Desperate Dormers

Posted by spliceanddice on January 18, 2009 · Leave a Comment

They live right next door. Four of them, I think. Tonight they are attempting to reach the heights of drunken nirvana, and somewhere inside that room a guy is strumming his guitar to tunes that remind one of eye liners, razor blades, dangling hair bangs and all the sadness and frustration the world has to offer. That’s French for Emo music, one of the worst oxymorons since dinosaurs roamed the planet. At half an hour past one in this unholy morning, their voices can stir the dead back to life or, worse, can raise the sleep to a fit of rage. One of them tells the tale of how she is far too confused to give the boy the answer he deserves. Another speaks of the pang of being left single in this Earth where men are supposed to thrive in shapes and sizes. The same girl proclaims just as well that, push comes to shove, she won’t be kissing a frog in the hopes of the toad turning into a prince. Better single than having warts and all. Still, another recounts how her lesbian days are far from over contrary to popular belief—ah, but the intoxicating powers of alcohol, when taken in excess, can truly make your brain think sideways.

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