March 2005 Archives

show not seen: anne heaton, new haven house concert
funds saved: $15.00

!!!

blissfund to date: $45.00

and if I gave you my numbers, then
I'd always be
waiting -
so I'll leave you with
words...
words that are
failing me so
miserably -
but they'll just have to do:

I drive with the
top down and the
volume up, searching
smiling at
the sunset in my
rearview mirror and
it's here that
you cross my mind.

I am addicted
to the anguished cries at
the ends of your
sentences
like fresh avocados
and the promise of
springtime...

I'd sit in a room with you
not speaking for days
writing endlessly
until it was too much to bear
until I tore the notebook
from your hands
so I could swim in
what the world looked like from
behind your eyes...

there's more, a little blurb, and I left out the part about throwing our pens on the floor and making out furiously. it might have gone to total porn after that... I've just been so taken and moved, the more I listen to burn the maps, the more it totally blows me away. go get it if you don't own it yet:

http://www.theframes.ie

oh, and I'm going to mail it with a "no one gives a damn about your band" sticker, and a picture of the sunrise from my beach the morning after thanksgiving. it was a meaningful morning. I fucking rule.

over and out, kids.

~vvb

in the spirit of taking suggestions, I am starting the blissfund. this will consist of all shows unseen, all cds unbought, and will be constructed with a sincere attempt to glamourize the holding of an up-to-date town library card. stipulation being that cash must be removed from the atm, placed in a sealed envelope, and stockpiled (in an undisclosed location, of course) diligently. that's how I bought my first car in sobriety - I saved up like $1500 or $1600, $20 at a time. so let's get ready for round two. bigger stakes, bigger prizes, and a whole lotta pacific sunsets. or maybe I'll move to ireland and stalk glen from the frames... you'll understand later when I post about the avocados.

and so I can complain and get it out of my system, every update will be properly posted with the thing not had and the amount saved. it will also help to keep me accountable.

show not seen: ed harcourt at the iron horse
money saved: $30 (ticket, gas, coffee, etc.)

portland - or wherever the fuck I'm supposed to land - here we come.

~vvb

(oh, ps - based on the handful of random stranger emails and posts I've gotten, people are reading. thank you!!! and make sure to refresh often. xo)

I like everything but country of course. I love things that make me cry and stuff that empowers me I also always like something new of course, but it is good to hear something that I haven't heard in awhile and makes me smile and want to sing along. Old DMB does that alot. Write you from work tomorrow, Em

~emily, on me asking what she wanted on a mix she asked me to make.

i agree. we do make utter dicks of ourselves. i never get pissed at gigs out of respect for the artist. i'll take a few drinks, but i wont get rat arsed. theres always one or two muppets who ruin the whole experience for everyone else and drink plays a major part in that.

~random irish guy, on general drunken irish behavior at shows.

so everyone is moving today it seems - the people upstairs have decided to cohabitate (which, by the way, would make for quite the wordy greeting card: congratulations on your cohabitation. or something.) and the people behind me are leaving, and the people next door are leaving too. lots of navigations and frustrations and trucks askew in the street.

I am thinking in web format, I just wrote PHOTO in that space, yet I drive here for my notebook tonight. I don't quite know what the difference is, or why my mind functions this way.

(coming out of my cage
and I was doing just fine)

and tonight I want to lay low. I'm not really up for anything and I was kind of an asshole today and maybe, just maybe my compulsive eating has something to do wtih how I am treating myself / feeling about myself - maybe it's more of a cycle than I realize. because after I talked to kristin for a while, the herbal tea suited me fine, and I didn't have that insatiable need anymore.

maybe I need to
bundle up
and walk the beach
at midnight
maybe I'd like you
if it weren't for
your laugh
maybe I'd be lighter
if I hadn't
lied today
maybe all these
strangers
make me feel safe
maybe all the
not talking
is just what I need
so I can be here
not talking
with just me
not listening

and I think the song
that's playing
is one I own
but haven't opened...

so now I'm lost and stunned, they're playing mark geary in starbucks and is this a sign? but how could it possibly have a god damn thing to do with me? like the plane, seemingly random - yet so interesting all the same...

another place
I'm at a loss
I must return
to what I know
but I don't want to miss
anything
in the meantime
in the meantime

last night
I knew it was you calling
to leave pieces of your heart
on my answering maching
and I'd never heard before of
the air siren sound of
the volunteer fireman alarm?
which came precisely between
your two calls

and tonight
the tea serves as wine
beautiful and grotesque
pungent heartache
waiting
for that perfect opening line.

random stranger post #2, on the mark geary / frames review (review - like I fucking work for rolling stone or something):

dude, fucking great write up. We saw them in San Francisco and LA and he actually did come back out for encores both nights... said it was unheard of for an opening act but he did it. and just yeah, wanted to say to you that it's awesome to see someone else who appreciated the show as much as we did and to be on the same wavelength about if that makes any sense and that it's all about the music. so yeah, just wanted to say that :) take care.

~cheryl

right on.

I'm an engine driver
on a long run,
on a long run.
Would I were beside her:
she's a long one,
such a long one.

And if you don't love me, let me go.
And if you don't love me, let me go.

~Engine Driver, The Decemberists

entry number sixty-six. sixty-six!!!

and my ratios of time to writing are increasing, as it went from sporadic moments to once a day almost. wow.

thanks, kristin. by the way, I have these worn out stretchy little blue striped socks that make me think of you. in my mind, they are my kristin socks. I'll bring them to sasquatch and hope you understand.

