back in the day when
i was a kid and i joked about making a sentence that started with back in the
day when i was a kid because of that stupid song i dreamed of writing of
thinking of that thought. and my random thoughts of tonight included not
that and another, but a different from someone else. my dream last night was
great. the show last night was great. our next show is May 11th.
after our show, we went to a club in Raleigh called tiffany’s. it was
salsa night, Nilda said. so we went and it was surprisingly fun.
salsa night, hence the mexican population was there. we couldn’t read
Spanish so it was pointless to try. but the dj’s had the mexicano music
pumping. and i just love how front page is giving me a suggestion of
Mexican or Mexicans as a replacement spelling for mexicano. so politically
(in)correct. i’ve always like a good Mexican song because the beats are so
lively and lots of different instruments and such a different style than our own
music. and the dance floor was packed full of couples doing their salsa
dances. we sat down near the dance floor and watched the people twirl
around each other like a egg yolk as you shake it. Mercy was just begging
to dance and she went out onto the floor and twirled around and touted her
stuff. she was the only person on the entire floor of around 30 to 40
people who was

dancing all alone. and of course all the guys were watching and
looking at her and they would all seem to glance back to me and smile i suppose
because we were sitting close enough that people thought she was my date.
eventually she recruited some people who would dance with her and i watched her
twirl around and do the step stop block stuff with people she couldn’t
understand a word they were saying. actually that’s probably not true, but
lets pretend that it is so that i can continue my thought. the language of
dance didn’t matter and as long as you had a body to hold on to and move about
and between and around it was alright. and the one young guy who realized
her dancing style, beat her to it and was dancing at least 5 feet away from her
at all times bouncing each way and that way and facing the opposite direction
and they would cross paths only every so often and it was funny to watch two
people dance together so independently. then there was the gentleman who
seemed to await my nodding approval before taking her up on the offer to dance.
and i watched him stand perfectly upright and hold his arms and her just so.
his hands never clenched hers, always they were open while her hand rested
inside of the palm. and he danced a perfect plan on the floor without ever
looking down or up or away. the ladies were beautiful and the more i
looked at them and the dance and studied the moves, i had the serious thought
that i could perform such a feat and thought of taking someone up on the offer
to dance. i noticed no rhythm to it, it was a matter of moving each other
back and forth. away and around and upside down. the forced
placement of a hand brought upon the twirling motion of the couple and each
would twirl the other over and otherwise around in various fashions the head,
arms and body of the other. i could twirl around. i could make someone
else twirl around too. i just dont know if i’d keep my balance or get too
dizzy or too distracted. i dont like to dance because i know i look like a
fool. and even though i can take my shoes off and twirl endlessly around
my kitchen floor that doesn’t mean i still don’t look like a fool.

I rarely create separate paragraphs in my news posts
tonight i contemplated cooking year old cookie mix. i still find things in
my house that reminds me of a previous. sometimes it’s like going to the
grocery store and seeing a new item on the shelf i never noticed before.
or it’s like finding a box of things that i swear someone must have snuck in and
placed there just to invoke emotions. flipping through the phone book and
finding doodles and circles and underlines, going through old notebooks and
finding grocery lists and to do notes. finding a new cd in my bookshelf.
an old document on my computer. things behind the washer machine. hairs
embedded in my clothing. a poem was written in july of 2001 about these
things and even now it still happens. i will trash the two boxes i found
tonight of expired food. perform a ceremoniously ritual of destroying old
memories. its just that it never ends. and sometimes i wonder if it
should. but its too late now. anyway, i think i’ll give that james
bond movie another try, you know, from russia with love. was that james
bond? anyway, maybe the ending will be different this time. well
maybe i’ve entertained you enough tonight. my fingers are getting tired
and my interest grows short with this now. i think i will go play a game
now, or just cruise the net or just play some guitar or just go to sleep.
someone write me