erratic movements, loud clanks and reverb in the darkness. green laser-beams and red pinhole lights sway and jerk in moments along the walls of a certain spastic geometry.
we are raucous chaotic vibration. snacks and alcohol strewn about the table. tomes of songs with the remote wrapped in plastic. tambourines & jodeci/mariah dreams. the microphone has a safety health cover on it "just in case," but just in case of what?
it's 7pm, 8pm, midnight, 1am. the night becomes a beautiful blur. this is cheaper than therapy; it is my therapy. this is my release; i am free. elvis looks on from a static portrait. he blesses us with his immortal crooked smile. the night goes from young to endless, and we ride the tunes raw until we are asked to leave.
this is poetry in motion.