Flipping

The truck cut me off so quickly I don’t even remember reacting. Something instinctual in me turned the wheel. It was too sharp.

As soon as the car went airborne, the first thing I felt was a strange sense of serenity. They always tell you time slows down when these things happen, and for once, they are right. Time slows down, sounds cease, and everything is surrounded in weightlessness. I knew it was rolling onto its side because I felt my hair shifting across my back. Strand by strand the whole mass of made it's way towards my drivers’ side window, and I turned my head to the glass.

I wasn't moving very fast, but the grass through the pane was going in fast forward in relation to everything else, and I realized the car was on it's side, but still floating. A tampon hit my cheek and I turned to face the passenger seat. As I watched everything I owned spill out of my purse and past my face, I thought about how trivial everything I had done to get that car was about to suddenly become, how trivial every time I had worked for a thing, for a material end result had become. I watched my lighter fall past my face and thought “why did I spend all these years smoking”. Paperclips, pens, candies taken from Chinese restaurants, more tampons fell, a notebook of crap I had written lately, the only loss that would really matter.

It was then that I looked forward, past my windshield and to the lake. By then, it felt like I had been floating for ages, like I had lived lifetimes in midair.

When the car landed just short of the lake, my first thought was “get out”. Looking around me I quickly figured there was no opening my door, since the car was sitting on it. The passenger door proved too heavy to push up. Then my eyes met the moonroof. As I raised my hand to the button, I was praying to a God I would otherwise not believe in to have preserved the mechanical integrity of my car’s electrical system.

I pushed the button. The roof slid open.

In less than a second I climbed out of the car, staring at it as it balanced precariously on its side, not quite flipped as much as tilted. The trunk had come open, and amongst the thousand tampons strewed from the Costco package I had recently picked up from Mom were all my things. I picked up as much as I could until the fire department arrived.

Poem: Every song is a cliché

It’s the softest of touches, the things that just come to you without reason.
It’s the looks that we give each other in the dark, it’s the whispers
its either the precipice or the downfall of things, but does it matter?
its haikus in other languages, an overwhelming obsession with laughter
no explanations, or not too much thought, opting instead
To be swept along by the voices of far away promises, stupid jokes,
a comfortable proximity, an internal chuckle...

Now there are these fleeting moments, where all I can think about is how hungrily he touched my body, how greedily he bit my skin, how it set my pulse on fire;
All I can think about is breathing.
How breath became the language in which we spoke, in which we begged.
The warmth of that breath on my neck, below my ear, that’s all I can think about.

And now it follows me around, it lives in my head, and inside every photo
Every song is a clichéd memory of some sweet moment that’s been shared by a million lovers, a million times, in a million places, each with different smiles.
This one, however, is a reminder of mine.

Random Writing on Tumblr Reblogs

My tumblr gets the crap that doesn't fit anywhere. Because there are far too many vast lands to explore on the internets, and I'm the souvenir type. Way to go Me.

Anyways, this photo showed up in my dashboard:


via brokenmachine:ceasingtolovereality: papertissue
and I, for some reason, wrote the following:


God, isn't that true.

An Aside: It's not often that I actually have a reaction to one of these photos that I reblog. Occasionally i think, "wow, that's amazing, that's absolutely beautiful" or "man, something about this photo just irks me in the right way", but its not often that I come across a photo that I look at, and swell up.
/Over.

Background: I'm moving. Pretty much everyone knows I'm moving, but what are we leaving behind to do so? It's not something I often want to think about. I mean you always want to look into the future, we look forward by default, forward to what's going to come, forward to a place where we can make up beautiful realities that may or may never exist at all.
I saw this photo, and instead of thinking: "Oh, how pretty" my thought process went something like this*: "a thumbtack, I mean how simple...Who doesn't have that. On a map, makes sense, I mean, where else would a thumbtack be aside from a map, or a corkboard. This is not a corkboard. This is a map, and thumbtacks on a map usually show places you have been, the locations of branches you have grown, traces of you left behind. Look at all those thumbtacks in the distance, each one, a reminder, that something you loved is still living in that place. I began to wonder how that person must feel, that loved one left behind, shoved, nay, buried and pinched under the tip of some office miscellanea, torn to shreds between an aluminum point and a plaster wall. How sad, how utterly heartbreaking to think that moving, and starting over means that you have to leave something behind, to tear it apart, to forget it a little. Because, I mean, come on, how are you supposed to "start over" if you don't actually "start". I mean, then; at that point, you're just left with "over", and "over" is not a 'start', its not a 'beginning', its not a 'go'; "Over" is a 'done', an 'end'."**

That got me thinking. When I go, when I finally get there, there are literally a thousand different potential outcomes, each with their own heartaches and growing pains, but each with the same thing left behind.
So how do you know? how do you if you're absolutely supposed to let go? How do you know what to hold onto? How do you know you're not making the wrong choice?


