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november 22, 2009

Noen ganger stemmer alt. 

Det klaffer bare. Som hånd i hanske, fot i hose, snø på julaften. 

Torsdag var en sånn dag for meg. Eller, ikke egentlig. Dagen var bare helt ok, etter skolen var jeg ganske sliten, jeg ville bare hjem, spise middag, slappe av utover kvelden. 

Men. Jeg hadde en avtale.

Med den fineste, med Anne fra skolen, med puben Raindogs, og med en film om Gil Scott-Heron, en fyr jeg ikke visste hvem var, men som så kul ut på filmplakaten arrangørene hadde postet på facebook.

Så jeg dro, da. Til Raindogs, for første gang. Det blir i hvert fall ikke den siste. 

Hvorfor ikke, spør du. Jo, det skal jeg si deg. Nummer én: lokalet. Lite og intimt, men likevel romslig, ettersom ingen lukkede dører skilte inne fra ute. Mørkt, med lamper som så vidt lyser opp området rundt med lune stråler. Nummer to: interiøret. Utdaterte radioer og fjernsynsapparater kombinert med fargerik kunst. Bordplater som forestiller gamle klokker. Nummer tre: Billig øl, i hvert fall før ni. 

I tillegg til alle disse suverene faktorene, viser de dokumentarfilmer hver eneste torsdag. Er ikke det suverent, så vet ikke jeg. 

Denne torsdagen handlet det altså om poeten og musikeren Gill Scott-Heron, i form av filmen Black Wax. 

Og jeg forelsket meg. Selvfølgelig i håret hans, og i skjegget, men først og fremst i poesien, i musikken, i ordene hans.

Her er en smakebit, så kan du dømme selv. 

Symbols of democracy, pinned up against the coast Outhouse of bureaucracy, surrounded by a moat Citizens of poverty are barely out of sight Overlords escape in the evening with people of the night Morning brings the tourists, peering eyes and rubber necks To catch a glimpse of the cowboy making the world a nervous wreck It’s a mass of irony for all the world to see It’s the nation’s capital, it’s Washington D.C. It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital, it’s Washington D.C. (mmmm-hmmm) 
May not have the glitter or the glamour of L.A. May not have the history or the intrigue of Pompeii But when it comes to making music, and sure enough making news People who just don’t make sense and people making do Seems a ball of contradictions, pulling different ways Between the folks who come and go, and one’s who’ve got to stay It’s a mass of irony for all the world to see It’s the nation’s capital, it’s Washington D.C. It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital, it’s Washington D.C. Seems to me, it’s still in light time people knifed up on 14th street Makes me feel it’s always the right time for them people showing up and coming clean Did make the one seem kind of numb It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital, it’s Washington D.C.(mmmm-hmmm)
Symbols of democracy, pinned up against the coast Outhouse of bureaucracy, surrounded by a moat Citizens of poverty are barely out of sight Overlords escape in the evening with people of the night Morning come and bring the tourists, craning rubber necks Catch a glimpse of the cowboy making the world a nervous wreck It’s a mass of irony for all the world to see It’s the nation’s capital, it’s Washington D.C. It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital It’s the nation’s capital, it’s Washington D.C. It’s the nation’s capital Got you feeling capital Punishment is capital in Washington D.C.

———————————————–

Some days, everything seems just to be right, and thursday was such a day. Or, it wasn’t, really. The day on school was just alright, i was tired, wanted to go home, just eat, relax, sleep. 

But i had an appointment. With my boyfriend, with Anne from school, with the pub Raindogs and with a movie about Gil Scott-Heron.

So i went, and i fall in love.

With the place. With Scott-Heron. Of course with his hair, but also with his poetry, music and words. It just seemed right.

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