saturday night
alicefell
Posts: 30
saturday night out in the beach.
the air hangs heavy with smoke. blue smoke. smoke from B.C. . jamaican
smoke.
swirling slow. like snakes in the sky. clouds. rings. warm and wet. it’s hard to breathe, but it’s strangely comforting. close. embracing. dizzying. one bottle of wine. or is it two. i lose count.
time?
maybe two. maybe four. my hair has fallen and my lipstick has faded, but the wine has left its kiss on my bottom lip.
i’m dancing in the corner. i’m not alone, but i pretend to be. it’s black. hey black. i know that song. inside fucking out. that whole album. we sing. we close our eyes. and we move.
remember when we danced to duran duran? there is a spontaneous shout of please please tell me now, but it quickly dies out. someone lets out a fuck you. the hour for duran duran and all its nostalgia has long since past.
("in somebody else's sky, why, why........")
yes.
my mind is now onto darker things and i want to hear some tom waits. that scratchy voice. those sable tones.
and fuck i want to smoke.
anyone have a….someone offers me a scotch instead. i’ve always wanted to be a scotch drinker. gimme a scotch. i’ll have a scotch.
i need some air.
outside the boy by the rosebush asks me if i’m a pearl jam fan.
i see flashes of you, laughing all gravelly and cool, and i think of this question and start to laugh too. he doesn’t understand. yes, I say. i adore them now. i fucking love them. but, man i don’t want to get into it so i tell a kind of lie, but i was always more of a soundgarden girl. soundgarden?, he says. he nods and flicks away his cigarette, the smoke curling around his mischievous grin. i love soundgarden. i look up at him. i don’t believe him. he’s not that kind of boy.
but he turns and snatches the last rose from it’s wintery future and before i know it, he puts it in my hair. has anyone ever put a rose in my hair? and he grabs me and we’re dancing close and he’s singing right in my ear and he’s singing black hole sun, won’t you come and he iS that kind of boy and i was wrong.
someone shouts from the kitchen she’s married but he knows. it was just a dance.
and we go back inside and i still want a scotch and the only tom waits i can
find is a cover by natalie merchant, but i put it on anyway cuz it’s tom waits enough.
Well I hope that I don’t fall in love with you
’cause falling in love just makes me blue,
Well the music plays and you display
Your heart for me to see,
I had a beer and now I hear you
Calling out for me
And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.
ah yes, tom waits.
Well the night does funny things inside a man
These old tom-cat feelings you don’t understand,
Well I turn around to look at you,
You light a cigarette…..
and the record plays on and someone brings out some strawberries then suddenly it’s five in the morning and most of what is still inflamed is extinguished.
we are spent.
the world goes quiet.
everything stops.
and five in the morning seems a perfect time for me to leave my saturday
night party out in the beach.
the air hangs heavy with smoke. blue smoke. smoke from B.C. . jamaican
smoke.
swirling slow. like snakes in the sky. clouds. rings. warm and wet. it’s hard to breathe, but it’s strangely comforting. close. embracing. dizzying. one bottle of wine. or is it two. i lose count.
time?
maybe two. maybe four. my hair has fallen and my lipstick has faded, but the wine has left its kiss on my bottom lip.
i’m dancing in the corner. i’m not alone, but i pretend to be. it’s black. hey black. i know that song. inside fucking out. that whole album. we sing. we close our eyes. and we move.
remember when we danced to duran duran? there is a spontaneous shout of please please tell me now, but it quickly dies out. someone lets out a fuck you. the hour for duran duran and all its nostalgia has long since past.
("in somebody else's sky, why, why........")
yes.
my mind is now onto darker things and i want to hear some tom waits. that scratchy voice. those sable tones.
and fuck i want to smoke.
anyone have a….someone offers me a scotch instead. i’ve always wanted to be a scotch drinker. gimme a scotch. i’ll have a scotch.
i need some air.
outside the boy by the rosebush asks me if i’m a pearl jam fan.
i see flashes of you, laughing all gravelly and cool, and i think of this question and start to laugh too. he doesn’t understand. yes, I say. i adore them now. i fucking love them. but, man i don’t want to get into it so i tell a kind of lie, but i was always more of a soundgarden girl. soundgarden?, he says. he nods and flicks away his cigarette, the smoke curling around his mischievous grin. i love soundgarden. i look up at him. i don’t believe him. he’s not that kind of boy.
but he turns and snatches the last rose from it’s wintery future and before i know it, he puts it in my hair. has anyone ever put a rose in my hair? and he grabs me and we’re dancing close and he’s singing right in my ear and he’s singing black hole sun, won’t you come and he iS that kind of boy and i was wrong.
someone shouts from the kitchen she’s married but he knows. it was just a dance.
and we go back inside and i still want a scotch and the only tom waits i can
find is a cover by natalie merchant, but i put it on anyway cuz it’s tom waits enough.
Well I hope that I don’t fall in love with you
’cause falling in love just makes me blue,
Well the music plays and you display
Your heart for me to see,
I had a beer and now I hear you
Calling out for me
And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.
ah yes, tom waits.
Well the night does funny things inside a man
These old tom-cat feelings you don’t understand,
Well I turn around to look at you,
You light a cigarette…..
and the record plays on and someone brings out some strawberries then suddenly it’s five in the morning and most of what is still inflamed is extinguished.
we are spent.
the world goes quiet.
everything stops.
and five in the morning seems a perfect time for me to leave my saturday
night party out in the beach.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
and there never was.
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Comments
awesome writing