*A thought process? an entire thought process in a paragraph. It seems very presumptuous to assume that you could actually accurately describe a thought process in one paragraph, even in one book, in a tome, in any form of writing, really. Thoughts are fleeting and the processes that bring them to us are troublesome and difficult to understand. I guess I wrote this one out because it struck me, and as such, has stuck with me.

**Although I referred to this as a 'process' I think, in reality, its more of a breakdown. My breakdown, maybe. Emotionally, immediately? Unlikely. It takes too long for the feeling I have to directly manifest themselves as words on this machine. By then, my fingers have had the time to learn to censor what you ultimately see, they've coated everything in pretty language and flowery images. Is it wrong?
But I guess what I actually meant, was a breakdown of a photograph. Which is way way simpler than analyzing my emotional problems.
-M

The Cat Owner's Home Veterinary Handbook

I keep a copy of the Cat Owner's Home Veterinary Handbook next to my bed, not because I think am in way qualified to heal my animals at home, but because you never know when you may have to. I live with three cats, my children, and, like children, they dislike each other at varying degrees depending on the day/time/or amount of food they have eaten in a given amount of time.

The three have lived together for going on 6 months now, co-habitating as indoor/outdoor cats in a fairly large house that stays always open, allowing them to come and go as they please from my fairly large, wondrously green neighborhood. You would think with the amount of space, coupled with the infrequency with which these animals see each other, that they would be able to spend a night, one single night, without bringing down hell, high water and the wrath of khan upon anyone who is unlucky enough to get in their way.

But that's not why I keep the Cat Owner's Home Veterinary Handbook next to my bed. You see, they are unique, these animals, in that in their absolute hell-hath-no-fury-like-a-cat-with-an-attitude scorn, they never manage to hurt themselves, nor either of my family memebers, but only me.

The book therefor, serves as self defense, and often I find myself chuckling at the fact that one of my devils has run off yelping after the 300 page tome has been flung at this tail at maximum velocity, the irony too much to handle for even my half asleep brain. No worries, I never hurt the damn things, primarily because in my state of half sleep, I am much more likely to improperly aim and accurately smash the book directly into my own toe.

I'm pretty sure that my cats are going to one day figure it out, they are, especially Ninja, devilishly intelligent, and take the book away from me before attacking.

Until then, I will continued to be baffled by my cat's insatiable desire to eat my feet in my sleep.

Dear Miami,

You were cooler when I was 15. You were cooler when staying out past 2 at a nightclub to watch a group of musicians kick ass was actually the thing to do, and worth doing. You were cooler when we used to go out to the car at 3am, drunk and stumbling, to find the last few coins stuck somewhere in between the car seats with the hopes of buying another drink, and not to add money to the meter, because we knew in our bones that the meter maids were bitter and didnt care if you had one minute or five, you were still getting that ticket.

Now, I know you’re mad. I left you without a lot of notice, for Orlando, for a man, for an education, but that’s no reason to act like a baby and shut down at 2:00, thats no reason to push all the amazing artists out of your streets with your lack of opportunity and competition. That’s no reason to greet artists with distracted conversations and leave them performing to empty dance halls. And its definitely no reason why the same ten schmucks are always at the same place doing the same shit in a city so damn large.

Miami, you have a responsibility you may not be aware of. People think you’re cool. They look at you in your little bikinis and your pastel colors, your famous beaches, your lights and your stars and they think you’re the shit so they come visit. And then they get there and you don’t care. You ignore them.

What makes you think they’re gonna keep coming back? The amazing attitude that each of the stuck up hotel attendants have when you walk past them? The traffic? or are you thinking that its the intense heat and cruel and inhuman humidity? Let me be the first to tell you: No.

None of these things are enough. Miami, right now, to a lot of us, youre like that really hot guy from high school, or that girl that you wanted to bone worse than anything else in your at the time so far short lived human existance. You pursue them for years, you worship their style, their tastes, their legacy. You yearn each night to dip you toes in that pink sand of exstacy that you just know has to be waiting for you at the end of your dreams.

Then you get them naked.

And your left there, staring at a tiny dick, wondering what you could possibly to with something so small in the name of fun. That or you're facing a bush that hasn't been trimmed since 1987, very a-la-Demi-Moore.

