there was a woman crying in starbucks this morning, and I could have sat down and written a whole book about it. from what she was saying to the man there with her, she didn't know what to do, and couldn't do something anymore. I don't know what the something was. my snap judgement of the situation, with her manicure and gas-guzzling suv and big diamond earrings and golden retriever kind of thing going on, would be that she was hiding underneath her stuff. people do that a lot. I used to do that a lot.
or maybe someone is dying or something, in which case I'd feel like a giant piece of shit for judging her. either way, I had this moment, of how starbucks - all of them - is a place we pass through regardless of what our lives are doing at the moment. on our way to and fro and we're breaking down and we stop for coffee. we meet up to love and wonder and confront and work, all inside these pumpkin colored walls, our feet on the same tile floors. she was crying in starbucks. I've cried in starbucks.
like I said, I could write a whole book about it.
on top of that there was a carcass on the side of the road, which is not unusual for I95, but today it looked like a dirty old stuffed animal that someone loved once, and wound up tossing aside, almost against their will. it's been rainy and grey out and - I don't know. I guess I could have written a book about that moment too.
I'm super sensitive and hyper aware. I've got blisters and jello legs and one of the things I need to be / not be doing is working / not not working while I'm at work. so I guess I should go.
~vvb
so things are looking up.
after much deliberation, much sleeping, much not answering the phone, and then much asking for help, there seems to be a crack in the cloud cover as of last night.
I've been going through this imbalance stage, where I'm jumping from thing to thing and just really not evening out at all. all one type of meeting, all... all all-or-nothing with everything. I've been told that it seems like I'm looking for something, which is true. I'm just not sure what. that part will take care of itself. anyway, the closest that I can come to the truth is that I'm dealing with the backlash of said imbalance, which I have already taken physical steps to correct. I started doing that about a week ago. but I'm still feeling the effects, like little aftershocks I suppose. so the prescribed remedy, to take care of the little things, is to look at them. there's a handful of things that I've been doing that I need to stop doing, and a handful of things that I haven't been doing that could use some doing. so I'm going to make some lists, check them twice, and see how it goes. more reports to follow, I'm sure.
of more important standing is the fact that a good friend of mine got drunk on friday. he'd been having some problems in his marriage, which he was sort of dealing with and sort of not. kind of going through some of the same exact stuff I was going through with george. the stuff that I think would have gotten me drunk eventually had I not had that breakdown in my driveway - he's got some of the same stuff, just in a different arena. and he's pulled away a little bit, I hadn't seen him at the meetings a lot of us go to as frequently, but I usually chalk that up to people being in a different rotation. anyway, he went to a concert on friday and got drunk. just like that. and he's already smoking crack, which was my biggest concern when I heard he drank, because he's more of a crackhead than he is a drunk.
I have to pause here to explain, to the perusing strangers, that we are not talking about robert downey jr. in less than zero, which I coincidentally was watching saturday night around 2 am. we are talking about a guy that started there and has worked a program for the last four years, has been in recovery and making use of a 12 step kind of life - with a wife, a house, a few suits, and a nice ride. not the guy sleeping in the park.
yet.
so we go from zero to sixty in one night. I'm assuming that, since he was high so quickly, that the crack probably happened on the way home, which proves the stuff they talk about in meetings about how we pick up right where we left off - it doesn't take another ten years to get as bad as it did.
and this all scares the shit out of me. we look back and go well, he wasn't doing this or that, because no one does it perfectly, and I wonder if I'm living the kind of life where people would say that about me. it's been a while since we - a bunch of us that have been sober for a few years - have taken a hit like this, not since sharon blew four years and sue blew seven has it happened so suddenly. but we all saw it coming, like the dream where you can't run, like being tied to the train tracks. slow motion accidents.
so I'm writing on a monday. I'm repairing, regenerating, getting by with a little help from my friends. sobbing, feeling, walking through things - and I've been to the gym three out of the last four mornings. I'm going to start a progress chart soon.
