| | for the curious:
"it's summertime and the living is easy."
sweeping kansas summer sky and all existence feels itself flying on the
very wings of the wind. brilliantly booming lightning storms a week or
a day away; breezes lightly rustling the lengths of a few dresses bring
not a scent of rain. an evening ripe to capture the raw power of
man-made electricity.
"there's something happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear..."
ponder how to capture what escapes boundaries of sound and space with
mere words. mind soaked and seeping of fresh knowledge, at first there
is only a reeling, ringing dizziness. the senses are stunned at
absolute freedom in thought; distractions no longer more than a
nuisance. nothing deemed worthy of detracting from a pure and renewed
state of mind.
...
the lines fill, brim with eager anticipation and wait to spill into a
single space. cool people and calm exteriors do not betray beating--no,
bursting--hearts holding hidden treasures. one step closer to security;
don't let it get to you, man. they only want to hold a nazi party. let
them play their game. not everyone is blessed with the will to follow a
spark towards conscious awareness. humour their reality a short while.
dancing steps into a concrete concert hall constructed to withstand an
F5, surely not built for acoustics, but from its center come the sounds
of musical perfection: well-thought, well-played intelligent music. the
band kinski must be the four lead members of some sort of kick-ass
electric orchestra. (a definite add to my pandora. and projectplaylist.
and life soundtrack.) rock on sister, your bow-work is so goddamn
intriguing. slow friends are missing out on this phenomenon; most are
seated, eyes fixated. the floor is quiet, relatively--heads trained on
the indefinably operatic opener.
"i get by with a little help from my friends."
trembling at this point. mind racing in time with blood's beat. a trek
for water to murder time through the set change. friends finally in tow
and negotiated good seats. now they want drinks. Schnell! Schnell! slow
docile sheeple crowd themselves around the scattered meccas of
consumerism. pause unwillingly in line, wondering at how united
meditation with environment is achieved with a greasy pizza held
mid-way to mouth. sicken a little that couples can't stifle the need to
spend on twin sets of t-shirts (cheaper online. oh well, let the posers
pay for that expensive-looking light show. an exception here for new
wardrobe staples purchased way prior to stage time; oh yeah, and kinski
schwag.)
don't you understand what we're trying to make happen here?! if you're
lost, kindly step out of the way for others with knowledge of the path.
please, it's time to fucking hurry.
"lend me your ears..."
introspection is a dangerous thing. it twists and turns, not completely
conscious and thus uncontrolled. deep meditative exercise is necessary
daily, and still distractions force the unconscious into the mind's
deep corners. all around there are signs of people feeding a personal
I, Me, My schema. where's that fat security bitch on a power trip?
ponder that some just stand there, sullen sodden stones. these are
songs of revolution! patriots should be stomping out the rhythms of
songs for the good fight. ambivalence and avoidant-agression in the few
of this multitude infringe on attempts at a collective carpe diem.
certain herbaceous plantlife has calming, restorative effects. nearly
two songs in, and this is no time to worry about drones. is this an
imagined lag? sounds hit the ears twice and lock into a new
synchronity. someone's not singing these melodies correctly; drunk
mumbling muffles the impact of a vocalist eager to play. schism helps
establish a basic level of communication as the screens slowly come to
life. knowledge from previous experience prepares for rosetta
stoned--just look and listen. silently lips form words; important bursts
of sound tear forth at gripping verse. the crowd can no longer compete
with the men molding both music and moment.
anticipation for right in two turns to disbelief at its actualization.
defying limits of beauty and wisdom; simple in its truth. a skilled
mind and hands wield the drums that strike power into this mantra while
a twirling ouroboros graces the screens ... wings/tenthousanddays
unspeakably truthful, and yet still some refuse even an ounce of
reverence. laser lights guide the inner eye to focus; sympathy turns to
empathy for those willing to explore their own hearts: a shared
pounding at the gate of heaven for all inspiring figures gone before.
(a tear perhaps, or two, for a personal hero's passing.)
"feel inspired to, fathom the power to, witness the beauty to..."
the familiar virtuousic opening notes of lateralus energize active
participants in this consciousness-experiment; pushing towards
awareness, all are caught up and lifted with the sheer force of sound
in this attempt to spiral out. eyes riveted by the scene, mind opens
wide ...
"pull your head on out your head, please, and give a listen."
vicarious may truly rival all other attempts at visual impact. white
noise and green laser lights enclose the stage; justin and adam stare
out as if caged. the band a visual parody of themselves--idolized,
pedastalized entertainers calling the fans out on their bullshit: a
life vicarious and falsely lived. a song not without hope: the
information imparted forces a meaningful impetus to action for
reflective listeners.
"some say the end is near..."
a single expectant shout from seating--aenima!; an immediate
reply--f-a-n-tastic. (could he have heard ... me?) nothing more pertinent
now than this farseeing, decade-old song; the world cannot abide this
life of illness longer. fret for warming trends, fret for carbon
emissions, fret for violent consumption and violent storms, fret for
careless ambivalence, fret for all this trash, fret for recylables
discarded thoughtlessly in the grass. |
| | Posted 5/13/2007 4:20 PM - 52 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
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