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My,but the pendulum has swung wildly these past few days. Denied sleep. Health issues. Broken things. DJ-ing and DJ-ing again. Tropical storm-style deluge. Escape. Status quo. I awoke from a troubling dream on Thursday. In my sleeping mind, i was aware that i'd be awakened early to see to the repair of my Grandmother's old tombstone refrigerator... in the first dream since her passing that included her, she distinctly said, "here he comes"... waking me scant minutes before he actually arrived. Freaky. Not long after he'd gone, my mother called... breathless, pained, asking for a ride to the doctor. after a three hour wait, the verdict: Emphysema. She's shriveling before my eyes. Not a pleasant start. With effort, i narrowed my focus onto the music... trying to cement some ideas for the marathon day that Friday would be. Radio in the afternoon... DJ-ing at a club in the evening, at a place i'd never been. The drive to the studio was as ever, until snaking through the steep esses halfway there... scored by the shreik of tire and a mad pull towards the ditch. Recovering without incident, finding little brakes left, i limped the swede back home. Impeded by erratic old people in big cars, with no need for signals, not knowing i had to slow for them with the emergency brake. Slinging the necessities into the convertible, it was race against the clock... only five minutes late for the broadcast. One hurdle, over. A quick bite, a short visit with Biggles, the rains came... just in time to find the club and find out what i was getting into. Damp and apprehensive, i climbed the stairs from the street into a tea bazaar... techno pulsing from the speakers, people all 'round. Decorated with a papier-mache baobob tree, a bar towards the front and a den of couches surrounding the DJ "booth." Tapestries hung everywhere, hookahs on the tables. Grandma would have known it to be an opium parlour, by the looks of it. It had me wondering. Two stong cups of tea in my belly, i found my way behind the controls... a sweaty little nook behind furled draperies. Feeding the trays and becoming familiar with the knobs, people came and went. Stopping by for chats across the electronics, full of questions about the music. And lengthy conversations, at that... it was more like being at an information booth in a crack house. Unfamiliar faces, misty light, humid heat... and the beat. This was the flavor of the evening. Just before midnight, i handed over the equipment... winding my way through the crowd, hailing up the proprietors and a few friends... burdened, down to the drenched streets. Drained internally, and immersed, externally with the slashing rains on the long ride home, which seemed to last years. To an empty house. In the presence of my wife for five hours in three days. Some romance. That feeling rode with me as i drove for diner food, this afternoon... between bands of mist and brief sunshine. Swinging back and forth, erratically. Johnny and June... reunited. |
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