I'm glad that wine doesn't feel like drinking stars anymore. I've got kristin on the other end of the line for when I need to feel like that.
xo
~vvb
I don't know when it started. maybe some violent posts on rnr, which felt strange at the time, but grew to be acceptable. that's the only physical timeframe I can trace it back to - where I let out all this anger and judgement, knowing it was wrong, feeling uncomfortable, and doing it anyway.
fast forward to last night, sobbing in my car, completely unable to do anything but see the wrong in what everyone else is doing. and suddenly my life isn't okay anymore.
physically, things are fine. a little tight on money, but what else is new. I've gone to the gym two out of the last three mornings, with plans for tomorrow. I'm losing weight. I'm starting to get asked out sometimes. I am totally into all this music that I love, and I'm working on pulling photos together for open studios. yet, there's this impending sense of terror, coupled with being very hard on myself, coupled with wanting to sleep fifteen hours at a clip. I can't wait for cmj, but I feel like I'm not worthy of going - I feel like a total dork, what am I doing, who do I think I am... I've got some decent shots up for open studios, but I feel like my friends will just come because they've got to, because they're probably all talking about me anyways, because I can't stop being such an asshole. on top of all of this, I feel like I'm not home enough for my cat, I just got divorced, I'm getting older, and I'm not saving enough money for how much I'm making. in other words, I'm beating myself up, a lot, and I don't know how to stop.
now, logically, I know a lot of this is bullshit. the people close to me, when they have something to say about me, they call me up and say it. I've been a little irresponsible with money, and now I'm working on it. I'm doing something about my weight and physical health. I wake up a little early in the morning and lay there for a minute so cha cha can "do laundry" and bond with me. I buy her trader joe's mongol crab and tuna or whatever the fuck it is to make up for not being around enough. I've stopped ranting on craigslist. I've changed up my meeting schedule a little to get out of this gossip-full environment. I'm talking about this stuff, I'm writing...
I still can't figure out what to do with my hair. I think that's a bigger blow that I realize, having always had people complimenting me on my hair. it's almost like I took it away from myself to see where I stood. I'm not at my mom's as much as I feel I should be. my sister's kind of insane. everyone is getting laid but me. I've got a serious attitude problem, I've got these raging expectations, and I can't get off of my (futon) couch on days like today where I should be throwing in a load of laundry and making the rounds.
sometimes I hate it that I had found someone willing to overlook all this shit - because I left him. I can logically get into all the reasons I don't want to be with him, I still don't, I know that like I know my name - but it was nice sometimes to be a case and have my breakdowns and have the normal emoting not be followed up with, "and if I stay like this, I'm never going to find anyone" - even though I know it's not true. I'd rather be alone than be with someone who is with me because they feel bad or what have you.
I hope I'm being honest. I don't know how much of this makes sense, it's just - I'm at the point where I'm ready to stop talking because I don't know what the fuck is going to come out of my mouth. I'm hitting some kind of emotional bottom with something, I just don't know what. and even having woken up around noon, I could go back to sleep right now for hours (it's 3).
maybe I'm just tired of a lot of things. and maybe I have no idea what's actually wrong. all I know is that something changed, and while I can see that it's something that needs to change, I just can't figure out what the fuck I'm supposed to be doing about it.
maybe I should have gotten on the highway last night after all.
~vvb
because I went to the gym this morning. what.
with what I see, what jumps out and says hello, for that to translate so poorly at these live shows - it almost makes me not want to write (gasp!) because my photos have not captured what they are all capable of. so I'm posting in the gallery, and here's the summations:
1. the cloud room with pela and foreign born at the mercury lounge:
jesus fucking christ. there was the kexp gig that started the whole thing, then the mini-set at cafe nine, and then this. a full set of the cloud room, complete with sweating rock stars, spilled beer, and much photogenic momentry. totally mindblowing.
foreign born was a decent indie band, the lead singer strutting and shaking all over the stage like mick jagger. black and white lights. pela took us to the reds and blues... a bass player with a broken foot, perched on a stool, and a lead singer who looked like a football player - his outsides and insides just didn't match. when he really got going, this energy just exploded out of him, and you stood with your mouth open wondering where the hell this guy came from. we talked to him outside after his set and told him this, and he told us that he wanted to hear other people's symphonies. the mta worker, the cab driver, the girl walking down the street - what do they hear? what kind of music do they make inside? I fell in love with him a little bit, and he ambled away and sat on the sidewalk a few feet away from us to have a cigarette. unexpected and perfect.
