There's a fine line between art and awful. I saw a band tonight named Blacki (part of an every-other-weekly gig at The Art of This gallery showcasing three bands/soloists. Schuyler's Shield Your Eyes was the second band on the bill tonight. The first soloist was Pelzwik. They were both amazing.). While the other bands sported interesting ways to make ambient/noise/electronic/avant garde music, Blacki just made me think of those viral videos circulating the internet called "Shredding", which have terribly performed overdubs of famous band performances. Eric Clapton doesn't sound like Eric Clapton should, yet the overdubs logically follow what is happening on screen. A ton of bands have been "shredded".
My personal favorite is a Creed "shred":
Now, check out Blacki.
Alas, I was put in a funk, much like the post-Walker Art Center funk. I was really trying to see the artistic merits of Blacki, but I couldn't stop thinking that if I closed my eyes after someone said "Listen to these guys and tell me who you think is playing it" I'd say a bunch of four year olds picked up some instruments in a basement and just played random notes.
I'm sorry Blacki, I tried.
Pelzwik -- "Track 2 (Of Untitled Demo Disc I Received at Show)"
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Man at Work
Construction has begun on Patch's rehearsal space . . . results pending.
Remy Shand -- "The Second One"
Remy Shand -- "The Second One"Sunday, November 8, 2009
Leaves of Absence
Stupid leaves. It was leaf cleaning day. It pushed back making the rehearsal space. Fuckin' leaves . . .
The Vines -- "Autumn Shade II"
The Vines -- "Autumn Shade II"
Saturday, November 7, 2009
The Eye of Hurricane Asshole
The Mall of America carries a strange stigma for me. Growing up, obsessed with all things amusement parks, rides, and themes, Camp Snoopy was always on my travel wishlist. The first time I visited the Mall was in seventh grade, if I'm not mistaken. I loved it. The log ride was my favorite, being that it was heavily themed, it was creative, it utilized the space it resided in beautifully. I went back the next year after that, again I loved it.
Flash forward to college, particularly the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. Freshman year, right when you started school, if you were an out of towner, the MOA was one of the only things to do outside of campus, other than going to the Metrodome to check out Gophers football and downtown to Block E to catch a movie or play video games at Gameworks before 9:00pm (when they turn into a full out bar). So, the MOA was visted often, a companion to the trepidation I held for being out of the nest and away from my parents for the first time. I go back to that place in my head still whenever I visit the MOA. Especially when I frequent the amusement park in the middle.
As time wore on, the Mall was naturally seen as a sore in the Twin Cities. The natives were done with it, we grew older and wiser . . . we worked there. I never did, but a lot of my friends have or do. Whenever I venture to suggest a MOA trip to the clan, I tend to get a lot of groans as an answer. The Mall does magnify the generation below my own in an unfavorable light. I was hissed at on two separate occasions recently by passersby teenagers. The women there are of the fake Stepford Wife hopefuls, the men the American Eagle/Abercrombie/Hollister consumers. Within Nickelodeon Universe (what the former Camp Snoopy is called now) these dour personalities dissipate, leaving happy families, couples, and goofy braces laden teenagers in their stead. I like the amusement park. It tends to separate the pretentious from the happy souls. And I find it to still be a good date spot.
You can tell a lot about a person, especially if they have or currently work at the Mall, when they are within the confines of the nucleus of the largest shopping center in America. It's like a psychological screening. People who shun the park will most likely never be called upon for many out of the house romps by my person. The pro-park peeps: I've become best friends with people at this place. It makes me realize the intricacies within the personalities of the company I keep. I'm asking them to journey into a courtyard of a compound surrounded by asshole, shallow minded consumers. The very nature of our impending demise as a society is unmasked without remorse at the MOA, and I'm asking artists/intellectuals/level headed people to go there with me to have fun in an unironic way. It makes me realize there are people willing to goof off with me, wearing immaturity on their sleeve. My kind of people.
To my companion in tonight's Universe jaunt: it was beautiful. All pure, all good. Another found soul mate revealed as we were laughing at the bottom of the Log Chute's last drop.
The Kills -- "Black Balloon"
Flash forward to college, particularly the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. Freshman year, right when you started school, if you were an out of towner, the MOA was one of the only things to do outside of campus, other than going to the Metrodome to check out Gophers football and downtown to Block E to catch a movie or play video games at Gameworks before 9:00pm (when they turn into a full out bar). So, the MOA was visted often, a companion to the trepidation I held for being out of the nest and away from my parents for the first time. I go back to that place in my head still whenever I visit the MOA. Especially when I frequent the amusement park in the middle.
