A Love Letter To All The Noise

Lyrics

"Make your mark on a darkened dance floor. Slip across the present tense, Press up against the skin you care for, Meet me where the sweat descends" -"The Sweat Descends" by Les Savy Fav Lyrics Daniel screamed echoed through our bones as a whirlwind of sweat glistened against the night in place of stars. A tornado of dirt kicked up by steel-toed boots raced down throats of kids crashing skulls, joyfully grinning through chipped teeth and dripping blood that cascaded down split lips, layering the grass in red dew and no one gave a shit. Bruises were drowned out by hyena cackles as everyone voluntarily crashed into wooden pillars, into piss drenched brick walls, into the carpet of broken beer bottles across the pro tem dance floor, into bare-chested punks slam dancing into one another, shaking their ass to a tidal wave of fuzz guitar that swept their legs, pulling them every which way I dictated as callouses grew over my strings. I gladly drew blood, prying the skin from my knuckles strumming into oblivion, trying to make Ian MacKaye proud, as a totem pole lurched in front of me—a makeshift crowd surfer sitting on Sammy's shoulders. The kids were fireworks exploding inches above Earth, stomping to the rhythm of thunder, James' toms cracking the sky, pieces of Vic Firth leaving splinters within his palms, sweat glazed over his wounds as he beat the kit like a blacksmith forging weapons. Daniel, with bass in hand, leapt higher than the crickets running from the patio, higher than the wave of kids splashing with the tempo of his strings—thick and deep—splashing like jagged rocks at the foot of an ocean, higher despite his cynical admissions, "I'm fearful I'm fearful I'm fearful of flying" but flying was fearful of him. The dust peppered into perspiration puddles, feedback slowly seeped out of our ears, two drumsticks in four corners, three bass strings ripped out with naked fingers—almost straight from Daniel's heart—and he sat near his buzzing bass amp, head hung down, letting the white noise wash over him, ignoring the applause of the hushed crowd—no longer a riptide, but a trickle. Our last note rang out chasing falling stars tearing sky like paper, chasing after Daniel's desperate words, chasing away adrenaline from the kids' veins, chasing away the theatre façade, "venue" became "porch" again, but I still smiled turning off the power, flipping the switch downward, like the collapsing moon.