The difference is, Miami, youve got sooooo much potential. Your dick is not small, its just flaccid. Underneath that genital mane, are the most luscious pussy lips that you have ever laid eyes on. You just gotta learn how to use it. You gotta realize that pushing out the cool people to spread your good name ain't working for you. Because the rest of here are just bored. and its still so early.

So Miami, I'm back now. I'm back to give you that second chance that i know you wanted, because you know I got a lot of say and a lot of outlets through which to say them, and the last thing you want is to hear that I called you a whore again.

I have a lot of faith in you. Mostly because I've seen what you're capable of, I've seen what you can produce. So please, try not to let me down.

Yours truly,

Miss Melo

School Work, Sexy Nutella Stories, Post Secrets

The prompt was this:

Review the PostSecret site. Choose one of the "secrets" as a staring point for your own flash fiction. Write a short short story of no more than 750 words. Make sure to create a title.

My choice was this:My story came out like this:

The A-line Skirt

She walked into my room at 8:22 in the morning. The light, at that moment was filtering through my windows already and I needed to be up 20 minutes ago. Before she came in, I could smell toast burning in the kitchen. As she entered, so did the smell of coffee....

Unfortunately, Ive taken this post down so that it can be considered for publication. Stay tuned!

SUCCESS!! This story was recently published on Penduline Press. Read it HERE

Music: So what if you kissed a girl

I originally wrote this as a post for my other blog, Fuckin Shit Sucks which uses "so what if" a jumping point for complaints. It made me laugh a lot so i decided to repost it here. I'm sick as hell of this song, and I dont really want to hear it ever again.

enjoy.



You know what, good for you Kate. I'm proud that, unlike peaches, you decided to flaunt your wild side by telling us all about the time you kissed a girl, and you liked it. It was really a very wise decision on your part. Especially considering how you look exactly like her. Not being a total bitch about how you love the pussy, even tho you love the cock was a smart move, I can assure you of that.

Still, If I had to choose between your buttery good-girl-turned-lesbo-tramp-on-a-saturday-night-from-drinking-too-much and peaches go-fuck-yourself attitude, the bitch would be tops on my list of black haired songbird girlies i'd wanna make out with.

And don't like, you didnt like it. What you liked is the attention you get from singing about it. The money you get from whoring out your remixes.
Unless you're actually Zoey Deschanel's alter ego, get off the radar.


If you are Zoey Deschanel's alter ego, then good job at being a total failure to your reputation.

Badass: Airbrush Tattoos and why I do what I do

I have a very active social life. Dating a nightlife photographer has its perks, and amongst those are free entry into nightclubs, drink coupons, and the pleasure of meeting about 50-60 new people every day. Of those I usually end up forming actual friendships with about 5 new people a week, most of whom I end up talking to online. I spend a lot of time on the computer, and am online pretty much all day long.

As a result, I often get asked if i have a job, if i work online and then what I do for a living. My answer, is simple and always the same:
"I sell airbrush tattoo systems and supplies".

Usually I'm met with the same response. Most people say "cool" but some people ask me to who or why. Getting asked 'why?' is my favorite of the responses. I seriously love my job. Not only are the people that i work amazingly fun to work with, bickering like a severely disfunctional family most of the time, rick-rolling the shit out of one another on a constant basis, but i deal with some of the coolest customers daily. Theme parks like Busch Gardens, Cedar Fair, and others, clowns that teach me how to ride elephants, carnies that make me candied apples, pigs in blankets and elephant ears, stores that sell crap for children, are just some of the clients that I talk to.

To top it off, i get to airbrush tattoos onto people and have fun while making my moola. When i first started, I seriously laughed at the entire concept. Sell airbrush tattoo they told me. My mind answered with "to who?" and "what tard would spend money on this shit?". A year later, Im well aware of who does, and why. Recently, I wrote an article about Airbrush tattoos that details why it is such an awesome thing.