As time wore on, the Mall was naturally seen as a sore in the Twin Cities. The natives were done with it, we grew older and wiser . . . we worked there. I never did, but a lot of my friends have or do. Whenever I venture to suggest a MOA trip to the clan, I tend to get a lot of groans as an answer. The Mall does magnify the generation below my own in an unfavorable light. I was hissed at on two separate occasions recently by passersby teenagers. The women there are of the fake Stepford Wife hopefuls, the men the American Eagle/Abercrombie/Hollister consumers. Within Nickelodeon Universe (what the former Camp Snoopy is called now) these dour personalities dissipate, leaving happy families, couples, and goofy braces laden teenagers in their stead. I like the amusement park. It tends to separate the pretentious from the happy souls. And I find it to still be a good date spot.
You can tell a lot about a person, especially if they have or currently work at the Mall, when they are within the confines of the nucleus of the largest shopping center in America. It's like a psychological screening. People who shun the park will most likely never be called upon for many out of the house romps by my person. The pro-park peeps: I've become best friends with people at this place. It makes me realize the intricacies within the personalities of the company I keep. I'm asking them to journey into a courtyard of a compound surrounded by asshole, shallow minded consumers. The very nature of our impending demise as a society is unmasked without remorse at the MOA, and I'm asking artists/intellectuals/level headed people to go there with me to have fun in an unironic way. It makes me realize there are people willing to goof off with me, wearing immaturity on their sleeve. My kind of people.
To my companion in tonight's Universe jaunt: it was beautiful. All pure, all good. Another found soul mate revealed as we were laughing at the bottom of the Log Chute's last drop.
The Kills -- "Black Balloon"
Friday, November 6, 2009
Captain Trips
We are in the midst of a plague. Them damn pig lickin' toddlers done got us in a fix, and now we're payin' for the sins we hath committed. The gluttonous wine and dine are now inflicted with the flu of the Swine.
Here's something interesting: I get the notion that, while we are taking pains to prevent H1N1 from spreading within our walls, it doesn't matter much to anybody. A couple of kids have been "treated" for H1N1, there hasn't been any word on whether or not they actually had it. There's also the notion that H1N1 is the only flu strain going around right now, so it's always a good idea to be treated for Swine Flu no matter what.
We sent more kids home this week than any other time I can remember. I think we were half-capacity today. Still, there's no panic, there's no "Go get yer flu shot!" It's "Feel better, give me a hug, I care that you're sick." Guess what? I've probably got Swine Flu all over my clothes right now. Am I worried? Am I ignorant? Am I careless? Why do I feel so . . . calm about this.
It may have to do with hand sanitizers.
I'm not the biggest clean freak in the world. My room is testament to that. I always wash my hands after I use the bathroom but I don't wash my hands enough in general, pertaining to when I've worked outside, or touched lots of dust, or finished cleaning with poisonous cleaning products, taken out the garbage, etc. Germs are OKAY. Here's a little hint: if you clean them all off how is your body going to know how to fight them off? Just like flu shots, giving your body a little bit of germs to munch on will teach it to eradicate the threat of them. We freak out about getting shots yet we clean ourselves silly with HAND SANITIZERS. Alcoholic germicides that wipe out everything, from the serious badass intestine munchers to the not-so-cool bad breath hounds.
While at college, we were taught in the Child Psych department to keep hand sanitizing products AWAY from kids. 1) Alcohol is in it. Kind of poisonous to little people. But not that big of a deal, really. 2) Allergies will develop because the body won't know how to fight off minor germ threats. It will just go into a default panic, creating hives, shortness of breath, etc. 3) YOU'LL GET SICK MORE BECAUSE YOUR BODY WON'T KNOW THE GERMS IT NEEDS TO FIGHT OFF THROUGHOUT YOUR LIFETIME!!!!
Parents have requested that we keep hand sanitizing solution in our school. They actually demanded "Why don't you have hand sanitizer in your classrooms?!" You fucking imbeciles, HAND SANITIZER IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE TO WHAT YOUR CHILD NEEDS!!! There are notices posted in the school saying "We don't use hand sanitizer because it has alcohol in it. It is your choice (the parent) to use this product." No mention of my second and third reasons for not using hand sanitizers. There is one bottle of hand sanitizer in the school. I see a lot of people using it, as it is in the entryway.
