In Lumine Tuo Videbimus Nosferatu Weekendium

I almost choked to death on a bandeja platter en route.
It was a foreign body airway obstruction all of my own making.
My skin turned white. And I genuinely thought I was going to expire.
Right there, on my knees, on the floor of a restaurant in South London.
Consequently, I'm feeling lucky just to be here; sipping
blackcurrant-and-soda amongst the alumni indie swarm.
So give me some of that there Upper West Side Soweto.
And give me some of that there Polyrhythmic Ivy League Soca.
Bring on the marimbas, the tantans and the zabumbas.
Bring on the curb hip roofs and the grammatical conjunctions.
Such polite young boys from the colonies.
Such wholesome Waspish whippersnappers.
No slouching. No cussing. And no gang-signs.
Their Eyes are dotted. Their Tees are crossed. Their Kwassas are kwassed.
In Thy Light Shall We See. In Thy Light Shall We Trust.
It's only Caucasian rock-and-roll music,
but I sure derive delectation from it.

Vampire Weekend: Soirée De Poche (La Blogotheque)