Daily News

As the song pumps through the air, my body once again aches. But not with the same ache as last time.

No, last time it ached pleasantly as I traversed the ever-tightening circle of sweaty bodies and hair dye. Swerving through the crowd, I rode the various waves of mutilation, as the tune thumped through the overhead speakers of the dingy club. A club that could have very well been called “Club Whatever You Do, Do NOT Use The Restroom Here.” Regardless, much like “Rocky Horror Picture Show,” it wasn’t the actual art that was the thing; so much as it was the community exercise that built up around its existence.

We were a family of people, all who had no family – or at least family who truly “got” us. We were Tribe. Brothers and sisters, many of whom shared benefits – often times out of convenience, and other times due to sheer lust-love. I can’t think of too many people who would turn down a beautiful, slightly overweight, shapely Goth chick with crazy “Robert Smith” hair and a smile to die for. One who was a wonderful kisser, and down for just about anything under the sun. Well, the moon would be more appropriate, I suppose. I mean, she was a Goth, after all. We were stupid, brash, brazen and accidentally beautiful, and we were going to change the world whether it knew it or not. Not by jumping into The Game and becoming The Man either, no sir. Rather, we were going to make The Man come to us.

Bow yer head, Bitch. We HAVE arrived!

I think of all this as the song plays again, years later, from my tinny little iPod. No “Man” is at my feet however, and no Brave New World awaits me as I listen. Nope, it’s just me. Speed walking on my mother-in-law’s treadmill. In my basement. The basement of the house that sits just on the outskirts of Suburbia. A suburbia that sits just on the outskirts of “Where The Rich People Dwell.” The pain this time isn’t resulting from joy of camaraderie either. No, the pain this time is of a mortal who is one year past being The Answer To Life, The Universe And Everything. A mere mortal who needs to get his non-punk rockian weight back down to a reasonable number, so that his wife might again find him attractive. Or barring that, at least allow him the good health as to live long enough to see his grandkids get married. I mean, he’s got to have at least one, right?

Picture 1

The Tribe is long gone, as I walk in my basement briskly to nowhere, staying in the same exact spot, regardless of how many miles I tack on. Don’t worry; it’s a life analogy that I am painfully aware of as I write this, just one that I don’t want to address here. You know, to help me avoid breaking into tears, much like a two year old who’s just been found with a soiled pull-up, and no one to blame but herself.

The Tribe is gone, but the song remains. As do I. Life isn’t what I thought it would be. I’m sure you can say the same. Some of it is worse than I was hoping for, and there’s quite a bit that’s much better as well. I’m glad the song stuck around to remind me of a past that I enjoyed and a present that I know now I never will.

Such a power for one little song to have. And to think, all these years later, outside of the chorus, I’ve no earthly idea what Wattie and the boys are even talking about…

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14 thoughts on “Daily News

  1. oh yes, we all knew of The Promise. and now we know it will never be fulfilled…but hasn’t it? in our own way we have changed the world, whether through children or friends or poems or prose. and that’s just how it’s supposed to be. maybe not to who we were back then, but to who we are now. and as mr. d said “But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only”

    • Very true, spot on as usual! I suppose I have been sharpie’ng up the world for a spell now. Leaving my mark, so to speak. I just wish I looked as cool now, as I did then.

      Oh, who are we kidding? I didn’t look cool then, either =)

  2. Man, if I’m not careful I’m about to start sounding like your fangirl, t :) I was THIS CLOSE to naming my son Wattie until the objections grew so loud (even from people who had The Exploited air brushed onto their torn leather jackets) that I opted out. 15 now, he says thank you whenever i tell him this story…i haven’t yet reached Deep Thought’s ultimate age, but sitting here at work, at a desk pushing papers around and reading this makes me want to go grab you and start planning a Fight Club or something ;) This was so wistfully written that it was like a sneak peek into your sardonic diary, loved it…

    • Oh my GOD! I actually had a friend who DIDN’T listen. I’ve no idea where or how her son is doing currently – but I’m pretty damned sure that he’s at least legally changed his name =]

      I’m glad you liked the post, and by all means, give me a call when it’s time to posse up!

  3. The words “accidentally beautiful” say so much. The style you wrote this in flows with such smooth meandering curves that I read it thrice. I don’t know the song, and now I don’t want to hear it… it may ruin the traversing of your mind that I so enjoyed.

    • Trust me k~, the song would not match the atmosphere you saw here, so I would avoid it in that case. Thank you for your kind words, this was one of those posts that seemed to slip right out of my head and onto the screen, so I’m glad that it came across to you in this fashion =)

  4. Hahaha! My version of that club was called Lush, during my pseudo-punk phase and then Kaos during my enduring hip-hop phase. Once upon a time, I was a good kisser in a black lace tank who was down for just about everything under the moon (and a couple of things over it). Now? Now, I wear socks with sandals. Birkenstocks, even. *sobs* ;-)

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