recalcitrant raze Hedonism Dance I What’s intelligence but a glorified superiority complex? Inscrutable gutter prose aside, he was a relatively straightforward link to that place where everything began to make sense. "You’ll never want answers again," he told me, "because there aren’t any." & just as I’m digesting that could-be revelation, 'round the corner she comes, all fishnet stockings & lighter fluid brains. "If I smile, you’ll thank me?" "How do you repay a smile? What--is there some kind of system? If there’s a system, there’s a criteria, you gotta meet every little criterion...shit...I don’t think you realize what you’re asking here..." "What’s with your friend?" she asked me. Friend? Now there’s a disturbing thought. "I’ve spent too much time looking for beauty in decrepit things," he said, before I could answer. "This little dialogue will never go anywhere, which is something you realized as soon as I opened my mouth. But check this out," he said, turning to face me. "It’s the most interesting recurring theme in Rose’s unpredictable yet strangely compelling mannerisms. Her little clique congregates on any unassuming street, looking to hook up with a naïve hooker or three so she & her cronies can feel intellectually superior. So classy." He thumbed his nose, but not in a way that projected arrogance. More like, "Hey--we gotta get to the edge of the city, so we can navigate the beginning of whatever lies outside." He’d managed to scare her off, so onto more pressing matters. "Let me ask you something, & be very careful how you answer. Does my hair look alright?" "Sure. It’s hair." "No, see, I get paranoid sometimes, thinking that my hair isn’t just right. If there’s just one hair out of place, I can feel it, like I got this innate sense or something. Like when I was just talking to that smiling thing, I was positive my hair didn’t look right, & I started chewing on my foot. I guess it’s a hang-up of mine, you know?" He had a maniacal smile on his face practically the whole time, & I decided to play along. "I’ve got something similar, with my face; I freeze up in mid-conversation, thinking, ‘my face looks really stupid right now’." "Hey, there’s no shame in the company of the similarly-afflicted." & there’s no shame in love. Just less self-loathing, more self-loathing, more teeth, emotional eye candy, a thickening of the line that divides the rapturous and the dismal. Two-oh has come to play badminton with my brain. No social life resurgence. No looking into clouded eyes of constipated adoration sickness. Welcome to the continuation, during which the passage of time settles into faster-than-ever & grey becomes a colour comprised of countless intricate layers. will i ever be normal again? do i even want to be? 030715 ... raze mingus was a perceptive guy. just got "the black saint & the sinner lady", & his liner notes alone are almost worth the price of admission. this music is twisted souljazz, romantic one minute, mournful the next. flamenco guitar even has its place. why does jazz suddenly appeal to me so? yes, it moves and breathes in a way that popular music rarely approaches, but i've felt that for quite some time now. maybe it's because i'm an open-minded bitch with a closed mind feigning superiority? ehck. instead of exploring that potentially fertile nonthought, i think of his cats. they were strangely attracted to me, & seemed to enjoy climbing onto my lap and falling asleep, regardless of what i happened to be doing. i think it was crackhead with whom i conferred once about procuring a firearm. he just looked at me and purred, taunting me. smug. he knows, but he ain't telling. pancake, meanwhile, tilted her head attentively when i sang to her in a raspy, addled voice, before chewing on the buttons of my shirt. i don't see those cats anymore. but i see a cycle, at least in one or two of the old friendlies with whom i've come into unexpected repeat contact. it moves from arrogance through to some kind of respect, with no logical inbetween. why? the scale makes a kind of sense that only children with incomplete minds can hope to grasp. never take my hand in yours; its clammy charm will improve nothing. 030731 ... little wonder I just wanted to say that your words are amazing. 040413 ... PeeT agreed 130116 ... raze high praise coming from you, mon ami. (i did it! i kind-of-sort-of accepted a compliment!) you know, i don't even remember writing half the things i did in the "early raze" days. i have no idea where it all came from. maybe it's like the man john lydon said: "anger is an energy". there's less of that youthful vitriol now. there's also less of the feeling that i need to be cryptic or guard myself somehow. the words seem to come in shorter bursts, and they're being drawn from a different reservoir, but i think it's a more honest place. when i_cannot_heave_my_heart_into_my_mouth, the blood leaks out through my fingers...and this is where it falls. 130116 what's it to you? who go blather from