Every generation has its very own fads and trends that entire groups of people seem inclined to follow. They come and go in a matter of weeks at time. Tattoos are a different kind of fad. An obsession more than a fashion trend, altogether, an art form, a lifestyle. Ironically, their popularity, instead of fading over time as most trends and fads do, has only becomes greater as technology allows for new, safer ways for people to mark themselves. However, there are still plenty of people who dismiss tattoos as an option for one reason or another. They have the desire, but lack in ability because of lifestyle or other factor that deters them from making the commitment
Enter cosmetology. There are many cosmetic forms of temporary tattoos available. The three primary forms are Henna, Water transfers and airbrush tattoos. Each method has its own distinct advantages and uses, as well as its own drawbacks. Henna, while providing a lasting temporary tattoo is difficult to use because its application requires extensive training, the henna itself, extensive preparation and it requires the subject to be forced to sit still for an extended period of time while the Henna paste dries. Waterslides do not give the look or the feel of real tattoos.
Airbrushing combines the look of a real tattoo, but without the permanency and with ease of application and a mass appeal. If you are looking to break into a business that is fun while being profitable, or looking for a something to add to your already existing business, or something to bring your family entertainment center into the new century, airbrush tattoos may be just the thing to consider. Airbrush tattoos typically last anywhere from 5-7 days, depending on the area of skin on which it is applied and the customer’s skin type, they look real, are quick to apply and easy to care for and are proven to generate unbelievable profits.

The company i work for, Airtoo, is pretty big in the niche market. My article, basically a form of publicity for the company and a way for us to advertise without advertise goes on to describe what makes us different, and essentially better.

Body Art by Airtoo™, a company that specializes in the manufacture and sale of airbrush tattoo systems and supplies, that allow anyone to capitalize off the growing popularity of temporary or semi-permanent tattoos. Body Art by Airtoo™ has made it so that there is no artistic talent needed to man a tattoo system and give customers a reason to return.
Body Art by Airtoo™ uses modern technology to turn the art of airbrush tattooing into a practical, profitable, add-on business that can generate substantial revenue. With Turnkey systems, the company can offer an easy solution to an airbrush start-up. The systems operates effectively with minimal managerial supervision and training, allowing businesses in the theme park and amusement industries to be capable of generating high profit margins with little artistic talent. The all-in-one-package approach takes the guesswork out of starting an operation, and allows anyone to begin working with everything they need.
Body Art by Airtoo™ was developed to fill the void of quality and control within the airbrush tattoo industry. They stand alone as the leader in delivering cutting edge technology, unprecedented customer service, simplicity of use, a patented inventory control system (U.S Patent No. 7,249,712) which permits the operation of the business to be run by almost anyone and eliminates shrinkage. These stencils allow for crisp detail and precision application with minimal clean-up that makes the operation of and maintenance simple.

Tattoos have been around for ages, adorned kings and warrior for decades, used as tools of identification, declarations of allegiance for years. But even though, as a trend, they have survived the test of time, that doesn’t mean that yours has to.

Call me, lets do business.
1-800-921-0229
melanie@theenhancegroup.com

Badass: Futures

I started this post with all this intellegent bantor. It originally included my opinion on both Obama and McCain, shit on our failing economy and water powered cars. I was gonna write some college level aggregation of bullshit to fill the page. I guess I got bored with it quickly, because I felt zero regret when I ctrl+a’d half a page’s worth of nothingness with a large vocab and replaced it with this little ditty.

I’ve been stumbling a lot lately. Not like, walking down the street to your house I strip over my shoelace and do the dance of about-to-fall for 10 minutes while moving full speed towards the traffic at the nearest intersection and accidentally slipping in dog shit and landing on my fat ass stumbling, but stumbling. The Internet mesmerizes me.

Pixel Criminal mesmerizes me. Seriously bright, organic shapes and colors and gorgeous, almost feminine design.


So the pixel criminals, right. I see this blog they have, I read it, and I see someone who is making their life doing something that they love to do. And what am I doing? Selling airbrush tattoo systems to theme parks and FEC’s for Airtoo.

Sure its not the worse job ever, Its actually one of the best I’ve ever had, but it leaves me wanting more out of myself, like a teased lover.

So obviously, I’ve been seriously considering what to do about the future of my personal financial stability. Its very hard to predict what is going to happen to me in the course of my later years, and so many factors, economic stability, gar prices, foreign relations, that are bound to affect me, are beyond my control. So I’ve been giving serious thought about what I’m gong to do with this amazing brain and body that I was granted with for the rest of my days.

In the interim of these deep thoughts of mine, I find shit that is as awesome as NOLAF that im in love with and entertained by in equal parts and shit like File Magazine that tickles me in a sweet spot.

Anyways, here is a things to look forward to, in list format for the lazy:

· URL change – possible a domain name all my own?!?
· Awesome new layout – That I’ve been working on instead of working at work
· More links to cool shit
· More stories
· More poems
· More Delicious shit
· And maybe some pictures.


Sign Language - Found Matchbooks

And Now for More Fun:
New Web Pick
Strange Sculptures
Food Gawker
Graffiti Creator

Review: Take Those Panties off....

