harder

sometimes I don’t want beautiful music, I want the room to disappear. #

Tommyknocker tonight and Jesus Christ, this is exactly what I needed. I don’t have an intelligent review, I don’t have some enormous theory about nightlife and I am definitely not going to pretend I remember every track because it’s five in the morning and I have one earring in my handbag, the other still in my ear, my hair smells like club and I am eating biscuits in front of the blue Mac while trying not to make enough noise to wake Mom. Sometimes I don’t want a song to be pretty. I don’t even particularly want it to be emotional. I want the bass to be so physical that thinking becomes an unnecessary activity for four minutes. That’s it. That’s the entire requirement.

And yes, before somebody comments, I went out dressed almost completely in pink and spent the night listening to hardcore. This apparently continues to confuse people. I really don’t understand why. What exactly am I supposed to wear? Combat trousers because the BPM is high? Am I required to submit my outfit to the music first? No. I like gloss, blonde hair, little bags, perfume, pink things and kicks that sound like machinery collapsing. These facts coexist very peacefully inside me even if they cause administrative difficulties for strangers.

Now shower, water, bed. Probably in that order.

Tommyknocker on repeat until Mom complains #

Remember me, Eclipse.