~vvb

at least I know that I'm not alone
with being alone -
a hundred thousand castaways
looking for a home...
~the police

as I used to sit, so painfully alone, and now I can call a dozen people at any given moment, and one or two of them will know what I mean totally and completely, even if I can't manage to get the words out right.

there's so many things flying through my mind right now. the springtime night time slushy snow outside my window and in my hair, the cd in the stereo (iron and wine), that police song I heard tonight, how I really like that one jack johnson song that's out but the rest of the album kind of blows, how I have tickets for josh rouse at the paradise two weeks from saturday and how his album didn't get under my skin the way I thought it would, and how I could go see howie day solo instead at some college in worcester, and how I'd be alone and old and tall around a bunch of college girls in their low-slung panties with their fake bags, talking over all the songs. or that's how it was at toad's place at least the last time I saw him. and what could be better than the version of morning after that makes my toes curl anyways?

and about how I hope I really do get to be the forty-eight hour east coast wonder intern for kexp, and how I don't like being tight on money right now, and how nobody wants to buy my tires. and I've neglected my cat lately because I don't stay home after dinner to try to break the compulsive eating habit and how I've been really honest at meetings and how The Boy had emailed me this morning and how I wrote back and hope that I said what I felt, I think I did mostly.

she's sitting with me now. I'm a lousy mother sometimes but I love her madly always, like a little dog, following me around and sleeping curled up spooning in the night warm and purring with her front paws streched out just so.

~~~

all this slush and I've said too much? and did I tell you about the black and white photograph in my mind, and how the songs still make me think of you sometimes... to stay unedited and free, to tell the truth, to maybe just send you some mixes and not expect anything. I'm scared to speak for fear of saying the wrong part out loud, yet I know I must put forth everything I have otherwise there's no point to any of this. the look in your eyes when you looked in my eyes that I can't forget and still just wanting to talk to you is all, really... but if it was just that simple and that small, it would have left me already, and maybe my bones hold more than I know.

and I don't want to paint this picture of wanting things that I don't need can't handle but a part of me does and a part of me doesn't and I don't want this place of waiting and wondering I just want to know what I think and what you think and then you think about how the fun part is about the not knowing, because once you know that's it, it's out there. all at once I have no business being here, but then I can't not pay attention to something so loud. commanding, like bright eyes.

you have to listen to it completely or turn it off.

~~~

so I've been toying around with moving away being in the one and a half ish year plan. I told my mother today that should anything happen during her surgery that I would stay long enough to settle her affairs and then I would get the fuck out of here. not just boston or anything, like seattle or oregon somewhere or san diego. it was very matter-of-fact today, talking about making adjustments to her will, when neither of us wanted to say, "you know, in case I die during surgery or if the cancer like, kills me, so we won't have to worry about it then". like we were talking about the proper way to cook potatoes or manage credit card debt or something. it's this strange place I've never been but it's also kind of simple. I don't know what else to say about it.

so the moving thing - at first I was like, well, once we know her health is pretty much in the clear, I could maybe go north and then still be close in case I had to come home and I would be able to work out of the company's massachusetts office and it would be a safe way to change. but lately it's been... I don't know. like I should save every cent and just go do something else completely. something fulfilling and fun but fun doesn't always pay the bills. I couldn't go write, because then I'd have to write, and then I'd be writing about having to write, and I might implode. some days I would rather scrub bathrooms at some non-profit organization's office than do my job, because it doesn't satisfy my soul.

this is all new to me, catching glimpses of this and wondering where I fit in all of it. so I'm talking to kristin, last night or no, yesterday at work and I'm equating it to a playlist. like, you know you've been digging on this handful of songs, but the order isn't quite right, and how you have to put them on the playlist in a particular order otherwise when you listen to it you're constantly like, do I want that song next? does that really sound right there, was that the feeling I wanted then, does the flow work...

(I want your
flowers
like babies want
god's love or
maybe
as sure as
tomorrow
will come)

that's stellar.

so, you have to do the playlist - you have to do what you know. you put down the first few songs, and if you go past what you know works, you have the order disorder thing. I do at least. now, there's always the caution-to-the-wind element, where you do the unplanned and are surprised at how it works so perfectly, but I - I don't know. I was going to say, you can't go three thousand miles on a maybe, but then you could if it was the right one. with stakes this high, I think kristin put it the best:

that I will sit straight up in bed one night and know that it's time.

and for this moment, that's all I've got.

~vvb

the sparkles. they're coming back. I'm starting to glow, probably in a way that no one else notices but me - it's either my aura unclouding, or all the fresh fruit I've been consuming. either way, I can see it in my eyes, and I can feel it working its way back down to my fingertips.

simultaneously I am ready to vomit on my keyboard, trying to figure out the right thing to say in response to a letter I received this morning (read: find the fine line between being honest and thorough, and full blown obsessing). it's tough sometimes, what rattles around in my mind and what I manage to say out loud don't always jive.

why am I posting this? an acknowledgment perhaps? or a promise? or because a live stream of emoting, straight from my fingertips, has been working for the last two days? to be honest, I think it's a little bit of all of these.

stay tuned, kids.