Pase Rock @ Dancers Royale
3/25/2008 - Orlando, FL

We get three to four hours of sleep on Monday night, stumble out of bed and drive to work in a drunken daze. From nine to five, we sit at our desks, our cubicles, our counters, and try our hardest to keep our foreheads from slamming onto our keyboards or registers or whatever. We count the minutes till we sit in I-4 traffic in a daze, and dream of the nap we desperately need to take while a puddle of drool from forms at our chins. We wake up and it’s Tuesday night, and day two of Orlando’s spring training week.

MySpace was all abuzz during the day. Everyone was looking forward to what was undoubtedly going to be, to say the very least, the most interesting show of the week. Now, while it’s common knowledge that taking your panties off and showing that baby rat is the right thing for a lady to do in a strip club, it’s also recently become the phrase that has made Pase Rock a name that is synonymous with what can only be termed as “dance-rap”. The two go hand in hand and so it only made sense that Pase Rock’s Orlando performance took place at one of Orlando’s most reputable, adult entertainment venues Dancers Royale.

A constant collaborator with the Spank Rock crew Spank Rock made his way onto the scene from Cincinnati, where while attending high school, the met the men that would come together to make the Five Deez crew, Fat Jon, Kyle David and Sonic. His style is versatile, and quite interesting, and seemed almost too perfect for the setting that night. This was a night unlike any other. For starters Neither Pase Rock, nor his opener, Club Firestone resident Dj Miss Fit were spinning for a group of sweaty drunk dancing fools from behind turntables, and instead, sitting in the strip club’s sound booth, were providing the soundtrack for the bevy of boobs gyrating on the club floor. Regardless both made their presence strongly felt, breaking away from regular, tried and played strip club musical rotations, to give the girls something a little more flavorful to dance to.

Of course, the girls took over the night. The only thing that could be argued, is whether its fair to consider this entertainment for boys only. While the look on most of boy’s faces were those of kids at Christmas morning, the girls, all the girls, not just the naked ones, made their own fun, and claimed the night for themselves. While it’s one thing to party with the scantily clad women who pour downtown every week, that night, there was much more to be admired on that night, and, even with Orlando’s ban on all nude dancing, the room was erotic, excited and ecstatic.

Review: Oh My God, Theres a Riot in Belgium

Riot in Belgium
Crush @ BackBooth
3/24/2008 - Orlando, FL

Miami’s annual Winter Music Conference brings the biggest and the best of electronic music to the south. But for those that don’t want to or can’t make to the drive/flight/train trip to the sweaty south, good news! Orlando got lucky this year and is blessed to serve as a pit stop for a few of the finest making their way down. The result: This week, Orlando is a party destination like it’s never been. No mouse, no theme park, no movie studio could make for a bigger load of fun.

A regular Monday night, for most regular people, usually involves television and rest to prepare oneself for the week, distress from returning to work. These are the kind people who wake up extra early to clean their house and coordinate their shoes and belts. These are the people who have big IRA’s, who don’t drink, who don’t raise their voices above a three, who don’t own dancing shoes. To spice things up, a glass of wine with dinner maybe. But Every Monday night, for the past two year, Backbooth opens its door for anyone who wants to break the mold of regularity and party like rock stars at the beginning of the week.

Monday night this very special week was no exception, and for a select hard headed, dedicated individuals, the perfect start to 6 days of total non stop action. Day one of spring training, the official name for the aggregation of a week’s worth of amazing parties, was a kick in the balls delivered by Beni Single, one half of Australian dance music sensation Riot in Belgium.

In 2006, the duo sprung onto the scene with the release of their album "The Acid Never Lies" on Relish Recordings (formerly known as Relish Records). If you’ve gone to an indie dance night anytime in the past year, you know Riot in Belgium. You’ve heard their song "The Acid Never Lies", or their powerhouse hit "La Musique". You've no doubt also been privy to their remix work for the likes of Yelle, Surkin, Sneaky Soundsytem, K.I.M. Headman, and Chromeo.

Riot in Belgium is Joel Dickson & Beni Single, but Beni performed alone on Monday night. Individually, Joel also puts out fantastic music with Tim from Cut Copy as Comets, and Bennie is one fifth of the banging (pun intended) Sydney based DJ collective the Bang Gang Deejays.

