RogueMuirHead: Photography and Writing

drunken lullabies: July 2015

Location: Cozy Car, SF BAY Area

Sugar Sugar…I sit alone waiting for suggestions. Now they are so nervous avoiding all the questions. Their lips are dry, my heart is gently pounding, don’t you know exactly what I am thinking?

With a simple touch to the screen, my fingers doing all the creative signals,the message was sent out,calling the group together once again.

Meet up at Parking Lot of my work place. Saturday night. 9:30. Square and there.

The band returning to the same venue once again. I wouldn’t call us the three musketeers. Nor would I even say that we all could really carry a tune. However, the three of us had a certain bond that no lover or fighter could match. We were powerful when our powers combined. Lack of the summoning of a certain environmental superhero dressed in spandex panties. You with the rhythm of time it seems quite fluid. Of course we see it as a linear effect where days merge into weeks in a matter of minutes. Time always moving forward only to go by so quickly that in a blink of an eye years have passed. Because we can get trapped in our daily lives moments spent with those that ignite our souls can disappear. And at this point it have been some months since Arizona, Blue and I had all been together. I was determined to stop time.

Though Blue changes her hair colours like the gorgeous bloody unicorn she is, she will always be the bold, beautiful blue. The last time I saw her she possessed teal locks which flowed past her shoulders, an ocean dream that she carried on her,ebbing on. Tall, regal like the queen she is, with a snapping attitude that allows her to take control in any situation. A perfect ally. Now she sported white locks. An infinite blank canvas waiting to be created. The colour coursed through her own unending universe.

“Like the blonde, Blue.” I grinned, “Mother of all dragons, eh?”

“Fuck you, T.G.!” She laughed, straightening her hair, checking her makeup in her phone, “Mother of chickens.”

Blue reared a small flock of chickens in suburbia. Best eggs I have ever fucking had.

We waited together in the parking lot of my day job for Arizona to arrive. Running late because of her daily supervisory grindhouse. The three of us carried our income and passions. Blue was lucky enough to enjoy her passion for a living. After an unfortunate stint at her previous job, she was starting a new chapter in her professor, but the income wasn’t arriving as she had hoped.

    “Stab any young folks today?” I took out a cigarette, adjusting my hat I lit the paper, silhouetted by the street lights she lowered her head.

    “Dead. It’s the slow season.” her breath escaping in a devastated sigh as she stared longingly at my cigarette.

    “You want one?”

    “Still can’t. But the second hand is nice.” She smiled adjusting her coat as it began to sprinkle, “Yeah, slow season in the body piercing industry. People spent too god damned much at Christmas, and it’s just how it goes.” She shrugged, “But I am gonna keep at it. This place is still a lot better than with that fucking taco hag.” She looked over my shoulder.

Seeing a car pull in, heavy metal blaring. The trumpet of soul, the wanderlust princess, Arizona, had arrived. She saw us, thus instincted indicated for her to begin waving frantically. Both of her hands not on the wheel. I travel a lot with her long road trips to random parts of the desert. We go visit my soul there a few times a year. Stop a a middle of nowhere bakery for pie. And at times she is a glorious, scary bitch behind the wheel. Drivers beware, do not, I repeat DO NOT even think of conducting road rage when Arizona is on the prowl, you will regret the loss of your testicles and other paths on the road to your nether region. You have been fairly warned.

She regained her excited composure, parking her golden Prius also known as “Lady”. Exiting Lady, her long black dress swayed, dragging against the wet pavement, a cigarette dangled in one hand, her mobile and credit accounts all conveniently located in one purple pouch. She laughed as she danced across the parking lot, embracing Blue and I.

“Hi Hi! I’m so glad I got the text!” She cheerfully squealed.

Blue and I looked at her dumbfounded. Now, I have the privilege of wearing what I feel like to work as well as Blue. As long it doesn’t appear we rolled around in our own filth or other hellish absurdities, jeans, hair, didn’t matter. Arizona on the other hand was doomed to wear a quaint khaki ensemble. This, in the beginning did not bode well for her gothic exterior and soul. It still doesn’t but she was able to overcome…sorta.

“Ya got naked in the parking lot again didn’t you?” I chuckled admiring her long black dress. Arizona is an exquisite creature.A mostly quiet élan vital to the public, a mouth on her when pushed, dashed with all the snark one could ever desire. She was the perfect niche within our triad.

Placing her hands on her hips, she flipped her hair with a cheeky grin, narrowing her eyes,“The bastards paid me to look this fabulous.” She slammed her cigarette on the ground and grinned mischievously, “I got changed in the toilet.”

Her long dark waves cresting over her shoulders in her trademark ponytail revealing her purple gem tattoo on part of her shaved scalp. The world did not implode now that the three of us had gotten together. Oh, what brilliant luck! Our night of splendor had just begun.

The crisp air beat the night, capturing the drunken pomp and grandeur of the Saturday scene. Arizona and I lit up our post beer cigarettes as it lightly began to sprinkle. Sweet Place had seen the likes of us, with plenty of tales told as old as time.

Sweet Place offered us a chance to create our own world. Tales and jokes any eavesdropper could not decipher. Blue still longed for the nicotine ride,heaving in the second hand delight, reminiscing but not caving into the former cravings.

We stepped up next, through the small crowds of drunken folks, dancing within the charming lights of the darkness towards the 80’s Porn Bar. A cozy little venue nestled between a skateboarding shop and a former Subway. Pornographic images plastered every part of the place, collaged and combined with iconic images from one’s childhood such as Togepi and some reminders of the decent Transformers cartoon show.

