites are fininte, in sight, and hopeful. The three of us drew big plans in the air and had a couple of cold beverages. We shot the shit, and Andy told us the story of the sophmore and the coonskin thong.
It got dark, and then it got darker. The boys left, and I was about to get a call from across town. I hopped on the blue beach crusier, just trued the wheels last week, and was over in ten. We sat on the porch, and she told me about the fight, how she was scared about the move, and wondered when the uncertain present would turn into the bright future. I agreed- it was scary to be in your mid-twenties- shit, had it been really been ten years since we huddled in the basement and had that first sip? We talked till around one, and when I offered my hand, she gave me a hug.
As most good roads in honest small towns do, this one took me through the woods. Black clouds had dropped in around seven, and the asphalt was still wet. They always spray down the streets on movie sets, and it was just that perfect kinda damp. Uphill, I passed a nervous skunk and a newly fallen tree. Downhill, night birds swooped down, nearly kissing the handlebars. Right turn, down main street, officially a state highway, but locally two yellow lines. Without a car for miles, I tried to keep my wheels right in the middle, neither oncoming nor outgoing. As I began thinking about the day, I passed under a streetlight, then out of reach.
I am not in darkness, I am.
I am not in, I am.
I am not in, I am darkness.
In that great murky black, I alternated stranger, ghost, stranger until I reached the park. As a cop car came out from a side street, I stashed the bike behind the big tree and under the bush, and walked that last block home.
Did you get that? That's what the last four songs of Gimme Fiction are about. Hipster-yuppie scum, get your vintage bike and iPod out, wait till sundown, and see what I'm talking about.
Spoon-Was It You? ¶ 11:48 PM
