parc si crap is crap si parc

2nite: it’s Anytown, Indierock

Orientals of the world, unite!

Pins on lapels

Cheap beers «best served with friends»

Firman haircuts


Hair washed, teased, blow dried, hair-sticked, hair-sprayed

Senen Garfield tee on Jimi Danger, 4st 7lbs

Sleeves rolled-up

«Ils sont Les Jadugars»

Casio Exilims’ flash

Passing joints at the bar

Generous Absolut in the cranberry

A couple kissing at the bar

Open microphones

A couple kissing at the bar

DavTar hiding the labels on his records

Edophilia spinning burned CDs with tracklists stickered outside

So people can make requests for James, latest Franz Ferdinand’s 7″s

Glamorous indie rock ‘n’ roll

The waiters are young

People say, «Lundi, c’est le grabuge, yeah!»

Converse hi-tops, lo-tops, hi-tops, Converse, All-Stars only

Turn-ups. 511s

Electric Youth

Electric, eclectic youths on friendster

Blogger, melancholico, virgoagogo, everyonesintolomo

Everyone missing the extra -sis in narcissists

Lou Reed walks on the left side of the street

Punk’s sordid affair with disco

Nastee is not so

Nastee doesn’t even drink

Batman wears a Transformer mask

Otherwise, he’s normal

People come in groups

Their clothes ironed and clean

The patches new and shiny

The turn-ups pressed, permanently

People lean on glass walls

Or sit in groups at the back, their toes not a-tapping

Checking pictures they just took of each other with their Canon DIGITAL IXUSi

The Canon DIGITAL IXUSi was incredibly small in 2003

Beers come in pitchers with black straws sticking out of the amber like ancient watchtowers

Someone orders profiteroles from the Italian place downstairs, the waiter wears black and carries the cream puff balls on a perfect white plate

The sugar syrup was dark and dribbled all over with the utmost care

The cool people crowd around the DJ booth. Sing along when the DJ turns the volume all the way down

The cool people refuse drinks, saying, «I’m gonna smoke a joint first.»

The Nameless Club is Open. The door is dark wood. Heavy with a small metal handle. Like a trap door. Or a secret door leading to a secret room where

«The music is not too loud, you can still talk!» she screamed into my face

It’s bright inside, so people can check each other out

Then people post pictures of the night before the morning after

On their personal hik-hik blogs

They send thank yous and shout-outs to the DJs on friendster’s bulletin boards (remember, this was 2004)

A man is a bunny rabbit and a woman is a female carrot

Everyman’s an artworker

A poster of the State TV’s Latest Nite News on the wall

Breaking news: «I’m gonna play mostly new rock.»

The DJ sings along to his own tune. Ash’s Candy

The DJ smokes, his/her fingers white and long like witches’

The place is nestled amongst freight-forwarders and modelling agencies

It’s a cinch waiting for cabs outside

It’s next to the ugly mall where all the expats go

It’s next to the mall where all the ugly expats go

It’s Anynight, Indierock

People Take Pictures of Each Other

And store them in digital Picture Books of the mind

I saw one of them the next day at Plaza Senayan, carrying a huge LV shopping bag with her left hand, and a leather baguette slung over her right shoulder

These people speak of a new renaissance

Of langue, parole, littérature and the delicate fine arts

Of waiters taking your money and printing out a legible receipt (finally!)

Some argue with people who charge it on their mamans’ cards

The people threatened with a name and everything’s resolved in a blood-lust under the table

The beer is twice the price inside and you can only buy two or not at all

Everything comes in two

Except a year

3 thoughts on “parc si crap is crap si parc

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