This is why we're all going to die in a massive plague apocalypse. Because we don't listen, we think it makes sense to use the germicide all purpose killer.
Again: don't use hand sanitizers, people. This isn't a conspiracy. Your body needs germs to fight constantly, creating a large database of things it doesn't like.
Use regular hand soap. NOT anti-bacterial soap. It's the same concept as hand sanitizers.
The more your body is introduced to small amounts of germs, the more it will be immune to all sorts of foreign contaminants. Seriously, you won't get sick. The more you kill those germs before they are introduced to customs, the more your customs bodyguards will fail in noticing an imminent threat to their vessel.
Morphine -- "Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer"
Here's something interesting: I get the notion that, while we are taking pains to prevent H1N1 from spreading within our walls, it doesn't matter much to anybody. A couple of kids have been "treated" for H1N1, there hasn't been any word on whether or not they actually had it. There's also the notion that H1N1 is the only flu strain going around right now, so it's always a good idea to be treated for Swine Flu no matter what.
We sent more kids home this week than any other time I can remember. I think we were half-capacity today. Still, there's no panic, there's no "Go get yer flu shot!" It's "Feel better, give me a hug, I care that you're sick." Guess what? I've probably got Swine Flu all over my clothes right now. Am I worried? Am I ignorant? Am I careless? Why do I feel so . . . calm about this.
It may have to do with hand sanitizers.
I'm not the biggest clean freak in the world. My room is testament to that. I always wash my hands after I use the bathroom but I don't wash my hands enough in general, pertaining to when I've worked outside, or touched lots of dust, or finished cleaning with poisonous cleaning products, taken out the garbage, etc. Germs are OKAY. Here's a little hint: if you clean them all off how is your body going to know how to fight them off? Just like flu shots, giving your body a little bit of germs to munch on will teach it to eradicate the threat of them. We freak out about getting shots yet we clean ourselves silly with HAND SANITIZERS. Alcoholic germicides that wipe out everything, from the serious badass intestine munchers to the not-so-cool bad breath hounds.
While at college, we were taught in the Child Psych department to keep hand sanitizing products AWAY from kids. 1) Alcohol is in it. Kind of poisonous to little people. But not that big of a deal, really. 2) Allergies will develop because the body won't know how to fight off minor germ threats. It will just go into a default panic, creating hives, shortness of breath, etc. 3) YOU'LL GET SICK MORE BECAUSE YOUR BODY WON'T KNOW THE GERMS IT NEEDS TO FIGHT OFF THROUGHOUT YOUR LIFETIME!!!!
Parents have requested that we keep hand sanitizing solution in our school. They actually demanded "Why don't you have hand sanitizer in your classrooms?!" You fucking imbeciles, HAND SANITIZER IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE TO WHAT YOUR CHILD NEEDS!!! There are notices posted in the school saying "We don't use hand sanitizer because it has alcohol in it. It is your choice (the parent) to use this product." No mention of my second and third reasons for not using hand sanitizers. There is one bottle of hand sanitizer in the school. I see a lot of people using it, as it is in the entryway.
This is why we're all going to die in a massive plague apocalypse. Because we don't listen, we think it makes sense to use the germicide all purpose killer.
Again: don't use hand sanitizers, people. This isn't a conspiracy. Your body needs germs to fight constantly, creating a large database of things it doesn't like.
Use regular hand soap. NOT anti-bacterial soap. It's the same concept as hand sanitizers.
The more your body is introduced to small amounts of germs, the more it will be immune to all sorts of foreign contaminants. Seriously, you won't get sick. The more you kill those germs before they are introduced to customs, the more your customs bodyguards will fail in noticing an imminent threat to their vessel.
Morphine -- "Top Floor, Bottom Buzzer"
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Dan Grahammit!!!
I visited the Walker Art Center for the first time since I've lived in Minneapolis. I was looking forward to it. I love Art, the ideals of it. I tend to get frustrated with it, though, but this stems from me "loving" it. I'm not a patron who hums and awes at a blank canvas with a dot in one corner symbolizing both the style of 60's minimalism and the notion of hope within the culture. I see an artist who felt like that might have been the best message regarding the place and time, but it fails to produce an empathetic taint in my breath. It more leads to a sarcastic comment by me to my cohorts.
My favorite art is art with layers. It can be minimalistic in nature, but it has to be bold. It cannot be four bungee cords tied together in a corner of a room made to look like a blank canvas. Those bungee cords have to be smeared with paint in places, tied to nails, have tiny feathers sticking out, something more than just bungee cords (I mention bungee cords simply because there is this piece of art in the Walker and it struck a . . . discord? . . . with me and my person.). It needs to stick out, have at least three elements.
