into the western horizon
Weekends always bring out the beast in me. This past one was no exception. It was a blur from GO when Allin picked me up on her way down from St. Cloud. Jumpy like coke fiends we headed towards Kat9y's, a trail of smoke and Jim Morrison in our wake. From there we navigated the twists and turns of 35W to Mortimer's where cheap Grainbelt and foosball awaited us.
The plan was a massive convergence of all our friends and resources, an uprising in the best sense of the word, with America in our hearts and liquor in our veins. By 11 o'clock there was madness in every direction. We held down a table near the jutebox, pounding our fists on the fake wood and singing the songs other people played for us. At some point When the man comes around was played and that's when I was sure we were in the right place.
None of our other cohorts ever showed, but that seemed to be right. Just the ka-tet to rock on our friday night. The core of the being in the center of the beast, a great burning column reaching into the western horizon, perhaps.
Saturday morning came. And went. I slept late to avoid that feeling of still being drunk and woke up in the afternoon refreshed and ready for the next adventure. There was talk of a dance party some where but in the end Kat9y and me headed into Dayton to Tracy's house and her endless liquor cabinet. It is something like Mary Poppin's bag, limitless and surprising. We drank strange concoctions until we'd all reached the edge so we headed off to the American Legion #600 where much to our delight a band was playing and Grainbelt is served on tap.
We sat at the most central table we could and eyed the drunken lizards around us until I want to be sedated was played. Then we were on our feet and bopping around the dance floor without a care that even the drunkards thought we were odd. Real freaks with their hearts on their sleeves. It couldn't get any better. And then it did, the band played Roadhouse Blues for their encore and everyone pumped their fists high. Since legions, for some godawful reason, close at 1:00 we quickly headed off to Billies with Paul and my family + Ryan B who had shown up. They didn't stay long in the chaos of Billies, but we just went into our most primal roles and started making friends with anyone who was willing. I got a leinenkugel from the amazing bartender who looks like Steve Buscemi and I am in love with and headed into the karaoke room where Paul, Tracy and Kat9y had found a table. It was dark strange scene in there with groups of girls singing sad country songs and a older man we'd befriended earlier in our drunken haze lurking behind our table so we raced off down the street to the next bar.
12th Street Grill usually caters to the biker type, but apparently on Saturdays all the young folks conquer the place and make it into a strange scene with people grinding in front of a DJ and everyone from your past floating past your eyes. After Kat9y and me finished off an American Spirit (buzzing like speed freaks from the nicotine) Tracy came and told us Matt Kroulik was there, so naturally we went to seek him out. And low and behold, in the midst of conversation with the man himself we discovered some old friends we had known through Bfro were sitting at the table next to him. I did a double take remembering nights in the blonde man's van driving around Elk River with a transistor radio and our hearts bent on mayhem. But alas, the bar was closing, so we said our goodbyes, dropped Tracy back in Dayton and returned to my house for one last adventure.
A week ago Chris and Nikki moved from Kat9y's old house. I hadn't set foot in there since The Smiths moved out but Kat9y had heard tales of it's sad state and we had our ka to consider so we decided to break in. There was unfinished business in that house. It was kind of like a surreal funeral, walking from room to room, surveying the damage Chris and his devil woman had caused and remembering our lives. An acid trip comes to mind.
So we pulled some chairs into the living room and smoked some grass where the rocking chair and side table use to sit. Afterward we said our goodbyes to the place standing by the red oaks in the front yard and then headed back through the fence to my house and it's familiar smells and sight.
The plan was a massive convergence of all our friends and resources, an uprising in the best sense of the word, with America in our hearts and liquor in our veins. By 11 o'clock there was madness in every direction. We held down a table near the jutebox, pounding our fists on the fake wood and singing the songs other people played for us. At some point When the man comes around was played and that's when I was sure we were in the right place.
None of our other cohorts ever showed, but that seemed to be right. Just the ka-tet to rock on our friday night. The core of the being in the center of the beast, a great burning column reaching into the western horizon, perhaps.
Saturday morning came. And went. I slept late to avoid that feeling of still being drunk and woke up in the afternoon refreshed and ready for the next adventure. There was talk of a dance party some where but in the end Kat9y and me headed into Dayton to Tracy's house and her endless liquor cabinet. It is something like Mary Poppin's bag, limitless and surprising. We drank strange concoctions until we'd all reached the edge so we headed off to the American Legion #600 where much to our delight a band was playing and Grainbelt is served on tap.
We sat at the most central table we could and eyed the drunken lizards around us until I want to be sedated was played. Then we were on our feet and bopping around the dance floor without a care that even the drunkards thought we were odd. Real freaks with their hearts on their sleeves. It couldn't get any better. And then it did, the band played Roadhouse Blues for their encore and everyone pumped their fists high. Since legions, for some godawful reason, close at 1:00 we quickly headed off to Billies with Paul and my family + Ryan B who had shown up. They didn't stay long in the chaos of Billies, but we just went into our most primal roles and started making friends with anyone who was willing. I got a leinenkugel from the amazing bartender who looks like Steve Buscemi and I am in love with and headed into the karaoke room where Paul, Tracy and Kat9y had found a table. It was dark strange scene in there with groups of girls singing sad country songs and a older man we'd befriended earlier in our drunken haze lurking behind our table so we raced off down the street to the next bar.
12th Street Grill usually caters to the biker type, but apparently on Saturdays all the young folks conquer the place and make it into a strange scene with people grinding in front of a DJ and everyone from your past floating past your eyes. After Kat9y and me finished off an American Spirit (buzzing like speed freaks from the nicotine) Tracy came and told us Matt Kroulik was there, so naturally we went to seek him out. And low and behold, in the midst of conversation with the man himself we discovered some old friends we had known through Bfro were sitting at the table next to him. I did a double take remembering nights in the blonde man's van driving around Elk River with a transistor radio and our hearts bent on mayhem. But alas, the bar was closing, so we said our goodbyes, dropped Tracy back in Dayton and returned to my house for one last adventure.
A week ago Chris and Nikki moved from Kat9y's old house. I hadn't set foot in there since The Smiths moved out but Kat9y had heard tales of it's sad state and we had our ka to consider so we decided to break in. There was unfinished business in that house. It was kind of like a surreal funeral, walking from room to room, surveying the damage Chris and his devil woman had caused and remembering our lives. An acid trip comes to mind.
So we pulled some chairs into the living room and smoked some grass where the rocking chair and side table use to sit. Afterward we said our goodbyes to the place standing by the red oaks in the front yard and then headed back through the fence to my house and it's familiar smells and sight.