walk, wait, wish
at times a near chance encounter stems from random oscillations,
day dream L.F.O. radio hissing valve tube transistors that put you in front of the music store at 6:47 p.m. on a Monday.
and she sits with her friend with that cat Mohawk swaying, follicle daisies in the Florida tropical storm wind.
looking her right in the eyes i say "You weren't at work today" and her friend is quicker on the up and up and raises out a hand saying her name is laura or lyndsey or Lazarus or librarian or lotus or lillith or sum such name. but all eyes on my catholic post establishment lip ring vision magnet stare like eyelash sized daggers.
and i drag on the smoke and do my best lean against a concrete pillar. basic information starts exchanging and i say " what are you girls doing here?" an estrogen pulse doubles in 12 frames per second when they look at each other and say "loitering". i run away into the store because you see i have this theory. if you really want a girl and i mean really want a girl to notice you, and write your name on her binder with heart shapes and such hula hooping around the letters constructing up you, do this
Because you see
i have this theory
Show up
get right in front of them. i mean directly in their line of sight. maybe even draw arrows on the sidewalk pounting to your general vicinity with teaser trailers like "something incredible is over here. Scrawled as subtitles to the arrows. when you’re in their line of sight, do something incredible. i mean incredible.
i dont know what you’re good at. Maybe you’re an amazing clog dancer or can fashion things from macramé and wicker like condoms or clock radios. Whatever your forte. do this incredible thing in front of them and then disappear and i mean run away. act so collected in some thing that consumes your every thought, they suddenly turn around in concentric circles of lustful confusion saying in an internal dialogue "where did the amazing thing go?"
so i tell her that maybe ill see her when i come back out but i need to go inside and play some instruments. cutting the conversation absolutely short on purpose. because i know if she’s really interested shell want to see the decibel fireworks inside, and she does. . im standing in front of a korg triton keyboard workstation. i ask her if she likes lou reed. and she of course does. like me she’s been through the throws of opiate addiction and all the junky pride anthems that accompany a syringe soul. i put my feet on the sustain pedal and dial into a grand piano patch on the keyboard. Dropping a few layers in digital imitation spring reverb in the foreground. and just go into "satellite" from reeds 1972 transformer album.
and i know hot to play this song. i fukin belt it out. and i mean i destroy this song. Shifting octaves like a digitech whammy pedal is built into my hands. and i throw my hands through the keys like their analog organic extensions of my fingertips. and in a phase they almost play by themselves. i forget that she’s even there. 96 kilohertz per second Steinway baby grand samples are echoing out in the store, tripping on the fluorescent lunar fixtures in half crescent electric rectangles, shaking the metallic ziljiian in their metal impalements and pulsating through the shaking of tightly wound drum heads on the pearl sets in the corner.
the black notes shine like crazy diamonds in the endothermic reaction going on in rapid intervals from the peavey 20 watt. i throw in a tori amos like jittery minor to major scale. Hammering down a fire melody with my right hand while the left throws bass lines like a low frequency baseball pitcher. Tossing treble clefs and eight notes down the field from knee to elbow. it ends on a massive d chord .
then i push all the way up the keys hitting every d chord scale on the the last coded coffin on the final strike. i step up quickly off the sustain pedal and walk away quickly saying "i need a cigarette"
at which point i rush to the door like a gazelle leaping over various guitar pedals and collections of picks in bright variations of color patterns.
leaving her standing by the korg. as i imagine, either interested or thinking im a show off. i dont care which at this point. but she comes outside and with a terminal look of apathy and indifference. she says "
we should get together some time or i could just stalk you" i say :"well what’s the difference between stalking and pursuing?", her :"what?" throwing those cat bangs over her left ear revealing a silver earring in the anarchy symbol shape. me :"restraining orders" at which point i take out a pen and write on the back of a receipt for guitar strings " will 210-602-8603. push these numbers for a veritable cornucopia of telephone enjoyment" u turn on heels saying some remark about needing to go immediately, some dire appointment that must be kept, and i wave goodbye to laura or lemming or leviathan or whatever here name was"
www.philosopherdown.com
day dream L.F.O. radio hissing valve tube transistors that put you in front of the music store at 6:47 p.m. on a Monday.