One of the galleries, Haegue Yang: Integrity of the Insider, brought you inside of the work. You walk into a large room bathed in red light. Venetian blinds hang every which way, reflecting the light in weird mishmash patterns. Looking around the room, my cohort and I found a drumset in a back corner. It was begging to be played, and my companion went to go ask one of the grey suits if it was kosher for the public to play the drumset. Apparently, that was the intent all along. The set is rigged to the lighting system of the room, so that when you bang on the drums, the lights turn, making the shadows around the room dance and intermingle. I played for a good five minutes. A small crowd had gathered to watch after a bit (you can hear those drums on four different floors in the Gallery Tower, it's what brought us into the gallery initially). But I didn't quite grasp the concept of the piece. I had fun with it, but the message was lost. We left with smiles on our faces, mainly concocted from the drum set and the crowd, but also with a sense of sarcastic irony floating beneath our shared gritting teeth.
We failed the artist. I feel most do. Or did the artist fail us? Or is there no failure to be had? That's what pisses me off about art. Most musicians, poets, painters, writers, and the rest of the gamut will say "It's whatever you want it to be" when asked what the piece is about, what it meant, how it should be received, experienced, if it can fail, etc. There is too much liminal space and grey area. It seems lazy to me.
I make up my own meaning to art. But I also like knowing what the artist's intent was initially.
Dan Graham was the main highlight of the Center when we went. He takes up three floors currently in the Gallery Tower. While there were some interesting one way mirror displays (which I found entertaining -- there is a heart shaped mirror system in the middle of a large center room. If you go inside the heart, people on the other side will come up and look at themselves as if it's a funhouse mirror, all the while looking directly at you. Strangers make funny faces at you and they don't realize it.) the whole exhibit seemed stale, old, and irrelevant to me. I got a lot of the art, but I didn't care. And that pissed me off. My partner and I both coined an inside joke for the evening stemming from the shared frustration we both had for the exhibit and the rest of the Center: "DAN GRAHAMMIT!! What does it mean?! Why should I care?!"
Dan Grahammit, indeed. Art: I love you and hate you. If you were personified in a Disney film you would be portrayed as a pretentious, fashionably unfashionable asshole who simply glares at people when asked questions. Yawning, you'd say "I've grown tired of myself," and then not move or do anything. You'd just stand there with half-closed eyes.
My purpose in life is to punch Art in the teeth. "If you're so tired of yourself, then fucking DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!!!"
Arlo Guthrie -- "The Motorcycle Song"
My favorite art is art with layers. It can be minimalistic in nature, but it has to be bold. It cannot be four bungee cords tied together in a corner of a room made to look like a blank canvas. Those bungee cords have to be smeared with paint in places, tied to nails, have tiny feathers sticking out, something more than just bungee cords (I mention bungee cords simply because there is this piece of art in the Walker and it struck a . . . discord? . . . with me and my person.). It needs to stick out, have at least three elements.
One of the galleries, Haegue Yang: Integrity of the Insider, brought you inside of the work. You walk into a large room bathed in red light. Venetian blinds hang every which way, reflecting the light in weird mishmash patterns. Looking around the room, my cohort and I found a drumset in a back corner. It was begging to be played, and my companion went to go ask one of the grey suits if it was kosher for the public to play the drumset. Apparently, that was the intent all along. The set is rigged to the lighting system of the room, so that when you bang on the drums, the lights turn, making the shadows around the room dance and intermingle. I played for a good five minutes. A small crowd had gathered to watch after a bit (you can hear those drums on four different floors in the Gallery Tower, it's what brought us into the gallery initially). But I didn't quite grasp the concept of the piece. I had fun with it, but the message was lost. We left with smiles on our faces, mainly concocted from the drum set and the crowd, but also with a sense of sarcastic irony floating beneath our shared gritting teeth.
We failed the artist. I feel most do. Or did the artist fail us? Or is there no failure to be had? That's what pisses me off about art. Most musicians, poets, painters, writers, and the rest of the gamut will say "It's whatever you want it to be" when asked what the piece is about, what it meant, how it should be received, experienced, if it can fail, etc. There is too much liminal space and grey area. It seems lazy to me.
I make up my own meaning to art. But I also like knowing what the artist's intent was initially.
