Johnny Cool's Questionnaire

New York City, baby. New York, New York. In the seventies, where do you think Disco emerged? Philly? Horseplay. New York's where it was at, so New York's where "I'm" at. Sure, I can only afford an apartment untouched by god; sure, the roof's leaking, sure I've got drainworms in the sink, sure I've got ants, cockroaches - ain't got bedbugs though. At the end of it all, though, I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't mind the city traffic, it just makes traveling the city slower - admire the sites, see the scenery, live the vibes, taste the soul. Disco is a reflection of the soul, and I live in the most soulful place there is.

Buddy, who needs money? I mean, we all need money, but man, I uh, I don't need a ton to live. Most of it's spent on my apartment, though. Honestly, I just work at a retail place down towards the heart of the city called "All-Mart". Kind of a big deal, it's a big corporation, got alot of locations, y'know? As much as I don't 'dig' those damn corporations, and that I don't really like working the deli, I appreciate the money. It's just barely enough to live, but barely enough is perfect for me, because that means I don't need to work a nine-to-five, baby, 'cause I'm already nine-to-thriving.

I want to understand what it means to be a cog in the machine of the world, the heart of the universe, the soul of man. I want my worldview to curve to the circumference of the world, the beat of man's march across the timeline of life; and I want it all to revolve around Disco, baby. I need to understand the world, so the world may yet understand me. Breathing air, in-taking pollution - shedding out the smoke into the vapors of cigarette-smoke - water to whiskey, pain means nothing if the fist slamming against my chest is only a groovy beat.

Disco is many things, but Disco is not death. People may hurt others for their passions - true artists suffer for their craft. Beyond this, sometimes a man's gotta' crack a few heads to get his way, but Disco is not murder, and murder is, certainly, not Disco. If I must die for my craft, then so be it, for I have lived a good life.

When I was a younger man, I was aimless. Without ambition. Without reason or cause. It was during this time, when I truly knew nothing, that I found salvation. I heard the music. The siren song, it called onto me. It said: "Won't someone help me chase the shadows away? Take me through the darkness, to the break of day." It was a light at the end of the tunnel. Songs that spoke of love. Of joy. Sorrow. Moving and dancing and carrying through. It was the melancholy of life. A screenshot of hopeful times. Somehow, some way, everything will end up alright. We just have to get ourselves there.