~vvb

radiohead, as loud as it can go, at eight o'clock on a tuesday morning. (the bends, in case you were wondering.) heat on because the windows are down because I have to feel the wind and let the music out the windows. new haven, on days like this, I'm yours.

as I trace the breeze with the palm of my hand it comes to me that I am lighter still from yesterday's rantings. and I know, I've been taught, that talking about what rattles around in my mind sets it free and then clears up the space for new things. it's not that I forget that, it's just... maybe some days it happens in a bigger way than others. point being, there was a lot more space this morning than there was yesterday. it's working, so I'll keep going.

there's a shifting, as I pace around in the coccoon I talked about yesterday. (am I spelling that right?) I'm being forced, through sheer consequence, to deal with the god stuff I've been presented with for the last five years in meetings. like, what you've figured out worked until now - now you've got to take it to another level, not because we're telling you to, but because in your own way, you're telling us you need to. they are not fucking kidding about this stuff - it's got to be more a part of me than stopping the lady that just dropped a wad of fifties and giving it back to her. it's so, so much more than that.

so that's happening, I gained a few pounds this winter and it sucks. it's taking up space in my mind (and my pants), so I've tried to turn it over and have been presented with fellow trudgers and books and the like. I'm having a tough time with my mom being sick, that will just have to take it's course. my sister is insane, but then so am I. and of late, I am feeling financially insecure, and yet I sit here writing (that's not writing, that's typing) because if I don't, then I'll be not working with all of this rolling around in my head. at least if it's out, I have a shot of doing something vaguely related to work. or maybe work is slow right now because I need the time and space to sort out these things.

so let's see if this works like yesterday did. I swear, this morning, it was like - well, I can equate it best to an amends I made. so I leave to go cross country in 1995 and my grandmother is basically dying in the hospital. my aunt had told her that I was a raging junkie or something, so the last time I see her is in the hospital bed and she's crying, in her broken lithuanian accent, please, don't-a do the drugs, please. I'm crying too and I tell her I love her and we leave a little while after that.

I call my mom from somewhere in illinois, some rest station, and she tells me my grandmother has died. and I don't go back for the funeral or anything, and I hold onto the payphone, I hang from it, weeping, wanting to crumble on the floor but the cord won't reach. as many things, it only goes so far.

so fast forward to me making amends in early sobriety. I write letters to both my grandmother and grandfather, and go to the pier where their ashes were spread. which, strangely, is the same naval base where my parents met. or maybe not strangely. so I read these letters and I throw them into the ocean, and it's windy so one doesn't even make it to the water, the wind just holds it to the piling just above the sea, and it doesn't feel any different. I walk back to my car and go to a meeting or whatever I did that night.

days later, it crossed my mind, what I had done, as it often did. how I didn't show up, how I left her crying - and the feeling had changed. it had been the same for years and years, and it changed. that amends, those moments that were just going through the motions because I was told to - it changed. it freed up the space.

and that long, long winded story of how my mind is untangling is how I felt this morning after what I wrote yesterday. so let's see what sticks.

and back to now, I'll leave you on a high note - I have never, ever heard myself described better than a post in my guestbook from grainne, on my "get the fuck out of the front row" comments:

you're a bit crazy in a stable kind of way, arent ya Victoria??

yes indeed. off for the day, as eve's plane flies overhead and she reads my card and looks out the window and wonders.

~vvb

for the you should commenter - can't you see me? I'm right here:

and here:

oh, and here too:

I'll be back later today to talk about my morning. (go ahead, sing it) because I've had these revelations... they just snuck up on me. it was like talking with kristin about relief, and crying with relief, and how great of an exhale it is that you can't plan for or don't always know you need.

or something like that.

what the fuck is wrong with me these days?

so I wrote some things down in a card because you're leaving tomorrow, and to give this card to you before you go seems like the only thing to give you that even remotely makes sense.

but then I wrote some other stuff too. and then a bunch of things fly past me that having nothing to do with anything, or maybe they have everything to do with everything. like I come here, to write, or maybe I sit in a starbucks or whatever (and by the way, I'm slowly transitioning to using capital letters, it's weird though) so, I write, and I do it because I have to, because I Need To. and then I compulsively will check my site to see if anyone has left a comment under something, to say hello or to tell me I'm brilliant, or to see if mark geary has shown up to say, hey, I'm crazy too but yes I remember ya and why don't we get coffee and talk about the shit our minds tell us sometime?

why, if I have to write for me, am I still compelled to seek out approval or comments or validation or what have you? because almost no one writes back, and I keep writing anyways, which is how I know at least in this forum that I'm not full of shit. is it human? is it some deep-rooted aspect of my addiction? is it the girl deep inside me that doesn't give a shit about whether or not she was a dork a long time ago, or maybe still is, but still secretly cares sometimes and wants to be cool? all the while being fully aware that I am me and that in and of itself, that is beautiful? that it doesn't cripple me anymore is staggering to me still?

shit now I'm rambling about and I'm writing wondering who is going to read. time and time again, I have to have it beaten into me that I just need to be me and do my thing, whatever that means at the moment, and that it will lead me to places better than any shit I could figure out for myself. back to the coffee shop tonight:

(scene - purple velour armchair in the corner, headphones on, damien rice in my ears, a little bit of TB before I get into what I wanted to say)

can I sit here
and write this
without you lingering
under my skin?

and come to think of it
not even you
have entered my bones
plenty has gotten under my skin
but few things
if any
linger
in my bones...

she's already left me
or should I say,
I've already grown accustomed
to living without her.

they took all of her things today
and raised the devil's very fare
after she was out to sea
and didn't have the option
to say no
anymore

my cat loves wilco
and is fearful
of men and plastic bags
although she strangely endeared herself
to The Boy.