Dan Graham was the main highlight of the Center when we went. He takes up three floors currently in the Gallery Tower. While there were some interesting one way mirror displays (which I found entertaining -- there is a heart shaped mirror system in the middle of a large center room. If you go inside the heart, people on the other side will come up and look at themselves as if it's a funhouse mirror, all the while looking directly at you. Strangers make funny faces at you and they don't realize it.) the whole exhibit seemed stale, old, and irrelevant to me. I got a lot of the art, but I didn't care. And that pissed me off. My partner and I both coined an inside joke for the evening stemming from the shared frustration we both had for the exhibit and the rest of the Center: "DAN GRAHAMMIT!! What does it mean?! Why should I care?!"
Dan Grahammit, indeed. Art: I love you and hate you. If you were personified in a Disney film you would be portrayed as a pretentious, fashionably unfashionable asshole who simply glares at people when asked questions. Yawning, you'd say "I've grown tired of myself," and then not move or do anything. You'd just stand there with half-closed eyes.
My purpose in life is to punch Art in the teeth. "If you're so tired of yourself, then fucking DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!!!"
Arlo Guthrie -- "The Motorcycle Song"
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Asexually Autonomous
After a certain amount of time of not being involved with any sort of person, I tend to forget that there's a part of me looking for love, lust, a romantic companion. There are definite people sparking my eye, making me stop and say "Ooh! Maybe . . ." but I tend to not embark on asking to make something of those sparks.
The reason for this is due to music. When I become so busy, I forget I have a life. Currently, I'm trying to work out a persuasion speech to a drummer who's asking for money upfront (hourly rates, rehearsal fees, Jesus Christ!), making calls back and forth for art design and website development, writing new material for the live band, finishing up mixing and arguing over mixing styles (two producers coming together to create from their own respective styles will lend itself to some battles), getting the rehearsal space readied, etc. It's getting to be insane!
That being said, I feel this past weekend has changed me. Most people mention that an experience like the one I went through will tend to do that. Cutting to the chase, I tried LSD for the first time. I don't plan on doing it too, too much in my lifetime (one reason being that I'm still a little slow and loopy even after four days). Since I got back from Madison, I felt as if I transcended into a new realm, a new place. I've been doing Patch work nonstop, with no desire to quit. I love critical thinking, creative projects, calling up friends/business partners and negotiating guidelines and the future, etc. I felt like the time has come, finally.
There's a person at my work who, in my mind, is the definition of "put together". This isn't in any way a derogatory term based off of the way she looks ("Would ya look at dat broad, dat ass is PUT TOGETHA!"). She doesn't seem to have any faults. They're there, underneath the surface. And when she shows emotion, it's small and not too disclosing. So, you assume she's human, but when she does her daily routine at work, she's a universal soldier. She can do anything. She has her emotions in check, her looks, her style, her clothes, her job, her life, everything is okay.
These people are the Asexually Autonomous.
I've only met a few. I find this interesting. People who I assume are with somebody tend to be looking for help in my eyes. There's something inside saying "I'm not put together, help me!" I also think this pertains to my "White Knight" complex. My brain becomes more enamored with people who seem to need guidance than with people who don't. It gets me in trouble, though.
All my life I've been with people looking for help. These people aren't in dire need, they're not depressed, they're not weak in any way. They were simply "looking for more".
I'd like to try my hand with someone who's Asexually Autonomous. Will the relationship be dry and boring? Because they're not looking, will a spark even fly? Or do they have it in with trust, because they've figured themselves out so well, you never have to worry about slip ups.
I've figured myself out, I think. I've got my problems here and there, but I feel like I'm more in the Asexually Autonomous camp more than I realize, due to all the work I do, the double life I lead. That's probably why I don't find more relationships. Maybe not. Who knows? Maybe I'm just an asshole.
But it's something to think about.
Fever Ray -- "I'm Not Done"
The reason for this is due to music. When I become so busy, I forget I have a life. Currently, I'm trying to work out a persuasion speech to a drummer who's asking for money upfront (hourly rates, rehearsal fees, Jesus Christ!), making calls back and forth for art design and website development, writing new material for the live band, finishing up mixing and arguing over mixing styles (two producers coming together to create from their own respective styles will lend itself to some battles), getting the rehearsal space readied, etc. It's getting to be insane!
That being said, I feel this past weekend has changed me. Most people mention that an experience like the one I went through will tend to do that. Cutting to the chase, I tried LSD for the first time. I don't plan on doing it too, too much in my lifetime (one reason being that I'm still a little slow and loopy even after four days). Since I got back from Madison, I felt as if I transcended into a new realm, a new place. I've been doing Patch work nonstop, with no desire to quit. I love critical thinking, creative projects, calling up friends/business partners and negotiating guidelines and the future, etc. I felt like the time has come, finally.