Music gushed, expelling out from the entertainment set, beating against the walls like the sexual encounters they portrayed, Ramones, Rod Stewart, Madonna, Misfits, drowned out most of the drunken conversations. One would either laugh at the hodge podge decor of sex driven, playboy bunny pinball wizard. Make her smile by tossing little balls at the goals within her hidden compartments. Or sink into deep uncomfortable tendencies where the only method of escape is to walk away or be sedated by the various concoctions and potions of alcohol conveniently located at the bar, served by the cute blond wearing a red tank top showing off her most gilded assets. The alcohol is closer. Not cheap. But closer.

The bar was crowded as we entered. The dark cave of splendor issued highlights on the a few television screens lining the walls, amongst the poster centerfolds. The half naked women, baring their breasts expressing a come to me gaze. Frozen in the moment. Farrah Fawcett had a guest appearance on some tv show which was spliced with a woman giving Ron Jeremy his hairy happy ending. The spurs of excitement included a few birthdays, the beginnings of a new semester from the of age college crowd and the thankfulness that one has made it to another fucking Saturday night at the end of a hellish work week. Porn, booze and rowdiness, this was the way to burst their way into a signature weekend.

Blue, Arizona and I swam through the sea of sweaty bodies, blocking elbows and drinks accidently spilled. The smell of fresh jameson lingered in the air as a blonde bartender, well endowed in her small red lingerie top cleaned up the mess. Smiling, saying sweet whispers to her clients that could not be heard as they looked lower than her eyes.

Nearing the end of the bar, we placed our orders and began to take in the scene. Due to the amount of conversation and Rod Stewart’s blaring voice over the loud speaker, his charming voice sending us back, it was difficult to to hear each other. And so the three of us observed the scene. However, Rod Stewart’s lilting words began to fill our lungs.

“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy come on sugar let me know!” Blue began, her brow furrowed in passion, clutching her cold can of Pap’s Blue Ribbon between her hands. Reaching one hand out into the air, taking care not to punch anyone, knocking her head with the rhythm as she looked at me. Her own voice drowned out by the original tune.

“If you really need me just reach out and touch me, come on honey tell me so. Tell me so baby!” Tilting my head slightly I grin mischievously at Arizona. Her eyes wide with amusement as she nods along, her parched mouth taking in her beer.

Lingering deep, we exhaled his words, “Do you think I’m sexy.” That raspy, mullet driving voice throating its way into the white noise of the bar.

One woman gyrated against a galaga arcade game, her body quaking with the music, feeling it  course through her veins, every inch of her dancing in tune. Her eyes shut as a man pressed his forehead against hers. Embracing her drunken rhythm. Becoming part of her world.

He’s acting shy, looking for an answer. Come on honey, she wants to spend the night together. Now hold on a minute before she goes much further. She takes out her phone, glancing at it. Interrupting the music. She’s gonna phone her mother. They will catch a cab to his low rise apartment. At last he can tell her exactly what his heart meant.

From there they depart, disappearing out of the bar, hands intertwined, swimming through the sea of drunken lullabies.

Farther folks lounged on the water beds, high on life, low to a point, too tipsy and sloshed to move, but merely enjoyed the phantom waves of the bed. Carrying them on ebb and flow in the cluster fuck of noise amongst the empty fucking and eyes of paid ecstasies past. Circa 1986 give or take.

Young hearts be free tonight. Time is on their side. A woman, her face pale, hair matted keeping with the theme of her thin frame. Our eyes met. A hollow story behind her eyes, expressing a sullen outlook she harboured. She nodded at the faceless gentleman, the back of his head my only view. His hand extended touching her. Her lips dry, she seemed to shirk his advances, but eventually caved in. That mona lisa smile, painted across her face, dark sad glance. She couldn’t find the answers she was looking for.

“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy. Come on sugar, let me know. If you really need me, just reach out and touch me. Come on honey, tell me so.” I mouthed the words casting a glance in her direction. She simply shook her head.

Their faces all told stories. The crevices tanned on their faces, flashing highlights of their lives. Their drunken lullabies sing to them in the late hour. The time was ticking on in silence amongst Blue, Arizona and I. Our smiles driving us as we nodded and pointed in various directions. Arizona looked away, slightly blushing as my hand grazed her thigh. Our own world amongst the chaos. Many worlds all centered within the expansive universe of one bar. Never ending. Ever expanding.

Then the petite, blonde bartender shattered the roar of the crowd with her own enduring hymn. Her sweet whispers nightmarishly roaring, “BAR IS CLOSED! Close out your tabs and get the fuck out!”

Come on, sugar, let me know

Watching her seige the crowd began to fuss, doing their best to ignore her. She brandished a bullhorn, “I said we are closed! Close out your tabs and get the fuck out!” She marched around the bar merging into the herd of drunken patrons.

“I hate it when she does this,” one of the bouncers glanced at me as he brought up the lights, turning off the music. The universe in this drunken cave of sexual splendor had ended. The crocked flock began to be heard out. She marched, giving her closing sermon. Cackling at the marvelous power she possessed.

A spot opened up for us to make our great escape. Our night ending but beginning, We each hugged our pastor server, stroking her ego with serenades of praise. Breaking from her feisty role, a small, charming voice emerged, “Thank you I do my best.”

We will wake at dawn ’cause all the birds will be singin’. The three of us, no longer total strangers, but that ain’t what we’re thinkin’. Outside it’s gonna be cold, misty and it’s rainin’. But we got each other, neither one’s complainin’

Disappearing amongst the sprinkling rain, Blue, Arizona and I made our silent pledge. The night wrapping around us in it’s cold glow. Making our silent pledges to conquer our feats together once again while Rod Stewart lingered on our satiated lips.

If you, if you, if you really need me, just come on and tell me so

Just reach out and tell me so.

One Reply to “drunken lullabies: July 2015”

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