Carbon L

Five hundred idiots crammed through the front door as fast as possible in offset single file lines. Quartets of social grace & expression, duets of miss matched incompetence with deal breakers hidden in every smile-pout, fold of motion, attitude and posture. Some full of miscellaneous spiced dinner menus, commercial along with homemade/home remedy snacks, colorful and plain alcoholic beverages, breath fresheners including scented eye drops that sent mint and other aromatic flavors through the sinuses and into the throat: Others broke and quiet waiting for the brief relief of hearing tunes they couldn’t afford to buy or were to busy working to ever stream into pocket gadgets beyond their mean--waiting to be inspired to dance by the vibe of a lyric that would carry their soul intoxicated or sober into the upper region of a audio addicts heaven. Even if it took ten bucks of a friend to get there.

They would have to hold back from dancing, a city ordinance, passed down to the smaller venues that carried large crowds below the sound barrier. This gig was on what the locals called offender island. A place where the displaced, and released lived out their lives after from prison but not in the villages of the general public.

Society forgives but had learned to not forget. Tourists had a choice. The local arts and industrial market kept the tax strain down. The locals felt a little more humanized. Vengeance had an easy mark regardless of whether it should or shouldn’t. So the locals and island staff set up bullet proof walls, bought cheaply from closed banks, and fashioned them around the outer square to the main venue floor. Locals agreed on a mandatory separate entrance into the outer edge floor barrier.

Cradled by a large vegetable garden and parking lot the garden glorified into a multipurpose expanse the Open House exploded electric variations shaped by the will of the touring into the souls of the free who were good for the freedom and into the souls of those who statistically probably were not.

The wall was as close as any local would get to being free of unforgivable sin.

The tourists would sober up from, or into their humanity. Roll back from love, waist its reactions and contaminate each others ability to function. Succeed at living, and choose to love their children the best they can. Be enamored by another’s style and grace: and be again reminded that a love life is much stronger than any single individuals ability to tend to it as ideally as their heart intends to.

In the beginning the shows were cheap. Fifteen to twenty a pop. The same bucks that ferried welfare families and sports arenas evened out the canted costs of some of the more known musicians willing to step into the venues set up across and near the island.

Burn marks scared and faded on Kevin’s hands. A few times stainless steel opened his hands and stainless needles carried stitches to close the injuries covered by a form of workers compensation.

He worked hard. Just on the Nuevo Amer-English side of Cyribillic an audio sphere cranked notes into his head set; for only him to hear while keeping its distance from any work related motion.

He’d been at it for a while. He spoke and the sound vanished to mute.

“Score!’

“Yeah’ an semi rushed and defiantly aggressive voice replied from around a corner.

“I’m going to the rest room, all the orders are up.”

“Don’t take too long!", the voice volleyed back with the lack of self confidence so often seen in control freaks.

Kevin had already rolled off his station, self motivated to stay ahead of the work from years of keeping up.

As he pushed the door to the bathroom open his eye caught a flier pinned up. Disheveled was playing at the Open House. He assumed in a few days. He hadn’t stopped to read the entire flier. He did see that it was mid week.

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Gorgeous flagella eaten and brewed by not so happy beautifully normal people, against every need for self control from other party goers choosing other concoctions from home brew to herb taken the worker owned and operated co-op farther away from the corp. and closer to the doorways and porches to rest kegs & bags of home grown natural goodness that still others will pass over to the left or right side knowing they have to be the designated driver of there tomorrow morning even if they biked or walked over tonight: Even better, control what other natural seed or hop gets roasted by the end of the mood likewise (also), tonight.

Not enough people had arrived yet, to crush the emptied living room into a dance hall.

Still those eager to trance felt free to move in a semi familiar social round, skipping the cd with various inebriated missteps. The food came together from what was left over from everyone moving out, the few bags of shell noodles from a father ready to live down ruining himself for the benefit of his amazing new son and his son’s ungracious other. This father forgetting that he was hoping to choose to remain celibate until after he’d caught up on some of his bills. Something the high-content amber helped him let go of and not hold to so tightly to. Which wouldn’t matter because his sacrificial love was still in him—and would come rushing to just below the surface of his skin every time just before the stereo was stopped from spinning a ballad for the alternate upbeat. An in another house the mother of his other children is overwhelmed getting their children to do their chores, clean their home(not make it messy as a fore thought), do and turn in

home work, among other needed behaviors. This went into the dishes as a means of finally putting off procrastinating his creative nature, a creative nature that had become a perfectionist who could accept failure, but strive to avoid it, with hope. This was the blessing he was serving up, and out as he struggled to dice with a serrated peeler and utilize the ingredients left behind of offered up toward the vaguely forming recipes’ by natural food market folks

Multi-ethnic malandragem (capoeira underground): risen above it (social class casting), asian looking latinas’ growing apart and out of what was her bostonian thin locked, thin framed, afro-atic construction worker. Falling to irritation with each well thought comment or point of view. Caring, but still time to move on.

What is the difference between a grove and a rut. Thinking out loud Kyla Daro-Moore thought that one is a spiral and the other a circle. Is that spiral downward, or an l.p. cut. Is the circle nice and boring, or a reliable interesting choice.

A once .

“Damn everything is at risk. Why do I have to be a gambler? I just want the solid life.” Carbon L continued, pushing his stern fingers four at a time through his silky blond locks; exhaling into a relaxed posture tilting his head past the sky and looking back at the ground.

“No life is solid, I work and hurt each moment I still have to placate to the whims of a caterer who thinks its their turn to overwork other wage slaves earning a digit or two less one day after the next” , Kevin interjected with soft frustration that had become a healthy habit from getting things off his chest at a men’s group every now and then.