-*- Love, Halcyon, and All of That Groovy Jazz Its 430 A.M. and I just got in. Or it was 4:30 when I got in, it's now 4:40. We went to that place in Brooklyn tonight Halcyon. Approaching it you feel the beat vibrating through the ground. The bass was making Smith street jump and bop. Everyone was just feeling the scene. The closer you got to the door the more it sucked you in. The place had a heart buried behind the DJ booth. It was wearing a pair of mirrored sun glasses, an orange vest, oversized jeans and Adidas sneakers. It pumped out seismic rhythms. Opening the door made the bass jump down your throat into your lungs, breathing the whole scene at once. Bass was jumping through veins and feeding my body a beat that could run a persons life. Thumping through the old vinyl shop was a heart beat of drum and bass. Hours flew by like seconds. It made life seem like it was running in fast forward. The scene wouldn�t let go long enough to let you take a breath. Everything was just moving and grooving. Simply living the life of the bass driven heart beat. Sitting there made your head spin and your body rock. Watching the lights and putting fingers on the arterial vein to get some action. Watching the videos on the wall and the girls walk by let you know that this was a hip place to be. We headed back to NYU and cooled out for like an hour. We looked at the pictures of the WTC on the 11th that were hanging on the wall. We talked about how f-cked up that whole situation, and life was, or had become, and then we were thinking of things to do. We ended up heading to a jazz club. We went to this place called Smalls on 10th St. and West 7th Avenue. It was a short walk to get there. We closed the door behind us on the way in. Bang. They went on these tangents that could blow a mind. The pianist had this dark, kind of curly, out grown hair, and a rock for a face. He had a vein sticking out of his neck, and he just wailed at the keys. They banged and crashed. He had a symphony of love in his mind and he just let it rip out of his finger tips. Burning through people�s minds and dancing in the inner most dwellings of the soul. He just went. He carried the group through ups and downs, and side to sides. It was a love story without the tears, who could ask for anything more, right? Making a cerebrum and heart burst in minutes with his dancing fingers was not a problem for him. This 30 something year old guy with a receding hair line plucked a upright bass. He hid in the corner of the group. Knowing the body of the bass like that of his lover made the notes come out so fast you could only think of what they had been doing the night before. His hands cut through the smoke filled air. Mild explosions lit cigarettes while these men told their story the only way they knew. Talk about the trade center, the city talking about drugs, jazz, tomorrow, how they didn't like their jobs, how they didn't like their parents, their bills, their car the cab drivers, and they talked about love. Sat on the side on the couch for the night, we did. We shot sh-t back and forth over the rhythm, talking about the same things as everyone else. There was a bar but no bartender. Only water and juice served there and you poured it yourself. The water was cold though, so there was really nothing to complain about. We joked around about finishing the wine in the bottle on the table that someone had left there. We joked around about college, and talked about how we hoped that we wouldn�t f-ck it up, along with everything else that had gone wrong. So we sat and listened and talked about a whole bunch of things, we drank some water and agreed that next time we went that we would get there at 10pm and stay till 7. Which would kind of throw my laundry schedule out of wack...but hey. I told him about how I wanted to start writing again. He asked me what I wanted to write, I told him Japanese literature, he didn't pick up on it at first. But then he laughed and said it was a good idea. Then he started blowing in the background softly at first, but then it picked up and he was wailing away at a speed I didn't know could come out. The saxophonist was about 25 maybe 26. A short white guy with a red shirt and light tan pants. He blew and blew until he was blue. He needed a break, and so did we. So we bailed. It was 325. We took the A train back to Lincoln center and K- and J- went back to K-�s dorm and I chilled out and waited for the D train to take me home. I just sat there and thought about how nice it would have been to have been sitting next to you in the jazz club and diggin the techno at halcyon. Halcyon is on smith st. 271 I believe. 271 Smith Street. Super groovy place. ===== to the extreme i rock the mic like a vandal light up a stage and watch me jump like a candle __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Send your FREE holiday greetings online! http://greetings.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+