K [CS; Sacred Phrases]

Confession: I’m a Gen X kid. I know many of us are lumped with that hateful Baby Boomer put-off, Millennials, but sorry — I’m a tried and true Gen X kid. I didn’t battle with the same issues as many of my friends, who came from nicer and more stable homes but ate that sad sack Corgan shit up. This is not said as a pissing contest, because I had a lot of people stake claims in my life to make me a less fucked up Gen X shitstain. However, there is one thing they could never shake from us: our denouncement and general apathy toward dancing. Moshing, slamming or even those stiff Prom slow dances are not what I’m detailing. I mean the European ease to lose all control and not give a second thought to who may be laughing at a lack of coordination and style. Yet that’s something Millennials seem to have in vast quantity and it’s a trait that as I get older, I wish I could tap into. It’s not even about the sensuality and the ability to get closer to a love interest, because as a father with two kids and a lovely wife I’m neck deep in closeness to a loved one. But it’s about letting go to allow a pulsating rhythm to take hold. Gen X’ers tend to fancy themselves as always in control — or at least, that’s what the copious amounts of medication from pill pushers made us believe. K, the latest from Neal Reinalda’s Phork, is the sort of dab-on-tongue that, even from within a cubicle and behind a computer, I can lose all that so-called control I have over an ocean of emotions. All those repressed moments when I should have just lost it in some random living room in college to worst dance tracks imaginable (you have them all cataloged). I would have taken a pilgrimage to France, Spain, and Germany and danced at every pop-up club just to baptize myself in the sweat of forgiveness. Though those days are gone, and I still cling to those scars that make me forever X, Reinalda’s drone dance trance hop loop me back to those halcyon days of wallflower regret. Time to make up for lost time.


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