Okay, first of all I’m supposed to be inside the Placebo show and NOT here…where I am. It’s stupid really. I’m really starting to drift over from the steppes into the Crazy tundra! I’m running out of options here…more so, I’m running out of understanding.
Okay secondly, maybe I’m old or something but the opening act, Evaline, is it so wrong to want to see a band where the lead singer/electronic-cellist/xylophonist isn’t so messed up [read: fucked up] that the only time he could stand up is when he was standing on his mondo-huge Yamaha keyboard!? And seriously, if incoherent—or at best, innocuous—muffled-mumbling was a vocal styling than this guy was at the top of his craft. But seriously, unless he was seriously hypoglycemic and his pancreas was on hold with the IT-desk than please, have a cup of coffee and deal with it and come out and present your music—you are NOT Iggy Pop and your Edie Brickell-like, drum-/hakey-sack circle, dance styling looked a bit like something out of an mandatory AA entrance exam. Yeah, you’re right: I am old. Anyway, back to being “crazy”.
So, I’m not going to detail the method in which my crazy decided to manifest but suffice to say, there I was standing against a steel, cylindrical support beam with a visage of external absence and a cauldron of anguish boiling on the inside. So I was standing there and despite my previous declaration that crying wouldn’t due my current station any assistance, I found myself struggling to keep the ascending sorrow at bay and after the final tolerable swell passed, a rogue-wave crashed against me and I realized that I had spend at least five minutes shut off from the music—I just left, I had to. I was well passed joyless and it became obvious that I had subsequently crossed over into a haunted domicile. Just prior to the squall, I had found myself arranging a plan of resistance—if somewhat passive in nature—that was mortared in an exercise of patient disregard or civil-disobedience for the sulking albatross that had become this existentialist life I had so quietly, though aggressively, chosen. But it all was taken down like a doe-eyed seal-pup in the fixed-gaze torpor beneath the abject club soon to be smashing against my skull; as if all I had was a pleading look of reprieve—of lame desperation—it fell upon deaf eyes and a muted grace.
I was once become the most cunning of liars: I could display the most balletic of smiles—cheshired and hypnotic—all while I was walking tip-toed in the wet-dream sludge of a baneful fantasy, dripping warmly with the iridescent milk of my own conclusion. (I once proudly included the addendum to my hanging attempt, that I went to work the very next day--as if there was a choice--to no one’s notice of a presence of difference.) Now, I’ve somehow become a maudlin sanctuary for my own dreary devices. My eyes--if not washed in a brushstroke of a crestfallen grey—are glistened to a tearing azure. The sadness hangs like a stag’s head on a game-hunter’s wall (though happily unadorned with confetti & a birthday hat!)
I’m like an acquiescent man with a testicle pummeled by the thumb of a drunk, laughing god, which the man himself does not believe in. Maybe my sin is that I struggle: like there is a protohumanistic instinct in me that compels me to flop around like a bluegill on the bottom of a fishing boat, wired with the belief that if I flop hard enough that I’ll get out alive…
The concerts over now—seems though it has been because I see people that I saw inside the show. They’re smiling; it must have been a good show…unless they know how to lie like I did? No…I can spot that lie. They’re smiling for real if for no other reason than they were able to let the music in and escape whatever traps had been laid at their feet. These two wear their sadness on their garments and despite whatever internal suffering they wear like plumage, they still had fun.
So what’s wrong with me then…? Never mind, that was a rhetorical question. If you knew what I know than you’d know.
I wish I never knew…
“I felt a shock, it went through every limb! A chair! I’m fainting! All things swim!”
– from Faust by Goethe
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