2017: Aidan

The Essence of A Disc Jockey

I started going to Club Essence about two months ago, and I have tried to make appearances there at least three times a week since, but I can usually squeeze in one or two more. How could I not? It’s the most kicking club out there, with the best disco music selection on the planet. I recently turned twenty three and life has never felt so good. I make a good living for a young man in the city. As reporter for one of the local news stations, so I’ve been able to afford a nice apartment in the city, overlooking the monorail and the nature park. Yes sir, life is great.

 

“You going to the Club again tonight?” my boss said on the phone to me. I had just wrapped up an interview with a local police officer talking about the dangers of taking acid, after he found some poor kid hiding in a gutter yelling about razor tooth monkeys or something crazy like that.

“I agree boss, formal greetings are overrated, it’s good to start conversations with a personal question.” I replied.

“Cut the crap Mattson. Are you going to the club or not?” my boss asked again

“I am. Why do you want to know?”

“I want you to get the scoop on that rumour you told me about. It sounds like something worth reporting about.”

I was stunned. I had told the boss a few days ago about the rumour that was circling around the city recently. Apparently, nobody had ever seen the DJ at Club Essence. This triggered my interest, so I told the boss about it, hoping he would let me pursue this story.

“You’ve got it, big man. I’ll have the story into you by Monday.” It was Friday.

“Alright Mattson. I’m counting on it.” *click*

 

I hopped in my car and booked it home to get changed. I was already tuned to 102.6 Disco Central, and “Don’t Let Go” by Isaac Hayes blasting through the radio waves. “You’ve got to be kidding. I love this song.” For some reason I decided it would be a good idea to speed all the way home, but that quickly changed when I almost hit a pickup truck coming through an intersection.

 

I got home around seven thirty, and the sun was setting, giving the whole city a bright golden glow. I grabbed a snack out of the fridge, took a quick shower and threw on my best clothes before I left for the club. “Tonight is your night Jerry,” I said to myself as I pulled into my usual parking spot at the side of Essence

 

I could see the line for the club. It was going to be busy tonight. I luckily know the bouncer, Donny. “Hey Jerry I’ll let you in through the back.” he shouted to me as I approached him. So, I took a stroll to the alley behind the two story building. I knocked twice and the door flew open like a giant gorilla punched it of the hinges. I fell over. “What the hell Donny? You knocked me flat on my ass.”

“Sorry Jerry. I’m pretty tense tonight. It’s going to be really busy and I don’t do so well under pressure.”

“Okay, no worries my man.”

“Here, let me help you up.” He picked me up like I was a twig.

“Thanks Donny.”

 

I went down the hallway and ended up in the VIP room with some people who obviously had just been doing something illegal. I laughed because they looked really nervous, like I was a cop or something. Idiots. I left through the door opposite me, and stepped into the dance room. The party had already started, and it was a big one. The dance floor was loaded, the bar was packed, the music was loud and the DJ was nowhere to be seen. The DJ was there, but whoever it was, was hidden behind one way glass in front of the DJ booth. I walked over to the bar, and ordered a mojito. I took it with me and walked over to door to the booth.

“What?” a woman’s voice responded.

“My name is Jerry Mattson, I was hoping to get an interview with the DJ of this club.”

“Okay sure,” she said. Well that was easy.

“…if you can dance to the next song I play, I’ll let you in.” Oops. not so easy.

“The next song you play?” I muttered

“Yes you dimwit, I’m the DJ. Who else did you think was in here?”

“Right” I said

 

I walked down to the dance floor and stood in the middle, waiting for the song. I started to dance with one of the women around me, so I wasn’t bored. Also I might have weirded people out if I just stood there. The song eventually came to an end, and it was time to put my moves to work, but the next song didn’t start.

“Everyone clear the dancefloor.” her voice said on the speakers. Then all of a sudden, I was alone. I looked around me and all of the dancing people were standing around the dancefloor.

“What song Jerry?” the DJ said. I was absolutely stunned. “What song? Let’s go.” She repeated.

“FIRE” I yelled without thinking.

“By the Ohio Players?”

“Yes.” Oh no,” was all I could think.

“Good luck.”

