LA JEUNESSE EMMERDE LE FRONT NATIONAL
LA JEUNESSE EMMERDE LE FRONT NATIONAL
PORCHERIE
PORCHERIE
The DJs last night were the stuff of idealism.
Excellent mixing, incredible choice of songs.
From the moment we walked in, the song we'd been singing on the march down avenue de Clichy hit the speakers with all the brightness of the acid trips it spoke of.
Christine...
Disintegrating
Christine, banana split lady
Now she's in purple
Now she's a turtle
Disintegrating...
Two SOM songs, some VNV Nation, NIN, Ministry, Molodoi, Skinny Puppy, two Berrurier Noir, Noir Desir, Banlieu Rouge, THE SEX PISTOLS, more Siouxie, The Mission, ancient Bauhaus, Joy Division, The Chameleons, Depeche Mode, and on and forth and so much of it songs I haven't heard since I played them myself...
...my legs are still trembling from this or that frenzy, the mosh pit, the romantic song this, the violent song that, real punk, hard punk, punk with meaning.
I'd forgotten the intensity in the year I've been away.
I'd forgotten how much I missed the measured glances, the atmosphere, the ocean of the dance floor, writhing and dark and furious.
This time in a basement with stone walls and arched doorways.
I guess it will always remain some small part of me, despite the sensible shoes and corporate dress.
I'll never go as often as once upon a time, but it will always remain somehow a part of me, my arms still aching with the fists we waved in the air.
Yesterday we did the tour of the goth shops to buy Guillaume lace-up pants (on a bet) and find me a corset since the old one has gotten so large it hangs loose even when fully laced.
Guillaume got his pants, princes got a plate-mail ring, and I found nothing.
Until we fell into the fetish shop, carefully hidden far from view in an almost-warehouse in the 11ieme.
Walking in, we got a few looks, most notably from the fat naked man hanging in the cage from the ceiling above the corsets.
Princess didn't notice him, Guillaume turned several shades of traumatized, and I straightened my neck and walked the regal way you're supposed to, over to nonchalantly browse through the corsets.
Princess and I chose one each, I laced her up and then she set about lacing me up.
By the time the drooling salesmen showed up to help out, pushing me against the wall like those years back at Il Bolero, the crowd was gathered. The entire contents of the massive store floor shifting restlessly by the rubber and vynil dress racks.
Laced in, the salesguy ordered me to adjust my breasts and I did, and there was a collective intake of breath.
The corset was nice but too straight and french, not the curve I was looking for, nor the materials.
We undid them to another general sigh, and wandered over to look at collars.
The salesman snapped a chrome collar to my neck, without asking, as though he saw something in me that once belonged in such a thing, all the while jabbering about what he remembered of the Montreal scene, and the distinguished elder man rifling through the photography books was boring holes into my face.
The collar was beautiful, but too much, too serious, too many memories.
Princess chose another one, rubber and leather and the salesguy rushed off to clean it up and wrap it for me, while the cashier showed us a few of their latest videos and asked if I'd like to be in the next one.
"Thank you, but I'm already paid very well, and I'm not that interested."
He gave me the info anyway.
Arriving home, the door was stuck.
The key wouldn't turn.
It's a wonderful way to meet the neighbours coming home on a Saturday afternoon, while Guillaume ran around the neighbourhood arguing with the locksmith.
It took us three hours and about a thousand dollars (which should be reimbursed by my insurance on the basis of vandalism) to replace the lock, the new keys silvered and even cooler than the old ones.
Daniel arrived in mid-saw, sparks charring the staircase, and we ordered up indian food and missed Wallace's birthday dinner and that's the second time this week I've stood up Cristal.
I left her a message, she hasn't called back.
This morning, the phone rang a thousand times, and my slumber was all the more delicious after each one.
In my head, I am still dancing.
And now, I'm off to meet Princess at the Jardins de Luxembourg, where we'll eat sandwiches among english gardens.