And this is not it, not even close.
Yet, here is a totally magic, wonderous gift. Thank you, beloved sister.
Ever get so lost in a song that you can’t find yourself?
There are so few artists that do this for me. There is one here tonight. I managed to get lost with thirty plus other people and Amanda Palmer tonight.
I can’t tell you where here is. It was everywhere, live on the internet too, out wandering the world, vast and endless, bound in packets of 1s and 0s around the world.
Which is the real world then? this room, this studio full of people, intimate, bound together, shy conversations now into exchanging as and mobile numbers. Friendships taking tentative steps towards permanence or fading with the next day.
Or the other world, electrons forming sound and pictures for those who want to see and hear? In hundreds, thousands of rooms, we are there with them, they are not here with us.
I digress. No, I wander. I always do. Too many stories here, too much to know.
I found the usual method to hide in plain sight. Somehow. Make lots of noise, pretend to be someone else that is you.
(small break to acknowledge the utter bullshit pretentious nature of blogging about myself while so close to an artist I admire so much. And Amanda Palmer too. If you read this over my shoulder Corey, that will teach you:). Anyway, here I am, blogging about myself like a goddamn egomaniac while Iisten to Amanda, Amanda Fucking Palmer for goddess’ sake, is playing Radiohead covers on the ukelele. Life us magic odd, and this strange wonder is not medication related, though it sounds like it!)
Where was I? Ahh yes, dragging Corey to an intimate invite only 30 ppl (plus my helper) watch Amanda record her next album in a studio that shall not be named to kick his head into recapturing some non music management stuff that resets his creativity. And to see, more even, to immerse than merely hear.
And it’s wonderful. So wonderful. I have cooked many many penguin pancakes (yes Amanda, despite your determination to only have berry waffles, you ate evil brownie penguin waffle mix too. We know).
Ahh, yes, another factoid slips out. I made penguin waffles. The infamous and delectable ones.
Aching in anguish as some of her songs hit too deep. Hide, hide, into myself more. Laugh and hide, I know how to do this, until I can barely almost fool myself. She is, unexpectedly one of the funniest and most entertaining people I have met. I imagine she would fit in with us, she would grok tribe. But my tribe holds equally amazing talented people, so that’s nice to see, to recognize:)
Where was this going??
Oh, nowhere, really. I’m hiding again, In plain sight, being a Romana, being a persona, a version. Shine, perform. The bright sparkly one, the one who finds nearest available gay men to swap rude stories with, young ones to play slightly outrageous older woman with, people of my age to exchange sympathetic glances with. People want to get my email address, talk to me.
Someone from LinuxSA had seen me on the list, looked for me. Someone else has explained his DMing style. Lovely lovely people. We find each other. We geeks, we know, we feel the proximity. The awarkedness, the strangeness? Not sure, tribal markings let us say. We are evolving into a group apart, I often think.
So many nice people. All kind but not patronizing to the older woman in the wheelchair, giving way without giving up on my presence, my potential, my validity as a person.
And the pain runs like a drum, throbbing with the reminder I am not of them If I ever was, then that is gone. Four years ago tomorrow. That’s another post, though.
Tonight, the pain is, as ever with me, eb my constant and faithful companion, closer and more attentive than any lover could be.
But tonight music is my better companion, fighting eb for my attention, like jealous suitors.
