Saturday, February 26, 2005


I make my way to Club Melancholia, and sit at a table close to the band.

God is here, looking like Duke Ellington, splendid in His white tuxedo. He plays the theme song "Melancholia" on His grand piano. He plays it over, and over.

I sit, and my feet graze the bottom of the table cloth. I'm all dressed up, with no one to dance with, but that's okay. It's as if this place were made for listening, while the flickering candle makes shadows on my face. I sway, almost imperceptibly to the music, but He notices, and repeats the refrain.

It's a lovely song with a simple, and yet complicated melody. Melancholia, full of secrets, rich with mystery--the sound of my deepest longings.

I don't mind the tune as long as it's Him that plays it. There are no words. I'm glad. I don't want to sing tonight. I hear the music, while sipping red wine, still hungry, because I've only pinched tiny pieces of bread from the loaf in front of me.

Smoke and song surround me like good friends. They stay until it's time for me to leave.

I step up to the piano, and give the Music Maker a long, lingering kiss goodnight. Then stumble, giddy from drink, back home.


osray said...

Club Melancholia sounds a lot like one of the clubs King Soloman would have visited. Feeling that into the spirit is good. I think I may have been there a few times.

Anonymous said...

i'm glad u walked (and didn't drive). :-)

i'm also glad u left--even though it sounds like a pretty dope spot to chill for a few hours.

... and *only* a few hrs.

Candy said...

Ahh, "melancholia. I believe I know that song and recognize that place. I've been visiting some myself, though I couldn't describe it nearly so eloquently as you have.