Beni’s set was amazing, he comes on all of a sudden, full throttle with a noticeable and very audible warning. “Oh my God, there’s a riot in Belgium” and the entire crowd wants to be a part of it. Beni makes his performance look easy. He is dancing, throwing his hands in the air, wooing the audience and passing out stickers while tweaking the knobs and buttons that make his characteristic funky electro noise. He even has time to put a bandana over his face to look extra cool for his photo ops. It is total non-stop action from this man, and the slew of drunk 20 something’s and underagers that want to fit in shaking and mixing to his music, your humble reviewer included, don’t care to focus on what individual songs he mixes, because the overall effect is too too strong. The entire set is electric and we all move with every single drop and pound of his bass heavy sound. People seem drawn to him, there are almost more people on the stage than there are on the dance floor, they all just want to get as close as possible to the source.

All in all, The Aussie delivered from start to finish and sent us home reeling, pumped and ready for the sleep deprived week ahead.

Random: “Hallelujah”

Written by Tanker Dane
Inspired by Jeff Buckley “Hallelujah” (Lyrics by Leonard Cohen)

It is no longer, this instrument they played. Though not in its final resting place, for it will be found again, just not by the well-intentioned or inspired, nor by the suitable, even the capable. But it matters not. Anyone is invited to find it this time, provided they can: corroded and covered in algae, the neck warped, frets rusted and the double truss rod buried in sediment. The ivory bindings around the soundboard split from the time spent submerged, the acoustic body once hollow, now flooded and the adopted dwelling of a flathead catfish.
A guitar having wept, bled, screamed and soared lies on its side. All at once splashed down, adrift, sunken, and silent since the incident. Infamous and extraordinary, never anything less than sublime. To be strummed once more near impossible die to its wretched condition, yet this guitar, having been responsible for one musical miracle after another, just may and must be the subject of its own divine rescue. The age unknown. Its initial purpose unclear, but assuredly simple as compared to its eventual calling and final catastrophe.
This unassuming lute first handed down, then inherited, bartered, bought and sold, gifted, won and lost, then finally found. The most innocent way its most glorious. Nicked and scratched, smashed and cracked, the instrument wrecked and repaired as often as it changed hands. And changed shape. The lute was the shape of a pear, then a circle, then a square, before it got into the hands of the man who split it in half and played it in two. Went unrecognized doe an extended time as a table, then a toy. Picked out of the trash and given away by a man to a boy, who gave it a name. Then stolen twice: first by a thief, then by the boy who stole it back from the thief, who renamed it the same.
The name never stuck, as no name would after several hundred years. A gitarer, a quintern, a guitarra…with each owner it became anew, in name, in shape, in sound, in song, but never in string.
The strings never changed, never shaped nor allowed the instrument out of tune. The string gut wrapped tight on the original lute remained, even now, underwater. Each string shimmering in the stabs of sunlight cutting through the kelp layered above, tempting and taunting the schools of sunnies and the stubborn rainbow trout who pass every half moon. The strings are neither prey, nor predictably attached to a rod and reel, but bare prints. Fingerprints. Multiple fingerprints, tens of thousands on each of the five strings, perhaps more. The G almost double the D, the E less than a quarter more than the A, all of them unable to compete with the C. Whether solo or strummed in a chord, all of the intact, unable to be wiped or swept away with the changing times or tides. Equally apparent, but hardly in importance. In fact, only a minute fraction stand above the rest. The most recent fingerprints, played just minutes before the instrument was befallen, would remain the most recent. Played by the hand stripped of flesh and flopped on its side in bone beside the instrument, responsible for fingerprints. Prints producing the finest notes. The most natural notes, notable notes, notorious notes. The notes responsible for the refrain.
“The final refrain!” and the accompaniment. “The accompaniment at last!” and the tempo. “The exact tempo!” and the melody. “The perfect melody!” this guitar, crafted by the hand of a carpenter, crafter for the composition, the perfect composition, the only composition. The possibility the right notes would be played, the proper chords struck? A near impossibility, no doubt. But not for one, the destined one, the defiant one.
Never a note or notes ever played to compare to these. For all of its time, all of its music, all of its solos, improvs, freestyles, riffs…this guitar never sounded so grand yet ghostly, so harrowing and haunting, so hallelujah. The hand of the man to play the part, to fulfill its intent of truth, is to be saved as soon as it ceases, sacrificed as soon as his gift is given, with one final breath – his song to the world…to save the world.

