Poezja

james brough, 15 listopada 2011

Music owns decorum like a water car

In the club the people find music EVERYWHERE
They find it hiding in a pretty girl’s hair. They find it by rubbing against the grain of the wood of the bar, or congealed in the tread of their shoes. They find it hiding under candles and in people’s bags.
It’s caught sleeping on top of the CD surfaces.
It’s everywhere.
It’s shooting out of people's mouths like crotchets in a cartoon.
It’s too easy here.
If they talk out of turn, it’s the atmosphere and texture.
If they lose their values, spill the beans, or betray someone's trust, it’s the hook.

Suddenly one evening the music just runs out. It just stops dead and everyone in the place is caught and frozen like a paused video. All the performing and pomp is removed and falls to the floor like marbles (to trip on) .
Intentions are ugly. Everything is exposed.
Frozen in the act and cross-sectioned.

Then slowly and awkwardly the movement comes back to the people but it’s all wrong. Bar staff cower under taps while money changes hands. All the pretty girl's hairstyles stick to the sticky tables.
No one can get away from anything. Litter and secretion follow the perpetrators around like a magnetic tail.
Music owns decorum like a water car.

Now the mouths are moving but different words sound. They don’t sound like anything but they just sound bad.
Now nothing is hidden.
Everyone is equally accountable and repulsive and raw.
The majority of people in the pub quickly start to wilt like plastic flowers that have been given for something wholly inappropriate.
The illusion is being stripped like make-up.
Fun has left with decorum on a stolen see saw.
There seems no hope.

Then someone thinks they can hear one more song, hiding in one of the packets in the cigarette machine. They hear it faintly at first, gently pulsing away like a submarine. There's a frantic dash from the few moral survivors and they quickly start spending.
By the time fifty pounds have been slotted the special packet finally pops out, shaking and bouncing around, and there's a grab for it.
It's ripped apart like a baby deer and the song comes over the speakers while everyone makes a dash for the exit in search of any taxi outside (with a radio) .