Kieron Gillen's workblog




"It's not the way I'm meant to be, just the way the operation made me..."

Which wasn't played tonight, where I found myself doing the fabulous groove animal thing at some Cheese night.

God, such things are always difficult to process. Half an hour ago, I wanted to do one of my stereotypical stream of dancefloor conciousness but now... well, the words escape me. I half forget the joys of screaming along with something like Chesney Hawke's "One And Only..." and my standard realisation that I'd rather be him and have something as direct and powerful as that in my karma rather than thirty years of predictable shit like - well - U2.

I dunno. I'm easily shaken this evening. Even the fact that as I'm typing this, for some reason it's appearing as Aerial rather than the usual Times Roman in the blogger window is throwing me.

So, here's something I was conciously aware of when on the dancefloor.

I'm taller than most people.

Not the most profound thing I've every thought, but something that was nagging me as I was throwing ludicrous shapes to the classic lineage of Living on a Prayer/R.e.s.p.e.c.t./Groove is in the heart etc-fucking-cetra. Not that I'm particuarly towering - floating around that six foot mark, and a generally skinny fuck - but looking around the place, I was aware that when I lifted up, I was in the position to consider the room from on high. Or at least glance down any particularly obvious cleavage.

It depresses me that I went through an evening where I burnt off a fair chunk of my weeks's accumilated energy - having been in a review-rut with Vampire for the period - and come out the other end just... not there. Listening to the Dresden Dolls when you go out is one thing - disastifaction is something that can power a famous evening. Writing blogs at gone 3.a.m. to them is hardly what you should aim for.

I've realised why I feel oddly unfulfilled. They didn't play Ghostbusters.

This explains everything.

Night, peeps.


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