[Dynagroove] a rithma saturday night

[etienne stehelin]

only if you got a minute!

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Listen - its 8 in the morning, and i am still awake. Not because i want 
to promote this unhealth even farther through my veins, or because i 
like the fog this time a morn', though it is quite relaxing.  Nope; im 
still up because ive had a fuck of a night and i just got home.  Eyes 
burning from sleep, legs burning from walking a million miles, nose 
burning from some shitty drugs, and soul...this morning for the first 
or second or third time in my life i felt like a fucking homeless 
person, with nowhere to go.  Lets move backwards here.  Lets begin from 
the moment, as i said, she left..."make it easy on me" she said, and 
being the bastard i am, i made it as hard as possible,  im kicking 
myself for acting in fear instead of love.  Beside the point.  She 
left.  I turned the music up & finished doing my dishes and sang along 
a little, and Colin & lisa showed up for a smoke & a short relax.  They 
said i wasnt being myself. They were right.  I was living in that sort 
of half-haze that comes with confusion and an impending long night. I 
could feel it coming. Who knows what but i felt it.
So i wanted to be cool so i took the Rithma Ride to hollywood, the 
famed yellow beast of a wagon,  my ego car, my cock compensation 
machine. It really works sometimes.   And then? Club Thrills, cheap  
fun, a couple drinks and a pretty nice set, people groovin a few 
hundred bodies thick, and i gotta admit thats fun. But something still 
eating me, something still torn inside something busted in my wiring.  
I know doing Blow in homeboy's car is a bad idea, i know it i know it 
but i go anywayz, my  sweet lack of self control.  And whatever, it was 
no big deal, uppity uppity smoke smoke smoke, im going to go home now.  
A spirit somewhere is mocking me, tickling the back of my head like a 
tease of a woman would. Only worse.  I get in the Camaro and click 
click nothing.  No lights no stereo no electronics no nothing.  Its 4 
in the morning, and everyone i know has left the parking lot, and just 
for icing theres a bunck of crackhead burnouts and also gangsters 
milling around, fucking seems like theyre  everywhere.  Dirty mexican 
dudes come up & offer advice, maybe its the wiring, maybe its the 
solenoid,  thanks a lot buddy i appreciate your help.  Its fucking 
getting LIGHT OUT.  the wee hours of the morning are always the 
wierdest.  So i call Triple AAA.  Oscar the tow truck driver slams up 
in his huge AAA truck in like 5 minutes and tries to give me a jump, 
nothing.  "Ill be right back" he says and fucking takes off.  I didnt 
get it.  The gangsters and crackers are milling closer now and i feel a 
twinge of  fear creep up my back.  Fuck you fear go away.  Waiting 
Waiting i look like an idiot in this stupid checkered jacket and why 
the fuck do i wear shit like this anyway?  Attention. Ego. All part of 
the story.   So Oscar comes grinding back up 10 minutes later & we hook 
up my dear cammy to the back of his truck.  The drive wasnt so bad.  He 
was a good guy, one of those bad ass chicanos that you could tell had 
whooped some ass in his day.  In spanish i asked if he had family here. 
He said no.  So it goes.  It was a hundred bucks to take my baby back 
to the mechanic, through the placid morning fog.  And of course im 
coming down off cheap stupid cocaine  so it feels like the world is 
closing in on me, like i blew every chance for a good life and i might 
as well give up now, while im behind. You know the feeling? It only 
comes with coke and i dont know why people keep doing that shit.   So 
its six in the morning now,  and im somewhere in the west valley,  
thank god im out of freaky ass hollywood, and its quiet and cool out.  
Not a sound.  I walked 5 blocks to Topanga and right when i walked 
under the freeway the moment came, the moment i long for, the moment i 
love, the moment when i realize that im still here and whoop de doo 
everythings going to be allright..
Its even pretty nice out.  I feel like im homeless and thats great 
because im a little spec in this great big movie, im an extra im a 
stand-in and i dont fucking matter.  What a free feeling when it doesnt 
matter anymore. I fell asleep for a minute on the bus stop. I feel like 
shit and my hands are burning from battery acid, from helplessly 
tweaking my engine.  I look like garbage.  I am on the fringes of our 
reality and i feel great because this is what it takes to end these 
fucked up nightclub fairy tales.  Everything kind of worked out after 
that, after giving in. I saw my crazy uncle Sabre at the gas station 
and he gave me some coffee & good jokes.  "On the way to the swap meet 
like every sunday", he said.
"Still awake and giggling at hell like every sunday" i said.  We 
laughed & understood.  I got a ride home from my old friend and pill 
hook up Tim, and we thrashed up Old Topanga in his 72 ford valient, a 
whole nother story in itself. Perhaps Later....so its late now, eight 
thirty whatever that means, and im seeing shit.  Its peaceful here and 
im about to end this circuis of a night in style, in my giant bed.  Am 
i still writing?  Thats funny. I looked up and this emails like a 
million miles long.  Why?  I think the only way we can get to know each 
other better is through our stories, so that was my night.  I hope you 
enjoyed it.