Chasm Electronica


There’s a certain point in the night at which time becomes something like maple syrup that’s caught midway between the base of the bottle and the lip of the dispenser; no ability to discern exactly how long its been moving along so far, just a sweet mix of indulgence and slow-burning energy.

We arrive a group. Like many groups, our group eventually melts into a mold of many groups from all stretches of the metropolitan jungle. We’ve now fully assimilated into the formless, amorphous dance swelling in a neon cave of $15 scotch.

We are guests in the house of Mother Fate tonight, and she is a fickle one. However, judging by the pressure of painted nails on my waistline, I have to assume that so far I’m doing something right.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s