cuts me up

my first apartment... my first year out of college and out on my own. the new freedom of adulthood and post 21 status.

every friday night d and i got in the car around 1130 and left the drive of 750 dixie ave to drive the unlikeliest of neighborhoods for a club hosting a night of fused goth and britpop. but there we found ourselves, making our way to a shadowy spot just shy of where Roswell hits Peachtree and you enter the bright lights of Buckhead.

case in a black tshirt and jeans. me in something close to the same, but with cleavage.

straight to the less crowded bar on the left for something involving vodka. case to the dj booth to greet achille, me to the railing the emcompassed the dance floor to scope out my spot and maybe the black-haired boy who never would give me the time of day. oh, well. that isn't why i ma really here anyway.

maybe that friend of d's that was not yet my best friend would join us. maybe nee would head in later. or maybe my favorite dance partner would show up. it varied from friday to friday.

but one thing remained consistent. the night always reached its pinnacle when you heard peter murphy utter 22 of my (still) favorite words:

" i find you in the morning... after dreams of distant sights... you pour yourself over me... like the sun through the blinds..."

posts ago i wrote of how mr. murphy came to be known to me at an early age. and maybe of how i used to fantasize that i were old enough to hear this song in a setting not unlike the one i have started painting here...

(ironically, or perhaps not, bauhaus just came on the radio... i guess it is halloween...)

for four minutes and change every friday night i got to do exactly what a 12, 13 year old me had wanted so badly sitting in her room with 120 minutes on her little 12 inch screen and a copy of some Piers Anthony book on her nightstand half-heartedly started.

i am sure i looked a fool out there on that floor, swaying my arms like some siouxie sioux wannbe, wreaking havoc on my knees and twirling my then very long hair around at nee's request... but hell, i am sure we all did. my eyes were closed most of the time, so i honestly couldn't say for certain.

after that they could have proceeded to play ministry or smiths albums in their entirety or even michael jackson for all i cared. i still would have remained on that floor in a daze and kept maoving and shaking until the lights came on and we were ushered gently out the door, just as it ended every saturday at 3 am (or so...)

but damn those were lovely days... nights... mornings... something... and they resurface every time i hear "cuts you up."

i'll also take this moment to say my proper goodbyes to the vault. you died a slow, painful death, my dear, but in a location like that one, you knew it was inevitable. but it was good while it lasted, honey....