I’m dedicating my 100th post to the Memphis Punk Festival. I just showed up for the opening show at Murphy’s. The crowd is high energy and ready to go. I’m here early because at 7pm I need to go visit Amurica for the Spillit slam. The theme is music, so I feel like it’s a respectable detour from the festival. Not to mention I can’t wait to tell a story. After that, all music all the time. Or something.

I’m terrified.  Of the stage, not the story.  I don’t have all my details hammered down but I’ve gone over the idea for almost a month.  I just need to go up there and not stumble on my words.  I even wore sexy underwear for luck.

The band just started up and everyone came alive.  It’s superb metal.  I think Spit is playing.  I wanted to stay for the Cheerbleeders especially but it doesn’t look like I’ll get the chance.  There’s something about scream-singing that comforts me.  I want to believe I could find that thick mix of honey and gravel deep down in my own chest but I would probably giggle when I try.

And now I have a crush on the bass player.  He looks like a handsome version of my 9th grade boyfriend.

Heads nodding
In approval
Bodies jitter
To the beat
Noise wavesCrashing against
Faces and walls
Excitement mixed
with body odor
and heat.