 

The song was playing. “FIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAA.” I started to dance. I could feel the vibrations and I could hear the music. I was on “FIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAA.”  It was strange, because as I danced, all the people seemed to vanish. It was as if nobody else was in the room, just me and the DJ. It felt real. The ending siren sounded, and the song was over. Applause filled the room. I looked around the room and I could not spot a single person.

“Not bad” the DJ said from behind the glass.

“Where is everybody?” I asked her.

“They’re here.”

“Where?”

“You can come in now.” I heard the lock undo. What the hell was going on here? I walked over to the door. Whoever was behind here knew the answer.

 

I pushed the door open and took a few steps inside. It was empty. I was officially creeped out at thethat point. I walked over to the giant wall of records and looked at her selection. They were all blank. Not a single one had cover art or a record label. Nothing. I heard the door close behind me.

 

“You probably want to know what’s going on, right?” she said as I turned around.

“You’re damn right I want to know what’s going on, where did all of those people go?” I sputtered angrily. Immediately after saying this, I wished I hadn’t. At least, not in as rude of a way. Standing in front of me, was a stunning young woman. She was the kind of woman that could put any man into a trance and make them do her every bidding without a second thought. A woman in control.

“I can’t really tell you what’s happening here, but if you would like, I can show you.”

“Yes please.” I replied, stupefied.

She walked over to the wall, picked up a record and placed it on the turntable. The music started with a “BrrrRRRRR,” sort of noise. Through the window, I could see all of the people return. Not through the doors of the club or the backroom, they just returned out of nowhere.

“So?” I said

“Well…” she said. “This place is a hangout for ghosts.” She said this as if it cleared everything up and I understood now.

“That’s not it is it?”

“Umm…yeah that’s it.”

“GHOSTS?”

“Yes”

I was almost as ticked off as I was mesmerized.

“You mean to tell me that I’ve been partying it up with ghosts for the past two months?”

“What are you thick in the ears?” This girl had no concept of the term “break it to them softly.”

“Look, I’ll explain more later but I have to do my job right now. You can hang out in the club until I get off work.”

“I’m staying right here until I know EXACTLY what’s going on.”

 

“That’s fine. ”

 

I must have been sitting there for hours but it felt like minutes, everything was moving pretty fast. My eyes became dazed and all the movement inside and outside the booth became a blur. I couldn’t make out the music because I was slowly passing out. The last thing I saw before I fell asleep, was the DJ smiling at me from across the room.

 

“Hey!”

I was being shaken.

“Hey, I’m off now!” she said

Too much shaking, “Stop Stop it!” It was her. “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning. The dead don’t sleep, but I do. And you’re going to walk me home.”

“Alright.” I said

 

She locked up her booth from the inside and we went out the back door. Donny locked up the rest of the club. At least he’s not a ghost. We started walking down the alley and I remembered I drove my car here.

 

“I have my car, I can just drive you home.”

“I’d prefer to walk. My house is only a couple blocks away, and I’ll have more time to explain.”

“Alright, so spill the beans.”

“Well, I already told you that they are ghosts, and that’s all I can say about that. I’m not a scientist or a spiritual guru so I can’t give you any reason why there are ghosts, I can just tell you that they exist. What I can tell you is why they come to the club.”

“Go on.” I implored. I really wanted to know.

“The ghosts who come to the club aren’t centuries old or anything like that. They are all recently deceased. A lot of them would be our age if they weren’t, well, among the buried folk.  Some died in car accidents, some in house fires; you know, the usual “died too early unfortunate accident” stuff. So, they come to the club to enjoy all those years of fun they would have missed otherwise. I guess they are still missing them in a sense, but this is the best they can do, being ghosts and all.”

“How did you get mixed up in this?”

“I was the DJ here before they died, so they decided to keep letting me spin my records.”

“The fact that they’ve risen from the dead didn’t freak you out?”

“Of course it did! I was so scared. I locked myself in the bathroom and tried to convince myself it wasn’t happening. That didn’t work because they just floated through the door and tried to calm me down. Ha! You can imagine how that went.”

“Why haven’t you…”

“This way to my place.”

She turned up an alleyway and cut me off mid sentence. It started to rain so we ran and laughed all the way to her apartment. It was only a ten minute walk from the club to her place, but I knew I wanted to see this girl again after one second of talking to her.

