Sinister: A short

[jeff has arrived]

                        -*-
      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


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