Wandering between texts I should have written, bits and pieces in my apartment I should have fixed, and dinner-appointments, where the question, if what was deferred to infinity was the actual dinner or the friend I wanted to have it with, seems blurry, I got stuck on Youtube and found myself a new weapon of mass (time) destruction: Boiler-Room-Live-Recordings. It’s a weird mixture of clumsy party-talks, abortive flirts, visually instituted ennui and a seemingly phobic desire to be next to: Well, guess who, the DJ! Watching Kaytranada’s (an artist I actually like) last two minutes made me feel like I’m in a queer version of a bad High-School-movie. John Talabot delivers a set, which seems to epitomize every DJ’s worst nightmare: being some radio-like accessory – next to a pool. And with Cassy, a quite prominent DJne, the boys, since there’s technology involved, always seem to feel the need to help her. Such a cliché. I guess I’ll go back to texts, apartment, friends. Poor internet.