Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Maybe the top floor

Sometimes I feel like I'm dealing with this tour better, my body isn't such a mess, but then I get hit with one of those days when I'm flattened, one thing I need to remember is not to push through the fatigue at night, late night I mean near bedtime like when I did that interview and Montréal it was too much to push myself when I was already that tired. Then my sleep, oh my sleep at night was the worst. At home sometimes they do that almost every night, it's a habit to try to break, maybe another corner, turn.

When people say: thank you for your books. Or: thank you for your work. It's enough to make me cry, especially this one night when I really do cry, in the bathroom and Montréal and that feels important. The next day I go to the gay village, just to go somewhere maybe to see it to see what it's like, the buildings are grand and there are several bath houses in a row but the neighborhood feels pretty empty and then I get overwhelmed by that feeling that happened in every gay neighborhood, like they're supposed to be something here for me and I should find it so I walk back and forth a few times or around corners but there's nothing, there's always nothing I know that. I try to decide whether to go to the bath house even though I'm exhausted, I mean when else will I be in Montréal? Maybe I'll get energy once I get inside, but I know the truth -- even if I get a moment a burst of some sort of feeling, eventually I'll be walking around in circles more exhausted than before so I go back into the subway station where there's too much mold and take the train back to the bus back to the place where I'm staying, three health food stores right in a row just three blocks away that's one of my favorite parts.

Who needs drugs when there are songs about drugs, that's what I'm thinking on the bus, buses are like trains except without as much possibility. I mean you can certainly get trapped on a train, but you're immediately trapped on a bus, nowhere to go except the bathroom not the bathroom again not really a room or a bath but there's a little bit of space to stand and stretch and dance in the mirror. That's right -- the music is the possibility, what did I do when I didn't bring music oh now I can imagine, this music lets me float over and under the seats until I'm whirling around from floor to headrest, floor to headrest a circle of light in dark and light but mostly movement maybe just a wisp of soft whirling fog that's me. The music says: if we abuse/or physical health/we will pay for it -- take a tablet, take a pill, on the dance floor it would be give me drugs give me drugs a give-me-drugs classic we all love those classics on the dance floor but here it also sounds like a critique of the pharmaceutical industry and just like that one of my headphones snaps off, actually it's when I stand to go to the bathroom again, bathroom to dance, still the bathroom to dance in the mirror where I watch the headphone that's snapped, I mean just the white cord bouncing on my magenta shirt swaying gently a failure of corporate comfort.

Back in my seat staring inside and outside lights blurring darkness, everyone has fallen asleep from lack of oxygen and I'm thinking everything's better at night, I can almost forget that I never go dancing I can never go dancing because of body because of smoke, but what about at one of those Montréal clubs, six different floors the doors are sealed tight because of the cold and maybe the top floor, just maybe the top floor.

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