Long minutes in short hours, short minutes in short hours, short minutes in long hours…
Time stretches as I wait for the evening to start off at Corleone. Meanwhile, I absorb the beauty of the place : Sus Sutherland’s artwork, Fastforwardmonaco’s videos, the high ceilings and the speakers that come out of the walls. Finally meeting some people that are so, so, so important. Time stretches but it’s not boring, not at all.
Time dances on a distorted rhythm as Pico Be performs and I spontaneously became his page-turner. Time is as still as the blood in my raised arms as I hold on to lyric sheets with all my life. Meanwhile, time burns away as I would have taken 3 more hours of Rock’n’Roll Haltestelle and Sieh den Dschungel. The only way to calculate time is the rate at which the microphone’s cord hit the back of my head.
Time escapes me as I get late to Import Export. The movement outside feels like a show ended and another one began. Five minutes of deception that feel like hours at the thought that all plans to get to see everything tonight failed. And suddenly having all the time in the world, as the Grexits had not played yet.
Time dances again as the Grexits play. Time always dances when you listen to music you’ve never heard before in a live show. It’s a seduction dance, too. The thrill of the new chase. Maybe your brain is going to hook up with a new earworm tonight. Or your feet with the dancefloor.
Time stops as the band continue playing and my friend tell me about the Paris attacks. A cold shower on my enthusiasm, a dozen swear words in French. Trying to see if all my friends in Paris are safe.
Time starts again at the thought that, in this exact moment, in the same elastic minutes that are an eternity for these souls, in this other venue, in this other country, there’s a global cry of rage and pain and sorrow.
We steal Time as we head back to Corleone for one last drink, a quest for warmth to ease the harsh lines of our faces from the cold news and the cold rain.
Time cracks a small smile as it stretches its long arms around us during the seven minutes of Blue Monday.