I've come here to escape
my addictions
and I'm left
curled up in the corner
with snapshots of you
in my aching hands -

I'll write on the wrong side of the page
because I don't have
the right pen.

you've packed up your socks
a broken coffeepot
and your double goodbyes
and I have to say again
that I'm lighter
since I met you
as I stand here
holding a straw
with no one to hand it to
and no one to love
that I take so long
to get it right...

from halting hellos
to weeping goodbyes
we're both off
for better things
it seems
from both sides of the window:
the airplane,
and where I sit
tonight.

~~~~~~~~~

these days
shifting
in my coccoon
wondering why it's my heart
that's always breaking...
the coccoon better known as
a two bedroom with an ocean view,
watching the movie you told me to.
do a private striptease
a late blooming butterfly
due out at the end of springtime
watched only by a few...

I am a writer...
I've written pages
upon pages
trying to rid you
from my bones...

(From the new Decemberists cd, due out on the 22nd. Hey! That's tomorrow!!!)

so I'm about to leave for northampton, right? and being the crack addict that I am, I check mark geary's site and my email and stuff before I gear up - and the show has been cancelled. bill morrissey is still playing, but mark is apparently stuck in phoenix or something.

what a fucking drag. really. I found something cute to wear and made cds and everything.

two in the afternoon, sparkled and shorn and off for domestication at the local store. I've run out of vegetables it seems.

~vvb

The tv goes off, and everything else turns on. Amazing.

So I leave work in the afternoon to drive to Boston. It's a Wednesday afternoon and I'm going to see The Frames. Black hoodie, combat boots, extra eye makeup, off to the races.

I've been addicted to The Decemberists, which is helping to hold the 24 hour rule in place. (For those of you that aren't in the know, that's the 'no playing the band you're going to see in the 24 hours on either side of the show' rule.) But I just can't help myself, especially after having not had a proper listen of Burn The Maps. I turn it up and drive, drive, drive...

It's cold and I'm anxious. I spoke with Shea earlier, and due to class and what have you he won't be arriving until about 8:45. I'll just have to stalk out my spot stage right and make some friends. But as it turns out, his gas situation leaves him with just show or just school - so naturally, the show wins. I am so excited that I call him three times in the twenty minutes it takes him to get there. Are you close? How about now? How about now? Not unlike waiting for some random email from a boy or a rock star, refresh... refresh... refresh...

The club is starting to fill up, but we secure our spots by sitting on the stage. I am full of questions, and as it turns out Shea is even better solo than I expected. We have Kristin in common, but I still get nervous about smalltalk and the like, you know? He's not just a writer, but about to be published. (And I might add, a surprise appearance by yours truly in one of his poems, about my short-lived contact with The Boy. Better than a song almost!) He's not just taking pictures, but a real photographer. Not just working with multiple mediums, but a full blown fine artist. We share joys and memories and excitement for our Memorial Day plans in Seattle. (Watch out, Sasquatch! Here we come!)

Out walks our opener - or is it some guy with the opener? Or is it one of the Frames? He picks up a few things and checks some other things out and leaves. Then he comes back and - yes, he's going to play. He's our opener.

He sings, he strums, we pay closer attention. One line in particular stands out:

see, I played in this band
and I thought about 'cha

Complete with accent. So tremendous. I am instantly smitten, and promptly write it down as not to forget such a perfect moment.

He signals his words and spreads his hands, he stomps his foot to keep the beat and sometimes he stops playing completely and just stomps and sings. You can tell he's really proud of the lines.

He jokes with us and records our fever-pitch cheers, and gets punchy with a guy in the back yelling something. Pressing 'play' on the little device, up at the microphone. What? Sorry, what? I can't hear ya. He has small feet and his hair sticks up in the back and he's charmed me completely. I turn to Shea and we wonder if openers can come back out for an encore, and I realize I've never thought that before. Not like this.

We take breaks in shifts and hold fast to our spots, as the sold out show around us starts filling in. I'm wide-eyed. I'm at a Frames show. Mark Geary is amazing. Holy crap. And they arrive...

Our lead singer looks a little... annoyed? Grumpy? They pick up their shit and start off with one of the new ones. The bass player is directly in front of us and he's - well, he's a Frame! They are right in front of us, and they are brilliant! At one point in the second song, the band makes their first appearance to us:

(I close my eyes)
All of a sudden I am at band practice, and my mouth is slack, and no one else is there. The music flows through me, jesus it's like a part of my physical being, you know? The band is really loud and really tight and dead on with every note and every moment and I grab onto Shea's arm in disbelief. As the song ends, the trance does not. There's no "woo-hoo!" or whistles from me - I lean forward and scream "ALRIGHT!" with everything I have in me. All this being (typed) said, there is a part of me that still cannot comprehend that I am watching The Frames at The Paradise from the Front Row.

So the lead singer, Glen is it? Glen is still annoyed at the louder back row of the crowd. They are obviously giving us every ounce of themselves, and he's pretty bent about the talking. He tells us so, and the room hushes up for the most part. It remains (mostly) so for the rest of the night. I've begun research on tshirts for shows that say shut the fuck up and listen to the band or something.

The set is - shit, brilliant. I can't think of a better word. Was that five hours or five minutes? I can't tell... they give us new songs, familiar songs, and every shred of everything with every note it seems. There are moments of singing along, of looking at Shea in disbelief, and full one-minute long eye contact with various band members. I can't look away, the trance is intense, I almost forgot to take pictures... it seems I can barely capture any shred of anything - although the feet shots came out great:

Perfect, completely. Just perfect.

They play everything on my fantasy set, which is short. I've left a note scrawled on the stage, furiously ripped from my notebook before the show, that reads:

PLEASE PLAY

1. YOUR FACE
2. STAR, STAR
3. FAKE
4. PAVEMENT TUNE

THANK YOU, WE LOVE YOU!

