new years with the disco biscuits, my eyes starry, by myself at the front of the stage, things getting strange and heavy, but the sound sounded great, like I was in an echo chamber, or they were using some incredible three dimensional reverb — I was right in front of the stage — and I looked over and saw a kid, man, what’s the difference these days, a man dressed like a kid, going through people’s coats — in my reverie darkness, and assuming the worst, I wrote a story for him, of the man-child who goes to these shows and steals a wallets in order to eat — realizing that this was this creature’s role and purpose, this was what it did to eat — and what was my purpose — but I had no purpose, I was a watcher, this was my Carnival, my Festival, my License, but some people were working — for sure, for sure —
on the other side of the barrier, a black man-child sits tripping hard, staring at glowsticks in his hands that he was making dance the danse macabre — was that this man-child’s purpose? Had someone fed him something to reduce him to this state, animal, his mind caged by bone and blotters, sitting there, forebrain gone?
Or the fire jugglers after the show — this was their new years too, and they were working, throwing fire in the air to delight the crowds —
The music was good — so good — insane — but distracted by the music, and then seeing through the music, the world in its dark strivings crystallized and betrayed a terrible terrible prison where rats in a wheel run endless circles, conditioned to press a button for daily bread and daily shocks, and the music distracts us from the work, the bone-crunching soul-crushing, the raking of shit, the farming of greener soylent, the grinding of bonemash —
Time. Time & Change. Frightening words. Love. Love too.