well, the teenagers have just folded their party tent,
the part came across the deadzone at
just under 12am...
i finished my cider and moved onto my whiskey...
i've never been to a good houseparty,
mind you - i've never been to a decent nightclub...
well, with once exception,
Paris... 2004 / 5... a guy high on ecstasy
was dancing as if playing ping-pong to the rhythm
of the music playing...
one nightclub in Edinburgh played a song
by Greenskeepers...
we inhaled nitrous oxide from balloons
that didn't make you laugh...
if only it was helium: if we inhaled
helium, maybe then we might have laughed...
perhaps this one club in Basildon, Essex,
when pendulum's tarantula came one alligned
with the strobe light: and i lost the plot...
screamed and turned into imitation shiva...
but never a good houseparty...
most? the host was always there...
i hosted one houseparty for my 21st...
emo-girlfriend surrounding herself with
her closest friends in the bedroom,
smoking pot, nagging me as to why i was switching
between conversation huddles...
ensuring the music had an even flow...
some girls with polish nostalgia 80s
music: jedwab, róże e'h-u'h-ro-py
(eh: oo - rope-y - now, not why)...
houseparties are hard to curate...
esp. if a highschool friend visits and drinks
to much, the toilet is occupied,
he can't hold it in, so he vomits
in the cupboard mini-hall and you end up
cleaning up the vomit up...
a bit like... what jesus did washing feet...
but just a little bit more... "spectacular"...
but never at a houseparty...
say... lounge music...
akin to SKINSHAPE - don't call my name...
when you feel like talking...
something to overpower the ambient snooze
hum of a refrigerator...
darting to and fro...
the host... curator... something or other...
oh hell... forget something akin
to a people-pleaser when you can wriggle out
of conversation akin to the already
mentioned LOCKED CLUB ЛOMAЙ EP...
most hosts end up having all the pointless
conversations: it's my party and i'll dance because
i want to sort of crap...
the curator shuffling cards... otherwise:
as long as the mood of the collected oddities
is managed... music so crucial...
some ref. point...
does it really have to come back to the sort
of feeling closely associated
when a party: whether home, club or street
is finished, the sunrise is coming
and you can only think of the sort of
emotion synonymous with a sunrise,
i.e.: the velvet underground: all tomorrow's parties?
no, there isn't... esp. when you wake up
your soon to be ex-girlfriend who you kept
an eye on as she shivered silly in a bean bag
in an embrace... in one of those coke-fuelled
after-party purgatories...
in Shoreditch... or some warehouse
cum hipster cave in the once industrial part of
Bethnal Green...
a music producer of Bloc Party...
you stayed up all night...
this shivering creature...
and a break-up that defines up-to-date
dentistry... a heart loaded with either
ketamine metaphors or your general anaesthetic...
a break-up that begins with a simple:
quo vadis? nothing spectacular...
a mere: curiosity...
two stree parties worth remembering...
Edinburgh's hogmanay (2003 / 4)...
and st. sylvester's day in Posen (2002 / 3)...
not out of repose - or of being an old fart...
the idea is great...
but you can't exactly have teeth
in these matters... the sensation of euphoria
as at every other zenith -
is worth about 5 seconds - and it has teeth...
otherwise?
the build-up slobbering sensation...
tongue to the one side, lips to the other of the zenith...
it always becomes pointless to mantra:
carpe diem...
there is no chance to seize a day...
it can hardly be a motivational mantra...
it's impossible... a compliment to counter
this supposed mantra?
try catching a mosquito by the testicles
while wearing boxing gloves...
that's carpe diem for me...
eh... i moved beyond that...
there is no one day worth salvaging -
as memory demonstrates...
a single day does not translate into
a deposit of a lifetime...
for that? with each "seized" day...
there's nothing more important than seizing your self...
in that non-reflective compound of the reflex:
yourself...
i once abstained from visiting a brothel
i once frequented to the point of debt:
the bank once extended by overdraft limit
(no interest) while i lied about having to
go to a funeral of a family member...
fuck... i went for three hours to a brothel...
the third hour the 2nd our prostitute asked
me whether i wanted 2 girls...
i said to her... i still don't know what to do with one!
anyways... kierkegaard: the changelessness of
god... i always think i'm changing...
but this one time she said to me,
after i didn't see her for a couple of months...
but, but you haven't changed!
you're still the same!
i'm not god,
but i guess i'm deluded in thinking i change
like everyone else... apparently that's
too subjective of me...
i've seen it before...
but on a less intimate: naked side of "affairs"...
in conversation... the fear of the people
who think they haven't changed: but have...
the fear of the people who don't
think they have changed:
but have...
and the awe of the people who don't think they have
changed: but have...
and the awe of the people who
think they have changed:
but haven't...
fuck me... i'm of the last "curiosity"...
why am i this homo ultimus? i'm always the last
to find out!
parties... great when scripted for a music video:
so much harder to curate...
when hosting...
it can't even require someone
as sober as a judge to curate a decent houseparty...
i tried once...
i obviously failed...
the best part is always finishing off
drinks with the cliff-hangers who always have
the best compliments for the hosts...
who stay while everyone leaves to have a drink
and talk drunken dog's bollocks and fiddle...
the people huddle-cuddled for a while in their
nieches... but the outliers stayed and toasted...
and why do people even succumb to
the bad sort of nostalgia when drinking?
it's never the good sort of nostalgia...
it's never the sort of impersonal nostalgia...
it's always this personal grit nostalgia...
so many people in this world don't know how
to drink.