And the last encore pulls us in, real time combined with Kristin's stories of finger snapping, and we all had no idea that we were really vampires. Oddly punctuated with a ribbing they've perfected:

Glen: America!
Whole band: FUCK YEAH!

Now they're brilliant and hysterical, and so they leave us. Shea takes off to the bathroom, and I sit on the stage to wait. I'm reeling, The Paradise really is just that. I've screamed and danced and I've not given a shit who was looking, or what I looked like, or any of it. Pure feeling, pure bliss, with the volume as loud as it would go.

We linger, we chat, we eat free pizza. I wouldn't mind another appearance from the bass player, and Shea had his eye on the drummer, who does come out but talks to most-annoying-girl-at-show chick for a bit instead of us. Her boyfriend slapped her ass to the music all night, and I was ready to punch them both. I mean, if you get to talk to rock stars, please try to say something intelligent. Otherwise, get the fuck out of the front row, will ya?

Shea sees a friend, our night starts to wrap up and I don't want it to be over. Not yet. I walk back around the empty room, there's the girl that sang the last song on stage, drinking and grinning. There's the ass slapper, should I try to wander up top? I do, and get stopped, but pass through with promises of a bathroom run and then I'm leaving, I swear it. I take my time, half expecting a Frame to find me, profess his love and ask me to come to Canada. I'd sell tshirts or photos or write the setlists or something. It would be grand.

Obviously, said fantasy moment does not occur and I smile past everyone on my way back to Shea. He calls, apparently next to some of the band out at the merch table, and I've missed The Boy by less than sixty seconds. What a relief! If I didn't linger, if I didn't wait, if I stayed with Shea... another moment of things going exactly as they're supposed to. We find each other and decide to stalk the bass player, who is smoking outside. Not only does Shea manage a cigarette, but a light as well, and I can't even speak. I kick the imaginary spot in the sidewalk, wide eyed and grinning. We grab a few shots of the sign being dismantled - and I suddenly remember that I wanted a cd of the opener. We plead re-entry from the guy at the door and make our way back to the merch table.

What happens next leaves me... well, just keep reading.

I look at the cds for our delirously adorable opener, and I see that there's two. And I'm down to twenty bucks, and they're fifteen each. Without saying a word to her, the chick at the merch table goes, "Yeah, there's two. And he played songs off of both of them tonight." I hold out my hand.

"What song is this?" She looks at my hand quizically.

"I don't know, but you can ask him. He's right there." I turn around and there stands Mark Geary, disheveled and chatting. I always hate this moment - is this guy going to talk to me just to be nice, don't say anything stupid, shit, are my armpits sweating? I boldly hold out my hand.

"What song is this?" He takes my hand in both of his and starts half-singing, half gazing, searching the wall behind me for the words, tapping his foot lightly. I look at Shea, about to piss my pants. I am having full-blown interaction and I am utterly startstruck. He figures out that it's Ghosts and shows me the cd, as I am holding both in my other hand. I want both.

"You should get both," he says, reading my spinning mind.

"Well, I can only get one," I say, and he tells me to hang on and goes to negotiate with the merch chick. Now I feel bad. I mean, I'm not starving. I could use my debit card or something, you know? He comes back and slides a cd into the front of my jacket. We're on a secret mission.

"Now go and get the other one from her and I'll sign it fer ya." I follow directions, but I leave the girl with my whole twenty. She's obviously watched the whole thing from her post. I come back and tear open the cd and hand it to him.

"What's your name?"

"Victoria." And I'm back in the middle of, fuck, you have like, eighteen seconds to interact. Say something, and make it good. I start throwing everything I wanted to say during the show onto the floor in front of us. To the tune of the following:

"You're really great. That was awesome. I love you. Really, you're beautiful. I'd come to Canada, or wherever you're going right now, but I'm driving to Florida tomorrow after work but otherwise I'd like, not go to work at all so I could be wherever you are." I can't remember exactly what he said as I emoted all over him, he was writing something in my cd and now we're both laughing and I want to talk to him for hours.

"Are you staying in Florida, then?"

"No, my friend is moving." You're talking to him. Holy shit. "We're driving her car down there and I'm flying back in a few days."

"Driving? When?"

"Tomorrow. After work."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where the Iron Horse is then?"

"Are you kidding? I just saw Colin Meloy there last week. It was amazing. I'm going to see Robyn Hitchcock on the 28th, do you want to come?"

"Yes. Shit. I'll be in Australia. Do you want to come?"

"Sure. I have relatives there. Are you really playing at the Iron Horse?"

"I'll be there on the 22nd." (editor's note: it's the 20th, actually)

"I'll buy a ticket tonight when I get home (which I did, at 3 am). Have you ever played there before?"

"No." I explain where he'll play from and where I like to shoot from, behind the railing, level with the stage. It's a great spot for photos.

"Okay, now, I'm really going to come."

"Don't worry, I'll remember you." I make him pinky swear to this, and in both of our non-inebriated states we realize we already know each other quite well. To the tune of hugs and laughter and nostalgic stories. I realize I'm going to lose it, because I'm starting to think about what I'm saying, and I'd better go out on a high note.

"Gosh, you probably have so much to do, I caught you on the way to the bathroom or somehting, okay I have to go." I gather Shea, who has been watching this whole thing unfold with a huge grin.

"Okay, don't change! No, shit! Change everything!"

"I will, a hundred times!"

I run down the hall and burst out the front doors with a cheer. I'm ready to leap out of my skin. Did that just happen? Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Did I just have that conversation, was it all just a dream? Shea and I talk and skip and dance our way to the car, and after the quick stop at the BP, we leave with smiling goodbyes and promises for Ray Lamontagne in April.

I'm on my way home. High with show and Mark Geary loud in my speakers. What more could a girl ask for?

Oh, the cd. Right. I don't care if he writes it to all the girls, because in that moment, he wrote it just for me:

To my Victoria, you're beautiful too.