“This is it. Do you want to come in and get out of the rain?” she said

“No thank you, I need to head home. I mean of course I want to, but not yet. We’ve only just met.” I replied, and I felt gentlemanly. She smiled.

“Well Jerry Mattson, I’m very glad to have met you.”

“I’d like to see you again” I blurted out.

“You will Jerry, hahaha. You know where I live and where I work.”

“Oh, right.”

“So long for now mister reporter.”

“I’ll stop by soon. Really soon.” I said. I was being a total dork, but she liked it.

“My name is Jessie Starling by the way. You forgot to ask my name.” She walked upstairs, and I started walking back to my car.

 

When I sat down in my car, I heard a click in my shirt pocket. It was my recorder. I took it out and looked at it. The tape was full. It must have turned on when I fell to sleep in the dj booth. I realised that I had the greatest story of all time, right in the palm of my hand. Everything was on there. This was the story that would cement me in the history books.

 

I sat in my car for a few hours and watched the sun rise. I decided what to do. I took the tape out of the tape recorder, and threw it in the garbage bin across from my car.

“I’ll find another story.” I said; and I drove away.

Who Killed Those Two Flies… and Why?

Spassky and Fischer continue to face off in the most anticipated chess match in history, but people are more concerned with…

 

Who killed those two flies…and why?

 

The Russians were suspicious that Fischer was using electronic devices or radiation to sabotage Spassky’s play, but it turns out that something even more sinister had taken place. When the Russians X-rayed and stripped down the chair, instead of finding electronic devices or radioactive residue, they found two dead flies. Now these two flies may have been killed by accident, but evidence suggests otherwise. Forensics have shown that the blunt force trauma which caused the deaths of the flies were not from Spassky squashing them with his large Russian bum, but were in fact two separate incidences carried out by hand. Fingerprints from many different people are all over the chair, which makes the odds of catching the killer slim to none. Officials are saying that waiting until the killer strikes again may be our only chance. One of our reporters had a opportunity to speak with a local fly about the situation. “VZZZZBZZZGZZZ” the fly said. A troubling day for her and her family. We will be keeping you up to date as details about the case are released.

Seperate Them

I have looked at this “motorcycle” and what I have decided is that the classical view is exactly the same as the romantic view. When I look at it romantically, I can see that there is a piece of cardboard attached to an electric screwdriver, rendering it useless. If I look at it classically, I see that the screwdriver is being robbed of it’s true potential. Together, they do not have quality, because they do not work in unison. However, if they are separated, they can be seen in a different light. Suddenly the screwdriver becomes useful; now the end is exposed and can be used as a tool once again. The tool piece could also have just been taken off, new ones with different end shapes could be attached and detached. Now the screwdriver has quality.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance  (Robert M. Pirsig)

Why I hate Sundays

I found a document that I seem to have written around three years ago. Enjoy

It was a cold dark Sunday night; I was watching snow fall past the upstairs windows of my house like magical unicorns were being propelled out of the sky, when I decided to go outside and ski down the large hill that lead to my house. I was also hungry so I grabbed some chips and salsa to have while I was skiing down the hill. When I was ready with my skis I went outside. I started walking up the hill when a small old woman came hobbling out from behind a bush. I had never seen this lady before. She seemed very interested in me, so I decided to say hello. “Hello Miss, are you alright?” I asked. “Yes, yes I’m fine. I was just was wondering if you were interested in this that’s all.” She replied in an almost creepily happy voice. She stretched out her hand and in it was a blue bean. “What’s this for?” I asked. “If you eat it, every Sunday will be as good as this one.” Wow I thought to myself. This had been a really good Sunday. I took the bean from the old lady and before I got to say thank you she had vanished. I plopped the bean into my mouth as I started skiing down the hill holding the chips and salsa in my hands. Well this is the ugly part. Right when I started skiing the binding came loose, then I was stuck with one skip. I was losing balance and the salsa flew out of the bowl and into my face. I couldn’t see where I was headed and I was gaining speed. Then too make it even better when I got to the bottom the bag of corn chips dropped and sprayed everywhere. I fell and landed face first in a pile of chips. When I got up I was covered in chip pieces, salsa and snow. Since I had eaten the bean the old lady gave me, my Sunday nights all ended in a ridiculous disaster. That, is why I hate Sundays.