nights, the both, of new york hang about by platforma bella ring triumphant along these varied corridors still. in bedrooms locked, in clothing unchanged, along little streets brooklyn, across boulevards larger still upon the grander city sliver: refrain and melody, rhythm^Òs turbulent go at rhyme, the clamor and blast of past recent melodies linger between temples, behind eyelids half-awake, in tap, tap, tapping fingers blatant. tin me this for whenever and always i should have need to rekindle. sunday night: suspended by the taught wires harnessing the troupe (of string players and singers and audience all), the collective sent forth tune and tome of command and ability unyielding. butterflies of stage and start. an arrangement meant to move beyond each moment and into the startling treatment of songs we place not together in our minds. the master formula you never knew you had (try as you might with strident concoctions passing through en-suite hifi's). the disparate songs are a rollicking whole that even the venue employees cannot suss. the slight of hand reveals itself to be the mystery withstanding all the same. and yes, yes, yes homage local to saturday night fever brilliant and shockingly exact. interlude sunday: chris spins r&b dance faves young and erstwhile to downtown pioneers. seamless and inspired, bopping and bouncing until hours wee. (i^Òm still seeking clarity lost during those moments, apparent possibly herein). monday night: the smoothness that skips the stone. the bare bulb twilight that dims perpetual. a harmonica, calling the faithless away from their arms, tends the array in the direction of sad (though seldom lost) variations lightly strung, softly brushed and in forever gentle timbre. not without punctuation, girls (wrong) and solicitors (swinging) lent allegro to pianissimo^Òs vulnerable corners. be certain, though, that the climber reaches his peak within this tale. lenient as the program may have been, inertia (as it will) did steward the dawn of the beat insatiable, with hands soft moving the back of spines collected. ^Ñalways touched^Ò, the assembled knew, in motions none to evident, that subtly and beauty gathered in such ways cannot resist the yielding call of fulfillment and elation, all. -jack fagan, seven may, in a chair out of doors, new york +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+