Review: JUSTICE / Dj Medhi - MySpace Music Tour - Club Firestone - Orlando, FL - 03.06.08

JUSTICE / DJ Mehdi - MySpace Music Tour 08
Club Firestone & Saturday/Thursday - 03.06.08
by Melanie Gapany & Kevin Collier

If it weren’t for high tech cell phones and digital cameras, a typical Thursday night at Club Firestone would have most people running to check their calendars to make sure that they haven’t somehow traveled into the eighties. Surrounded by latex, sequins, and hairspray, it’s easy to get confused. Filled to capacity (around 1500-1600 people), however, this Thursday was different. The day-glo was still present and the pants were just as tight, but it was the only Florida stop on the Myspace Music Tour, and the club felt distinctively different.

On a regular basis, there are plenty of musical acts to get the crowd going (Residents Pauly Crush, Miss Fit, Justin Scott, Ge30n, and Y-Not along with international acts and DJs such as Flosstradamus, Kid Sister, Girl Talk, Tommie Sunshine, Felix Cartal, and Boys Noize just to name a few), but with a lineup that includes international sensation DJ Mehdi and electro-superstars Justice, there seemed to be a particularly intense amount of energy inside Firestone.

Two of Saturday/Thursdays residents, Justin Scott and Miss Fit (formerly Bodywerx) started the night, soon followed by Mehdi, who took the floor by surprise, quickly fueling the floor with energy, spinning tracks that are both recognizable to the usual S/T crowd and some previously unheard. With the dance
floor completely covered, there were still a few brave souls who did their best to dance where they could. While everyone appeared to be enjoying Mehdi's selection and mixing for the evening, it was obvious; the crowd was there for Justice and were aching to turn their feet and ears to the main stage behind them...waiting for that big black curtain that hid Justice's impressive stage display to open up.

The curtain opens; a giant cross adorns the middle of a huge sound board with stacks of giant amplifiers on both sides. The main act rightly deserved that attention. Looking at the stage, anyone could easily assume they were about to witness a great rock band blow their minds. The DJs, Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay, collectively known as Justice, walk out and immediately whip the room into frenzy. There is barely standing room, but everyone is dancing. As they play the songs that have made them popular, including "Waters of Nazareth", "We Are Your Friends", and Grammy nominee for electronic song of the year "D.A.N.C.E.", you can barely hear yourself think, but the entire room is singing along. The room is electric, the people are ignited.

They finish their set and perform their encores, which included various remixes of their hits (everyone sang along to each and every one no matter how many times a remixed song was already played).

Justice (Xavier, at least) moved away from the giant stage to the turntables back on the other side of the room. Mehdi, once again enters the VIP-area-turned-DJ-booth, to tag team with Xavier until almost the end of the night with Pauly Crush hopping on to close the night out and send everyone home with memories of a pretty freaking amazing night!.

Thank you Firestone, Saturday/Thursday, Pauly Crush, Mike Feinberg, and all else involved for bringing in one of the biggest current electronic acts right now for their only FL tour stop and for putting on a perfect production and awesome show!

Click for Photos

Writting: A Day At the Beach

It is saturday, in Florida. It is hot and the sky is clear. There is little to no chance of rain in the forecast. Three friends are driving west in a Hyundai, headed for the coast, Cocoa Beach.

Cindy: We should stop at Flirt, its really cute.
Liza: What is it?
Cindy: Oh, like trashy underwear
Liza: Oh! That does sound cute.

Sitting the sun, the girls continue

Cindy: I have Cosmo. "What spot does you guy secretly really want you to linger on?"
Melanie: Oooh!
Liza: Um, bob, Ill take balls for 300.
Cindy: Balls?
Melanie: Yeah Alex, Ill take 'that place you guy secretly really want you to linger on for 600"
Liza: What is the inside of the asshole?
Melanie: Oh, I'm sorry. The answer we were looking for was taint. We would also have accepted 'that spot between the penis and the asshole'
Cindy: Oh! here, I found the page. Its Nipples. Nipples?!?! NIPPLES!!
Liza: What a freaking let down
Melanie: I already knew that. come on, cosmo, gimme something new.
Cindy: Fuckin cosmo doesnt know shit.

Liza: Hey, listen, i think those guys are getting ready to come talk to us
Melanie: Who, the nerds behind us?
Liza: yeah, so dont be bitches okay? cuz they have beer and I want beer. So no bitchiness. okay? Melanie?
Silence
Liza: And dont be like 'oh, she's single' either.
Cindy: I'm hot
Melanie: Lets go in the water

Liza: Hey guys, jump the waves with me, its fun
Melanie: (wait, what the fuck is that shes doing with her leg)
Liza: Im like, kicking through the waves instead of jumping them
Melanie OH!! you meant like hurdle jumping
Liza: Well, what else would i think?