~~~~~~~~~

So back to real time, Friday morning, typing this because it's so much more important than work, you see why a ninety minute drive for an opening spot on somebody else's bill is more than enough for me. I'll gladly stand waiting, camera in hand, maybe with a mix tape or some Ray Lamontange to pass along. As I sit in my car in my mind, top down, gazing at the stars, wishing I could ask him to learn This Is Dedicated To The One I Love like Jon plays Annie's Song. He'd whisper it so perfectly.

This man is brilliant, so I'll take what I can get. See you at the Iron Horse.

and all my wounds, they turned to gold
and I kissed your hair

once again, immobilized
with a faraway gaze
and the phones
and the conversations
and the ratrace
fades away
completely

it's times like these that I want to get up from my desk, get in my car, and just drive away forever. throwing the things that didn't matter out the window along the way.

and I'd walk a mile on this broken glass
to fall down at your feet

sweet violins
sweeping me
your voice
tangles with my regrets
and dreams
oh, stop talking to me
it's useless
I can't hear anything
but this

new gallery goodness - cooking shows, shots from the car window, and jon's fanny. go go go.

frames show coming up soon.

KILL YOUR TELEVISION! wa-hoo!

~vvb

what is the deal with all the joni mitchell promotion? all of a sudden she's always on the radio, in starbucks, all over the place. like a hidden brilliant artist that just got discovered.

here's a news flash: joni mitchell has always been tremendous. I'll prove it - go get "blue" and throw it into your stereo. it is timeless and wonderful. it could have been recorded yesterday, and it's from the seventies I think. which you only know from the line in the title track...

acid, booze, and ass
needles, guns, and grass
lots of laughs...
lots of laughs...

but if you miss that, it could be brand new. and maybe it will be for you.

the people call us lovers
we have pictures of each other
in every room
but the problem is
I really don't know you
at all.

-~-

I go in the grocery store
from the other side
since we stopped living together.

so my tv broke the day I got the flat tire, last week? the week before. the tuesday before we left to drive to florida. yes. so, I come home and it turns on, but all I can see is the bottom half of the screen. turns out camera folk are quite consistent - it was the same man pecs, at the same distance, and the same saggy housewife boobs. I think I wrote about that already. anyways, apparently howie day has a video out for "collide".

I saw the bottom half. there was a chick and he was on a train, and sometimes he played guitar.

so today, taking prompts from the one of freakish voluminousness, I too "rearranged my desktop". the top of my desk, the whole living room in fact. including wheeling the broken tv away into the spare room until I can figure out how the fuck to pick it up to dispose of it. it's monstrous, it used to be in my parents' living room. and two days ago I cut my hair. and my refrigerator looks like a cooking show - I didn't know I would ever want so many vegetables.

and, here I sit, almost midnight on a saturday, with no tv in my living room. I'm not totally deprived, I kept the first 11 channels of cable on the bedroom tv. so, like, if the world is ending or something, I'll be able to see it on the news. (plus I didn't want to cut myself off completely. I am powerless over television and my life has become unmanageable. so it's like quitting crack, but keeping a bag of weed just in case.)

and it's forcing me to be here. to be. here.

I have some cds to load in, and I have to set up karma #2 after karma #1 starting just putting out from one side. dirty slut. and I should post the frames / mark geary show, but... I want to be in a good place to post that. and I'm not in a bad place, I just feel a little displaced. and strange. but rilke talks about that, being in love and being totally alone and how we'd be displaced at the grand canyon all by ourselves too but that wouldn't mean it wasn't beautiful.

so tonight was strange. sorry for word re-use. I went to the space, anne heaton was opening up for mighty purple. mighty purple is leaving on tour, opening up for the samples. the samples, in case you don't know, are a shitty band from colorado that think they're a national act. in any case, it gives mp some exposure, which they have worked hard for, and I felt obligated to stay past anne.

I'm having a kristin moment, do I write the truth or do I edit for fear of who might stumble across this entry? fuck it.

tonight made me feel like I need to move away. I'm at the space. again. steve is singing. again. but it's the same songs, and the new ones are so basic and un... commanding. there was a time when mighty purple was commanding. you couldn't not listen. like when I listen to I'm wide awake it's morning, I can't write or hold a conversation. I can barely doodle. you have to listen to it. and tonight, it was the same songs in a room full of strangers and steve looked old. and I wanted so much to stay, in hopes of prelude or something, but even jon looked... different. he wasn't making love to his guitar. and don't get me wrong, they sounded great, they are a great band, but it just didn't grab me tonight. I wanted steve to look ten years younger and for jon to be doing a solo project. I wanted to not feel fat trying on tshirts. I didn't know 98% of the poeple in the room and it just didn't fit anymore. it doesn't fit anymore.

