you know that feeling when you do something that you’re not supposed to, and you know you’re probably going to get caught, but you do it anyway?
for example, when i was 9ish, i was camping with my family and made some friends that were a few years older than me. i had to be back by 8pm, but they had a curfew of 10pm. freedom like that was hard to even imagine for a young buck like me. we were hanging out, listening to low by t-pain and flo-rida on an LG mobile phone that had a screen that slid up to reveal the keyboard - state of the art technology at the time. it was getting close to 8, and the camping manager started doing his round, telling us that the playtime was over by looking at us in a way only chronically grumpy old men can do. i knew this moment, because most nights this was the time that i said goodnight and went home, while the older kids went to the after party: the tent. the epitome of cool. the peak of mount-social-hierarchy.
my dilemma was clear at this point: go home on time, not get in trouble but potentially die of fomo, or go to the afterparty, get in guaranteed trouble but have the best night of my 9-year life. obviously, i chose option two.
so we’re in the tent, the minutes are steadily passing 8, then 8:10, 8:20 etc. and i’m playing it cool, singing ‘apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur (fur)’ with the rest. in reality i’m shaking in my boots. this after party kind of sucks. it’s the exact same thing we were doing on the trampoline but in a shitty, clammy tent. i expected truth or dare, juicy teenage-stories, some snacks at least. it was too late now to go home and say ‘sorry mom, i forgot about the time’. i played a gambit and lost. as i’m realising this i start hearing my name being called in the distance. it gets closer and closer until i hear my mom right outside the tent. curse you, t-pain. the older kids are now laughing nervously, knowing i’m off to the electric chair. i salute them, unzip the tent and step out, a soldier marching to his death. i do not make eye contact with my angry mother. there’s nothing to say so i follow her back to our caravan, knowing full well shit is going down imminently.
once we’re inside, my brothers are sleeping already, so i get a whispered version of a good ol’ disciplinary shouting on how worried they were, sticking to my word, how extra worried they were on account of there being rumours of a pervert picking up kids around the area etc. sorry mom, sorry dad.
i couldn’t sleep that night. not because of guilt, but because i had ‘shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low’ stuck in my head.
it’s been three months since i last posted anything on here, and there were a few moments that i knew i should probably do an update, but didn’t. you signed up for bi-weekly content, and now i’ve stooped to quarterly. that’s bad. but i’ve been keeping busy writing and recording a lot and that will all come out next year. to make up for it, here’s a demo of a song called russian satellite:
oh, also: i’m opening for the dawn brothers this friday at tolhuistuin, with a drummer and bassist. will be fun, you can get a ticket here if you’d like.
Can’t believe I missed this gem! 😅
I remember that place all too well when we went a few years later, and especially the envy I felt when you got to stay out longer than me. I hope you cherished it