Aerialooze

“This is the musical version of going into an art museum and spray painting all the nudes.”: Mark Welsh

The Song played again. It was easy to ignore the first time but the second time, Lynch-like, it crawled clammily across my skin, latched itself to my earlobe and breathed hot sick into my ear. Bending over and pulling the black poster board out of the bottom slot I shivered, laughed out loud and walked quickly to the stock paper aisle. Standing there deciding if any of the pretty printed colored stock paper would be suitable for my project; some other happy, asylum calming, version of a song I barely recognized begun to play. There was a click, soft static and The Song started to play again.

“Fucking Joann’s.”

I half expected the air in front of me to shimmy-swirl into a vortex and Ash’s chainsaw to drop out or an old oak door to appear then open into a friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while everyone pretends to sleep.

I asked the cashier how they could stand it, the same lunatic, horror movie version of that song played over and over and over again. She handed me my change and held on to my hand.

Stumbled onto Miike Snow’s Genghis Khan video a week ago and haven’t stopped laughing at it yet (love the song also). Apparently, because of my “advanced age”, I’m the only person alive who recognises the choreography as being a homage to Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, and Gene Kelly.

Oh and I need to remind myself to never, ever, read the comments.

All Time Low: Jon Bellion