it might have just been the moment, or lack thereof, but I doubt it. I would venture to say that there has been yet another shifting. like in a big ass continental plate way, so gradual you'd never know until you went to drive to a familiar place and you saw that the road was broken. detour signs and such, to the point where you wonder if you should even bother still going, because the drive was most of the fun of getting there.

is this making sense? kristin will understand. that makes it all alright.

so I got some anne heaton and I got to give jonny a bunch of cds I made, and maybe he will come home and sing "you should belong to me" and "this is the first day of my life" and "red right ankle" and "give me love". if that was my sole purpose, so be it. oh, and I met a cool photographer guy that had some shots of dashboard and a bunch of awesome bands. and I gave dave kone a miniature loaf of wonder bread, just because.

and I'm writing about it, and I'm awake about it. and that's got to count for something, right? it has to. otherwise I am even more fucked than I already know about.

yeah yeah
na na na na na
yeah yeah
na na na
yeah yeah
na na na na na
yeah yeah
na na na na
naaaaaah.

hey ray liota! isn't it divine? not one iota of these are mine.

I am so, so addicted to all of my new music. I won't buy anything else for a little while, so it can sink in even futher - I almost hesitate to turn on john in the morning, because when I listen to it I keep this running list and then go groove on all these bands and forget about what I just stumbled across. but then, I would not have all of these were it not for (a) kristin, shea and the like and (b) john in the morning, in the morning - so maybe the machine needs to feed on itself.

either way, I'm swimming in the ocean at midnight under a starry sky and it's warm. here's what is floating to me from the stereo on the shore:

the frames burn the maps - this album is pissed off heartbreak straight out of ireland. number one recurring crack hit of the moment. I go to change it out of the car cd player, and put it back immediately.

lou barlow emoh - lou is stumbling through every relationship and feeling that I am currently experiencing, and expressing it so eloquently. a whole new level of not being alone with these things, straight from the lips of a man I've never met.

bright eyes I'm wide awake it's morning - the modern storyteller croons from a new york city sidewalk instead of a campfire. as I'm sure most reviewers put it, the boy is wise beyond his years. when it's on it distracts me from everything and commands my full attention. keep singing, my eyes are closed but I'm right here, I swear it...

the decemberists her majesty the decemberists and castaways and cutouts - wading through sinews and pantaloons, with snapshots of colin meloy's solo show between the lines. the girls I waited with outside the iron horse put it well: if you pee in your pants a little bit, it doesn't count. 'nuff said.

I love and am in the process of immersing in: yankee hotel foxtrot, the new keane (commercial but great), some iron and wine, and the story is in the soil one from bright eyes. so you see why I can't consume much else at the moment. except lots of steamed cauliflower. for some reason I can't get enough of it lately.

so more on all of these things to follow, I'm sure of it.

oh - and for anyone out there who may be wanting or lacking or experiencing some form spiritual malady that most people in shoes similar to mine happen across:

1. go out and get george harrison's greatest hits and load it into your computer.
2. rip "give me love" onto a cd all by itself.
3. now put it in your stereo and leave it there.
4. when you wake up in the morning, before you rush off to eat and shower and read and work and go to class, sit still on your floor in front of your speakers and listen to it. it's a good way to start your day.

you can't trust me on much, but you can trust me on this.

~vvb

it's time for you to go
I'm torn, listening to these stories
and writing about how I'll miss your
plastic stirrers and
double goodbyes

and there's people all around me
taking care of things
I feel lighter
since I met you
and today was all full of
deja vu
souveniers and snapshots
bruised feet and
avocados
like I'd never seen them before

coffeeshops are the oddest places
less than two bucks earns you
one of their spaces
homeless men
ivy league thinkers
lost souls
teenagers
and I am all of these...

in depriving I hope to find
so many new indulgencies
as much music
as I can hear
as many books
as I can read
as many shows
as I can see
but no new clothes
unless I scour for them first

I want you here forever
part of the time
the same way I want to see the beach
and the city
from the same spot
in my living room

I'm writing in the wrong book again. and since I'm mid-tour, since it's all the journey, since I change notebooks like underwear, maybe I should just stay here... leave until thursday, only to return? no, the seat is already warm, and I'm not leaving...

the book, it loves me. I can smell the lotion on my body now, mingling with espresso, candles and my raspberry tea. my horoscope gave good hopes for the coffin I'd wind up in to come from the tree that gets planted today and grows for a hundred more years.

in words, that is. you've already seen the pictures. the sights and sounds, feeling heavy, dreams, paradise and TB lingering in my notebook.

it's 8:30 on a tuesday night, there's a blizzard raging and my television is broken. oh, and glorious wondrous kristin sent me some live ray. all this, and some candian vanilla maple decaf tea.

does it get any better?

(ok, so it's just fantasy sentence, not necessarily of the day)

sing to me, by the old graveyard
'cause the easy is easy
till the easy gets hard

after 1400 miles of driving, eleven different states, a meeting in savannah, a meeting in south beach, and lots of talking, I have come to the following conclusions:

I really love the new frames album,
I am spiritually lacking,
I am completely addicted to starbucks,
and even long island glitters and glows in the nighttime when you are far above it.

poems, dreams, and other such whostrukjon to follow soon - give me a few days to let it sink in (and to let it flow out). I love all of you, every single one of you reading this, you are all threads in the fabric of my being.

~vvb (trying not to stab herself over not being able to see lou barlow at the iron horse last thursday due to aforementioned drive)

odelay.

