A year ago there was something called "Krunkaoke" every wednesday night at a club nearby. I went religiously and became one of the few creepy superstar regulars who dropped hot gangsta classics every Wednesday. The first time I went I was really nervous, but after doing "How We Do" by The Game, I was hooked. Eventually Krunkaoke became too packed (is that possible?), and they cancelled it!
Desperate for a Karaoke fix, I started going to Rain, which is a gay club a couple blocks from where I live. They had a cool light up stage, but the mediocre sound system and guys trying to grab my ass left me looking for alternatives.
Then one night it happened. I was working late and I thought I heard bad singing at the club downstairs. Could it be... Karaoke?
On like an apple
Tomorrow's edition of Poem Club will be about Osip Mandelstam's poem, Take from my palms (well, I am using that first line as the title).
I read a few different translations of it this morning. I think that my favorite is this version, by Stephen Dodson, at qaartsiluni:
Take—for the sake of joy—out of my palms a little sunlight and a little honey, as we were told to by Persephone’s bees.
You can’t untie a boat that isn’t moored, nor can you hear a shadow shod in fur, nor—in this dense life—overpower fear.
The only thing that’s left to us is kisses: fuzzy kisses, like the little bees who die in midair, flying from their hive.