and she sits with her friend with that cat Mohawk swaying, follicle daisies in the Florida tropical storm wind.
looking her right in the eyes i say "You weren't at work today" and her friend is quicker on the up and up and raises out a hand saying her name is laura or lyndsey or Lazarus or librarian or lotus or lillith or sum such name. but all eyes on my catholic post establishment lip ring vision magnet stare like eyelash sized daggers.
and i drag on the smoke and do my best lean against a concrete pillar. basic information starts exchanging and i say " what are you girls doing here?" an estrogen pulse doubles in 12 frames per second when they look at each other and say "loitering". i run away into the store because you see i have this theory. if you really want a girl and i mean really want a girl to notice you, and write your name on her binder with heart shapes and such hula hooping around the letters constructing up you, do this
Because you see
i have this theory
Show up
get right in front of them. i mean directly in their line of sight. maybe even draw arrows on the sidewalk pounting to your general vicinity with teaser trailers like "something incredible is over here. Scrawled as subtitles to the arrows. when you’re in their line of sight, do something incredible. i mean incredible.
i dont know what you’re good at. Maybe you’re an amazing clog dancer or can fashion things from macramé and wicker like condoms or clock radios. Whatever your forte. do this incredible thing in front of them and then disappear and i mean run away. act so collected in some thing that consumes your every thought, they suddenly turn around in concentric circles of lustful confusion saying in an internal dialogue "where did the amazing thing go?"
so i tell her that maybe ill see her when i come back out but i need to go inside and play some instruments. cutting the conversation absolutely short on purpose. because i know if she’s really interested shell want to see the decibel fireworks inside, and she does. . im standing in front of a korg triton keyboard workstation. i ask her if she likes lou reed. and she of course does. like me she’s been through the throws of opiate addiction and all the junky pride anthems that accompany a syringe soul. i put my feet on the sustain pedal and dial into a grand piano patch on the keyboard. Dropping a few layers in digital imitation spring reverb in the foreground. and just go into "satellite" from reeds 1972 transformer album.
and i know hot to play this song. i fukin belt it out. and i mean i destroy this song. Shifting octaves like a digitech whammy pedal is built into my hands. and i throw my hands through the keys like their analog organic extensions of my fingertips. and in a phase they almost play by themselves. i forget that she’s even there. 96 kilohertz per second Steinway baby grand samples are echoing out in the store, tripping on the fluorescent lunar fixtures in half crescent electric rectangles, shaking the metallic ziljiian in their metal impalements and pulsating through the shaking of tightly wound drum heads on the pearl sets in the corner.
the black notes shine like crazy diamonds in the endothermic reaction going on in rapid intervals from the peavey 20 watt. i throw in a tori amos like jittery minor to major scale. Hammering down a fire melody with my right hand while the left throws bass lines like a low frequency baseball pitcher. Tossing treble clefs and eight notes down the field from knee to elbow. it ends on a massive d chord .
then i push all the way up the keys hitting every d chord scale on the the last coded coffin on the final strike. i step up quickly off the sustain pedal and walk away quickly saying "i need a cigarette"
at which point i rush to the door like a gazelle leaping over various guitar pedals and collections of picks in bright variations of color patterns.
leaving her standing by the korg. as i imagine, either interested or thinking im a show off. i dont care which at this point. but she comes outside and with a terminal look of apathy and indifference. she says "
we should get together some time or i could just stalk you" i say :"well what’s the difference between stalking and pursuing?", her :"what?" throwing those cat bangs over her left ear revealing a silver earring in the anarchy symbol shape. me :"restraining orders" at which point i take out a pen and write on the back of a receipt for guitar strings " will 210-602-8603. push these numbers for a veritable cornucopia of telephone enjoyment" u turn on heels saying some remark about needing to go immediately, some dire appointment that must be kept, and i wave goodbye to laura or lemming or leviathan or whatever here name was"
www.philosopherdown.com