Diagnosis and the beat
Doctor, the reason I haven't sought treatment before is that it's been my lifelong goal to be clinically disco. I've always dreamed of sequins and polyester in sequined, polyester pajamas. I've always immersed myself in disco's throbbing intricacies to remove myself from society with the goal of becoming a funky mystic.
I don't listen to other music. I fear that different beats will pollute my pristine four-on-the-floor pulse (DUB-thub-DUB-thub), despite my EKG's and some doctors' advice. But having gone so long with the same beat, the same beat -- dancing, shopping, even masturbating to it -- I'm exhausted. I wake up in the middle of the night, heart thumping and hips churning. Now that I've given up cocaine and Quaaludes, I need sleep.
I know that disco lies mostly in the dance steps and others' perception of these. I know that as soon as I shuffle my feet, even before I speak and fill the room with my spinning reflections, people will call me disco. This doesn't bother me in itself, but it's a laziness when strangers don't even evaluate the funkiness of my opinions. It bothers me when they reflexively distance themselves, maybe to protect themselves from the beauty of the disco beat.
Inside I feel that beat and it hurts. I breathe it. I work it to make a living. I break it down. My four seasons are Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Donna Summer.
But still, Doc, I don't know if I'm clinically disco or just pretending. How could I know? The most disco are the ones most convinced that the world sees them as singer-songwriters. Do you see me that way? Do they still make Quaaludes? Doc?
I don't listen to other music. I fear that different beats will pollute my pristine four-on-the-floor pulse (DUB-thub-DUB-thub), despite my EKG's and some doctors' advice. But having gone so long with the same beat, the same beat -- dancing, shopping, even masturbating to it -- I'm exhausted. I wake up in the middle of the night, heart thumping and hips churning. Now that I've given up cocaine and Quaaludes, I need sleep.
I know that disco lies mostly in the dance steps and others' perception of these. I know that as soon as I shuffle my feet, even before I speak and fill the room with my spinning reflections, people will call me disco. This doesn't bother me in itself, but it's a laziness when strangers don't even evaluate the funkiness of my opinions. It bothers me when they reflexively distance themselves, maybe to protect themselves from the beauty of the disco beat.
Inside I feel that beat and it hurts. I breathe it. I work it to make a living. I break it down. My four seasons are Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Donna Summer.
But still, Doc, I don't know if I'm clinically disco or just pretending. How could I know? The most disco are the ones most convinced that the world sees them as singer-songwriters. Do you see me that way? Do they still make Quaaludes? Doc?
posted by JMH | 8:13 PM
6 Comments:
This post is indeed Disco. But the beat I hear goes:
DMM-tss-DMM-tss-DMM-tss-DMM-tss
Then comes the string section.
Therapy is excellent, especially with a qualified doctor. Although not a doctor, I would suggest Quaaludes be changed to Quaaldudes, since, if I'm not mistaken, they are like stoner friends.
Keep the beat alive, despite the pain and/or torment.
Yah Joe, I'm probably going to need and want correction on any joke regarding the technicalities of music. I think the disco heartbeat will do for the layman, but if you have better phrasing, please suggest.
Yah jorg. I like therapy. KWAY-dudes? I like that.
Being disco would be way more awesome with roller skates.
Yes, it's a lot like swimming in that way. Wait, no.
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