Cindy: Are those Dolphins
Liza: Do we even have dolphins in florida?
Cindy: you guys, hold up, im not a mermaid like you.
Liza: well youre the most mermaid looking out of all us.

Cindy: Holy shit its still so cold
Liza: Yeah, but its refreshing. Wait. Cindy. Are you crying?!?!?

Back on the beach

Cindy: I wrath of fury in my eyes. Im doomed. I can't see
Melanie: whats wrong with you?
Cindy: The wrath of Fury!!
Liza: splash some regular water on your face
Cindy: I cant see my face
Melanie: Gimme the water bottle. Stand up Cindy.
Cindy: I cant even see the floor. Its the wrat.....
Cindy couldnt finish her statement. I almost drowned her with a water bottle stream of water to the face.

In the Car

Cindy: Damnit, i have nerds all in the bottom of my purse
Melanie: What those guys behind us left you a gift?
Cindy: You guys wants some nerds?
Melanie: Liza, nerds? its got malic acid, can you do malic acid?
Liza: Yeah, ill be with you in a minute.

Writing: When an english major and speech therapist collide

Mayochup: i LOVE her dress

LaceLeyes: ya im not a fan of sequence like u

LaceLeyes: its just so intense

Mayochup: you mean of sequins?

LaceLeyes: ohhhhhhh

Mayochup: because sequence is like the order that things go in

Mayochup: sequins are sparkly things

LaceLeyes: learning something new everyday its true!

Mayochup: lol

LaceLeyes: well it sonly differs by like one sound!

Mayochup: they are homonyms

LaceLeyes: i used to wear sequins all the times

LaceLeyes: no i dont think they are

LaceLeyes: because those are like see and sea right?

Mayochup: no, but youre ight

Mayochup: theyre not

Mayochup: homonyms share the same spelling and the same pronunciation but have different meanings.

Mayochup: they dont have to sound the same

LaceLeyes: oh and then homophones are something else too

LaceLeyes: oh my god too much 2nd grade spelling class coming back at me!

Mayochup: no, homophones is right

Mayochup: different spelling

Mayochup: same pronunciation

Mayochup: (btw i cant believe were having this conversation right now)

Mayochup: i wanna marry you

LaceLeyes: hahahha

LaceLeyes: homophones only differ in meaning

Mayochup: yes

Mayochup: youre right

LaceLeyes: right

LaceLeyes: HAHA

LaceLeyes: im like putting it all together

Mayochup: homophones can also differ in spelling though

Mayochup: they are homonyms

LaceLeyes: right

Mayochup: no

Mayochup: im confusing myself

LaceLeyes: sew and so

Mayochup: they are homophones

Mayochup: homonyms are spelled the same and sound the same

Mayochup: homophones are spelled the same or different but sound the same

Mayochup: and have different meaning

LaceLeyes: right

Mayochup: Homographs are words that are written the same way but have different meanings and often different pronunciations

Mayochup: so they are homophones

Mayochup: jesus this is too intense for me

LaceLeyes: right because graphemes are letters

LaceLeyes: hahaha

Mayochup: lol

Mayochup: so um, marry me?

Mayochup: like now?

LaceLeyes: english major right?

Mayochup: ill tell kevin he doesnt have to come over

Mayochup: right

LaceLeyes: when an english major and speech therapist collide!

Mayochup: lol!!

LaceLeyes: THAT should be our slogan

Mayochup: we start haing conversations about glottal stops and graphemes

LaceLeyes: HAHAHHAH

Mayochup: jesus were bad

Mayochup: acutally its glottal stops and homophones

LaceLeyes: i can start writing you letters written in phonemes (sounds)

LaceLeyes: instead of alphabetically

Mayochup: i know what phonemes are, thatts an english term too

LaceLeyes: i love doing that actually

Mayochup: do it!! leave me (hope youre ready for this) phonemenal comments!

LaceLeyes: well i can try but i dont have a phonemic alphabet on my computer.

Mayochup: damn it

LaceLeyes: i kinda want david to go home, he’s boring even tho he can sing

Mayochup: cook?

LaceLeyes: oh no i mean not david....that guy in the bottom 3 right now.

Mayochup: oh yea

Mayochup: me too

Mayochup: i didnt like him from the first day

Mayochup: he reminds me of enrique iglesias

Mayochup: and coming from miami that means gay

LaceLeyes: hahah

Mayochup: they are synonyms

LaceLeyes: HAHAHHA

Writing: What you shall do...

This is what you shall do: love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants...have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year or your life, re examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in words but in the silent lines of its lips and face between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

-Walt Whitman