I Am Not The Enemy
by Dan
Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.



Mountain Mocha Kilimanjaro - "It Must Be You"

A room service cart rumbles squeaky-wheeled down a stark hallway, a silver-domed tray and a bottle of red. Room 422. A man, face half-covered in shaving cream, comes wet-haired to the closed door. Peephole, distorted uniform, the lock--chunk. "44.95, would you like to cover that now?" "Put it on the room. Make it 60." "Thank you, sir." "'sat a shrimp parmesan?" "I--'m really not sure." He lets the door close itself and the man continues shaving his face. He is at that point in the shave where he cannot possibly shave in the right direction, for little hairs grow every which way in this particular area. He pauses for a moment, listening to the fan, the lights, the idle plumbing. Scritch. Blood. The man runs the water, curls back his lips. Softly, outside the bathroom, the small reverberant lift of a silver-domed tray. The man dabs the cut, and puts a foolish bit of toilet paper on it, it grips his neck, a tiny Japanese flag. Clin-tick, the familiar drawing back of a hammer, snub. The water stops, his breathing stops, everything stops. He looks in the mirror, at the shadow in the hall. "You must've lost weight," he says. He slowly grabs a towel, daubing his face gingerly around the cut. The shadow replies, "I'd never order a shrimp parmesan." The man looks at himself, his eyes suddenly well aware of gravity, like a heart suddenly aware of its need to keep beating. He plucks the tiny tissue bandage from the cut, it blooms again, still less silly than that white outline. "Just tell me one thing," says the man, his chest beginning to show the shape of age, that sharp breast-like sag, "Did that waiter know?" A pause, the colour blue, a pause the colour of deep dark blue night water. "Yeah." The man sighs, frowns, resigned. "Tell him to make it 50." Kang.

[Site and Buy (thanks, Emilie!)] (source)

Posted by Dan at August 17, 2012 4:34 AM

"it grips his neck, a tiny Japanese flag." Ridiculously great writing.

Posted by Kevin at August 17, 2012 1:20 PM

What Kevin said, and also woooaaaah. That first blast of horns reminds me so much of something, I thought it was the Bad Seeds' Hiding All Away. It's not, but what?

Posted by Ryan at August 17, 2012 1:42 PM

Via Discogs? no?

Posted by Emilie at August 17, 2012 2:40 PM

thanks, Emilie!

Posted by dan at August 17, 2012 5:01 PM

Aha. Here we go.


Posted by Ryan at August 18, 2012 1:12 PM

song a little too discombobulated and childlike for the story? ah well the image of the flag, grim husky toyish men, confusion, awesome writing. i want shrimp pasta now

Posted by lauren at August 20, 2012 2:12 PM

This is so awesome image that don't how to thank you.

Posted by hulk at August 21, 2012 12:17 AM

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Sean Michaels is the founder of Said the Gramophone. He is a writer, critic and author of the theremin novel Us Conductors. Follow him on Twitter or reach him by email here. Click here to browse his posts.

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