There's a person at my work who, in my mind, is the definition of "put together". This isn't in any way a derogatory term based off of the way she looks ("Would ya look at dat broad, dat ass is PUT TOGETHA!"). She doesn't seem to have any faults. They're there, underneath the surface. And when she shows emotion, it's small and not too disclosing. So, you assume she's human, but when she does her daily routine at work, she's a universal soldier. She can do anything. She has her emotions in check, her looks, her style, her clothes, her job, her life, everything is okay.
These people are the Asexually Autonomous.
I've only met a few. I find this interesting. People who I assume are with somebody tend to be looking for help in my eyes. There's something inside saying "I'm not put together, help me!" I also think this pertains to my "White Knight" complex. My brain becomes more enamored with people who seem to need guidance than with people who don't. It gets me in trouble, though.
All my life I've been with people looking for help. These people aren't in dire need, they're not depressed, they're not weak in any way. They were simply "looking for more".
I'd like to try my hand with someone who's Asexually Autonomous. Will the relationship be dry and boring? Because they're not looking, will a spark even fly? Or do they have it in with trust, because they've figured themselves out so well, you never have to worry about slip ups.
I've figured myself out, I think. I've got my problems here and there, but I feel like I'm more in the Asexually Autonomous camp more than I realize, due to all the work I do, the double life I lead. That's probably why I don't find more relationships. Maybe not. Who knows? Maybe I'm just an asshole.
But it's something to think about.
Fever Ray -- "I'm Not Done"
Monday, November 2, 2009
Another Step Forward
There are now five in the band. One in question. Four definites.
Assemblage of the rehearsal space starts this weekend.
Practicing: hopefully next week.
Mad Season -- "Wake Up"
Assemblage of the rehearsal space starts this weekend.
Practicing: hopefully next week.
Mad Season -- "Wake Up"
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Egoless Clarity
To further elaborate on last night's events . . .
Standing on a lake in Madison, WI, the water became a moving mirror. Triangle shaped glass patterns fought to climb to the surface, creating a silent, chaotic war for miles around. The sun's color was just leaving the sky in the distance. On the other side of the lake, the lights twinkled and warped, the stars above blinking on and off. I found a light straight ahead of me . . . and meditated . . .
Immediately, all around the horizon, fireworks exploded, and the landscape lit up as if a vast napalm blast shook the Earth. The explosion flew across the lake. Just as it was about to hit me, the light sucked the youth of me. It took my fears, memories, happy times, sad times, and threw it into the one light across from me. A rumbling sound emitted all around, and finally, everything was inside the light pinpoint in front of me. One dot encapsulating my youth, ready to tap into now and then. I was now moving on. I was now in the next realm. 25 and ready to embark on the new me.
I turned around and saw my three other compatriots, who, no doubt, were experiencing their own ego removal. We then sighed, walked toward the Capitol and State Street, laughing all the while until we came back to the party we had ventured some 250 miles for.
It was a terrifying night, but a satisfying one. A happy one. What Halloween should be about.
Perfect.
Muddy Waters -- "Mannish Boy"
Standing on a lake in Madison, WI, the water became a moving mirror. Triangle shaped glass patterns fought to climb to the surface, creating a silent, chaotic war for miles around. The sun's color was just leaving the sky in the distance. On the other side of the lake, the lights twinkled and warped, the stars above blinking on and off. I found a light straight ahead of me . . . and meditated . . .
Immediately, all around the horizon, fireworks exploded, and the landscape lit up as if a vast napalm blast shook the Earth. The explosion flew across the lake. Just as it was about to hit me, the light sucked the youth of me. It took my fears, memories, happy times, sad times, and threw it into the one light across from me. A rumbling sound emitted all around, and finally, everything was inside the light pinpoint in front of me. One dot encapsulating my youth, ready to tap into now and then. I was now moving on. I was now in the next realm. 25 and ready to embark on the new me.
I turned around and saw my three other compatriots, who, no doubt, were experiencing their own ego removal. We then sighed, walked toward the Capitol and State Street, laughing all the while until we came back to the party we had ventured some 250 miles for.
It was a terrifying night, but a satisfying one. A happy one. What Halloween should be about.
Perfect.
Muddy Waters -- "Mannish Boy"
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