A glooming peace this half-eulogy with it brings, the sun for sorrow will not show his head. Earlier this month, Geo, Greg.K and Leigh Lezark — the immutable, triangulated triumvirate behind Saturday’s party of misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, of serious poses in nightlife’s vanity and of heavy bass in the resurgence of neon — had a going-away/final MisShapes party. After an “ending” that I do not understand any more than Jarvis Cocker, Sally Singer and Legs McNeil, as best I can tell from their introductions in MisShapes, understood the party itself, the three are moving along their trajectory to bigger and better things (currently, they are on a book tour), but, so long as Geo continues to executive produce Saturday nights at Don Hill’s, we certainly will be seeing more of them and the nightlife zombies who follow them like so many ‘Thriller’ video auditionees. Since my first night there when a circle pit broke out, to the last time I was there as a partygoer (neither a door person nor a bar back) when I had a two-hour conversation with someone barely an adult on the sociology of dance parties, I have seen everything from stage diving to crowd surfing, breakdancing to head-walking, and have witnessed the party turn from a ruckus, angular rhombus to a stomping ground of squares blowing column-cylinders of steam after a week in a cubicle. Some aspects have changed, but, as certain as geometry theorems, Geo, Greg.K and Leigh Lezark will continue to shape-shift.