Nexus: Milliways, Lucifer/Billy
nexus
n. pl. nexus or nex·us·es
1. A means of connection; a link or tie: “this nexus between New York's... real-estate investors and its... politicians” (Wall Street Journal).
2. A connected series or group.
3. The core or center: “The real nexus of the money culture [was] Wall Street” (Bill Barol).
This place is the Nexus.
Which Billy thinks is pretty fuckin' arrogant because he only knows one meaning for it; he never got up to 'N' before Joe chucked the dictionary through some asshole's window and ran like hell while he was still gaping. Joe was faster than he looked and Billy had to chase his laughter home.
'Home' is relative.
He can remember the second of connection, how the noise seemed to come a little later, a little further than the solid beads of light. He can remember how it was beautiful, and how it was almost worth it.
-
The lyrics are in the spaces between meanings, a lot of the time, and he only knows one meaning here so he plays other peoples' songs to a crowd that doesn't care. He doesn't care. Lost in the music and too quiet to be heard over the conversation and clink (smash) of glasses which is too much like someplace else to be lost completely; he's waiting for a door to open and he doesn't even know where it is. Everything shifts.
There's one constant, though, and isn't that fucked? That he's come to rely on dark laughter and red eyes to make him feel normal? Without his even noticing the song changes, chord patterns his fingers remember better than his head because the music's a part of him -
Twice we opened for them at the Railway and both times he was wasted out of his head. But put a guitar in his hands and he'll play the album note for note. Somehow...
- or because something's a part of him and it doesn't sound right without harmonies. Sounds okay, though, sounds enough, enough to keep going even if it's not what it was, and isn't that a metaphor for life, Billiam? Rock star no more. Fuckin' pussy.
Here's to you, Joe. A song you never taught for a crowd that never knew your name. Died to become immortal. Lost at the ultimate gamble. Failed to connect.
-
There's a girl dancing in front of the stage, all alone. Long light hair and long dark skirt, all bare feet and thoughtless grace. Someone broke a glass but she's not getting cut 'cos it's not that kind of song. No matter who's singing.
Shards of light across her feet; white light makes rainbows but the lights here are red.
-
It's the moment by moment. It's not a gig because the gig's the world and the club is the Universe and it's too much to breathe in. This is the centre. It's the moment by moment and the way a dropped note can make the world cave in. It's the moment you're flying and you're just fuckin' on and everything is okay. Everything is okay because you don't have to see Joe and whatever's ridin' him, don't have to look because there's a girl at the front of the stage dancing and you catch her eye and she grins and you're just fuckin' on. Long light hair and long dark skirt and her smile is an eternity, moment by moment.
That's what you're trying to get back, later. Recapture the moment and it's something like dancing but the van is too small and there's a world outside that you can't quite remember to forget. It's not like it should be, no connection, just stuttering breaths that can't keep a rhythm and you. And her. Two can be the loneliest number. But it's enough.
Two plus one is.
Connection?
-
Somewhere there's a door and it messes with the lyrics because it's never red except for when he dreams.
-
Most days, he doesn't even feel like the centre of his own world, so how in the fuck would he ever feel like the centre of anyone else's? How in the fuck was he supposed to know if Joe never -
It's easy to say it wasn't his fault, but his voice still cracks on the songs.
But it's okay because no one is watching.
No. One is watching.
And he takes a minute to light a cigarette, calluses where the flint lies against his thumb, and the world doesn't even notice he stopped playing. Deep breath and challenging grin and look up. Red eyes. A moment.
Connection.
n. pl. nexus or nex·us·es
1. A means of connection; a link or tie: “this nexus between New York's... real-estate investors and its... politicians” (Wall Street Journal).
2. A connected series or group.
3. The core or center: “The real nexus of the money culture [was] Wall Street” (Bill Barol).
This place is the Nexus.
Which Billy thinks is pretty fuckin' arrogant because he only knows one meaning for it; he never got up to 'N' before Joe chucked the dictionary through some asshole's window and ran like hell while he was still gaping. Joe was faster than he looked and Billy had to chase his laughter home.
'Home' is relative.
He can remember the second of connection, how the noise seemed to come a little later, a little further than the solid beads of light. He can remember how it was beautiful, and how it was almost worth it.
-
The lyrics are in the spaces between meanings, a lot of the time, and he only knows one meaning here so he plays other peoples' songs to a crowd that doesn't care. He doesn't care. Lost in the music and too quiet to be heard over the conversation and clink (smash) of glasses which is too much like someplace else to be lost completely; he's waiting for a door to open and he doesn't even know where it is. Everything shifts.
There's one constant, though, and isn't that fucked? That he's come to rely on dark laughter and red eyes to make him feel normal? Without his even noticing the song changes, chord patterns his fingers remember better than his head because the music's a part of him -
Twice we opened for them at the Railway and both times he was wasted out of his head. But put a guitar in his hands and he'll play the album note for note. Somehow...
- or because something's a part of him and it doesn't sound right without harmonies. Sounds okay, though, sounds enough, enough to keep going even if it's not what it was, and isn't that a metaphor for life, Billiam? Rock star no more. Fuckin' pussy.
Here's to you, Joe. A song you never taught for a crowd that never knew your name. Died to become immortal. Lost at the ultimate gamble. Failed to connect.
-
There's a girl dancing in front of the stage, all alone. Long light hair and long dark skirt, all bare feet and thoughtless grace. Someone broke a glass but she's not getting cut 'cos it's not that kind of song. No matter who's singing.
Shards of light across her feet; white light makes rainbows but the lights here are red.
-
It's the moment by moment. It's not a gig because the gig's the world and the club is the Universe and it's too much to breathe in. This is the centre. It's the moment by moment and the way a dropped note can make the world cave in. It's the moment you're flying and you're just fuckin' on and everything is okay. Everything is okay because you don't have to see Joe and whatever's ridin' him, don't have to look because there's a girl at the front of the stage dancing and you catch her eye and she grins and you're just fuckin' on. Long light hair and long dark skirt and her smile is an eternity, moment by moment.
That's what you're trying to get back, later. Recapture the moment and it's something like dancing but the van is too small and there's a world outside that you can't quite remember to forget. It's not like it should be, no connection, just stuttering breaths that can't keep a rhythm and you. And her. Two can be the loneliest number. But it's enough.
Two plus one is.
Connection?
-
Somewhere there's a door and it messes with the lyrics because it's never red except for when he dreams.
-
Most days, he doesn't even feel like the centre of his own world, so how in the fuck would he ever feel like the centre of anyone else's? How in the fuck was he supposed to know if Joe never -
It's easy to say it wasn't his fault, but his voice still cracks on the songs.
But it's okay because no one is watching.
No. One is watching.
And he takes a minute to light a cigarette, calluses where the flint lies against his thumb, and the world doesn't even notice he stopped playing. Deep breath and challenging grin and look up. Red eyes. A moment.
Connection.