(this is fun.)

stand aside. the bride collides, and strings sinews by the riverside.

(feel free to email suggestions, quotes, or just to tell me I'm crazy. in case you didn't know, it's perpetualbliss@volumefreak.com - I'm going to try for a sentence a day, pending internet access of course. this will last until the decemberists crack hits wear off...)

my television is broken. really. I'll try to load up a picture if I'm motivated.

picture a blank top half of the screen, so all you see are chests and torsos. announcer's pecs and saggy housewife boobs.

I think it's a night for singles in the dvd player. udub, anyone?

as I long for scooters and seventy degree days, kristin. I hate you. :) no, I love you endlessly. and I have to say that I also love. the. decemberists. almost as much as you and my parents. I can't stop listening to them. and in that addiction, I wind up fulfilling the rule of no band you're going to see in the 24 hours surrounding either side of the show. so the frames will be new and refreshing and full of sparkly shiny explosions.

so - my want for sitting here, as I pack for a quick trip to florida and back to transport a car. if there is a god, whatever it is, the organized randomness that grows the flowers and streaks the sunsets, it pulled up the emergency brake on the car that is my life today. while I was doing, I don't know, seventy-five in the left lane. snow and all.

see, I've been in the place of total decadence, and I wrapped it up a week or two ago. it kind of finished itself in cabo. I mean, everything. warm brownies right out of the pan, no regard for finances, masturbating in the afternoon, whatever the fuck I felt like doing. and it was kind of like cutting my hair (circa entries on the manual site this summer) which had to be done to fulfill some need I thought I had, or something I thought I was missing, when in reality it was just a confirmation that I wanted my hair long. but the whole time, the I-want-what-I-can't-have complex was screaming.

so, yeah. the decadence. it was fun, for like, five minutes.

and I woke up this morning broke and overweight. sixteen dollars in my checkbook, rent due, and none of my jeans fit the way they should. it was the kind of morning that would have driven me back to bed in my drinking days, or at the very least had me sobbing in my underwear with every stitch of clothing I owned piled on the floor around me. today, in my utter growth and maturity, I managed to leave for work (only an hour behind schedule, but hey, it was snowing, so I had that excuse at least) and after a few songs played I dialed eve. ready to stab myself, and then to get out of the car and stab everybody else.

now, this is where I love the sea of people around me that I have let into my very being, the people who know what makes me tick, and tock, and blush, and spin out of control. all of it. we determined that given the following, that if I had a few extra cookies and some shopping compulsions, that I really wasn't doing all that bad:

I am brushing up against 29, which means the end of my twenties, implying some type of "shouldn't I ___________ by now?" complex. (yes, starla, the beam is still strong, stronger than you and I even know...) I am in the process of getting divorced, and yesterday was my (former) wedding anniversary. I spent almost two weeks without meetings, which is not something anyone told me was wrong, but as it turns out was something that wound up not working so well. oh, and yeah - I just changed my entire life. all of it. in my apartment, with my cat and my fish, after standing up and saying out loud that I wasn't sure if I should have gotten married. I liked a boy recently and it didn't work out, my job is getting more demanding, I'm financially insecure... oh, and the not-quite-yet ex-husband has a girlfriend. and did not bother to call on aforementioned former celebratory day.

he was probably banging her. my husband. with his girlfriend. is that sentence coming out of my mouth? what the fuck was I thinking?

okay, so we're getting somewhere. and in the midst of this and screaming out the window at the lunatics on the road, I run over what I think is a hunk of ice or dirty snow or something. immediately my car starts pulling to the right, and I'm like, um, eve, I think I have a flat tire, and we both determine it must be the snow I hit. only, I've had snow in my tire before, and this feels a little worse. I drive about three exits and pull up to the gas station on the highway. because of my beautiful day, I have also run out of gas, forgotten my coffee, etc. etc. etc.

I have a flat tire. now I start laughing at myself, because I really have nothing else left. eve comes, the AAA guy comes, and thankfully I have not done any damage, besides needing a new snow tire, and for once I have purchased the warranty, pretty much because the wonderful guys that I trust and adore at my local garage promised me I'd be glad that I did.

and I am. and you know what else I am? aware.

eve promptly dragged me off to the noon meeting, where somehow, I managed to talk about what my head was telling me. all those crazy things. and out of nowhere, I speak these words, these realizations - that I am an alcoholic for sure. and that in that state, not drinking (or smoking even), that I will act out however the fuck I can to fill that void. consuming - beverages, food, people... tangling myself up emotionally to distract me from what's happening in my real tangible life. spend all your money and bang the hot stranger. that'll keep you busy for a while, until you're broken on the floor and you can't button your new pants. see how good you feel then.

as my hair grows back and the car sits with its shiny new tire and I take a loan against my emergency fund, it all sinks in. I'm just so caught up with being alive, you know? I spent so much time lifeless and cold that I tried to take it all on at once. and I had to, to see what worked and what didn't.

so it's on to the next adventure, frames and a quick drive down the east coast. I should see if we can catch any shows on the way down. friday night should find us somewhere in between... and I must pay tribute to these little moments of perfection, to eve's help, and to donna's infinite wisdom when I rattled all of this off:

honey, it sounds like there was something for you to learn there, and whatever it is, you sure learned something.

how she sums up a forty minute rant in one sentence never ceases to amaze me. thank whatever god-type entity there is, in those swirling sunsets and blooming flora, for everything being as it should be. in the words of the boy's favorite quote, life is in the right.

always.