and then, of course, full frontal cloud room chaos. I will venture to say that I have not seen such energy from a group of boys since - since I don't know what. I don't even have anything to compare it to. they just took over, up on stage, controlling the room... the music was tight and perfect and it flowed right through you, and it backed up j just right but was perfect alone, maybe like a well balanced wine, or that moment when you look in the mirror and all of the parts of you just say "yes" all at once. turn that up a hundred notches, those perfect moments, and do it at full volume for over a half hour. I was starstruck, stammered, and said a bunch of dumb stuff I'm sure. guys this on usually aren't so tangible, and there's jon partway into beautiful mess yelling to me from the side of the stage because he knew it was what I wanted to hear. my head was, is, and continues to explode.
as I type, chacha naps, curled in the middle of the air mattress, while I've got the stereo throwing out the barsuk compilation pretty damn loud, and I'm brought back to sleeping through band practice on the black couch.
so, on top of that, I managed to get some other great shots, feet and some other stuff. if you haven't seen the cloud room yet, get to a show immediately. if you can't get to see them live, buy the cd. buy ten of them and give them to all of your friends. blare beautiful mess as loud as it will go and thrash around in your kitchen. go.
2. the jon rodgers neuftet with kate callahan at the space:
this one I actually wrote nine pages about in my notebook, which I'm sure I'll have time to post from work tomorrow. bliss, and much holding up of the phone to send songs across the continent to kristin.
next.
3. death cab for cutie with the decemberists and stars, central park summerstage:
this was like, last week. and since then I've fallen madly for death cab. I think colin meloy has a girlfriend.
so we leave new haven pretty late, and when we get to central park and to where this show is, I fucking lose it. now, I'm not expecting simon and garfunkel capacity here, but I'm thinking that it's going to be pretty fucking big. bordering on whoa, or wow at least. what I got was a mere "that's it? are you kidding?" we walked into the stage part of the park and it maybe had a few thousand person capacity. two, three? five, tops. no, less than that. remember those shots at the shins show in the yale courtyard? a little bigger than that, with a better stage.
stars were good but under mic-ed and a little drowned out, but good and leaving me wanting. we pushed through the crowd to get closer for the decemberists, and were treated with a full set at the sun set and the day bled into nighttime. kacia turned around at one point and laughed out loud at me, because when colin meloy is just doing his colin meloy thing, I've got this huge grin on my face and I'm perpetually convinced that he's talking to and looking at me. I know he's not, of course, but a girl can dream, no? great set, having been to a full live show plus colin's solo gig, I was jaded and not expecting much for an outdoor show but they well exceeded my doubts. I've seen colin enough now to go, oh, they got haircuts - I'm going to get arrested for stalking. especially since they're coming to new haven.
as for death cab, the change happened yesterday, so the show echoed through the night from afar as I wandered around and wondered what it sounded like echoing through the park, to people who knew and people who didn't, among postcards and stickers and indie rock extravaganza everywhere you turned. I'd never survive on the west coast, these kids are just so trendy - at least for now, the low key of new england suits me, with the city waiting for me when I need her - arms open, dirt under her fingernails, but in a good way, like she was working on a really cool project or something. so I recognized a few songs, held the phone out when I remembered to, and caught the end of the set with encores from side stage. they had like a vip pen of sorts set up, with vip folding chairs and a vip port-a-potty. it had a light, and possibly an attendant inside to help you wipe. we were laughing hysterically at this point, all high with summertime and show, and were thrown to our feet dancing when the decemberists came on for the encore and rocked us through "you can go your own way". we were laughing and screaming and colin sang the second verse out of the corner of his mouth and we cheered for every moment. dirty feet and odd numbered streets, and a good time was had by all.
now go look at how poorly my photographs capture these moments (well, if it's thursday. if it's still wednesday, you'll have to come back and check it out tomorrow). if you're so inclined, I'm accepting donations so I can get a decent used digital slr at milford photo. or, if you happen to have one, I've got $420.00 to put down and I can make payments. just thought I'd put it out there.
*sigh*
with love and stage light goodness, and those few pictures that came out just right staring back,
~vvb
chair sold on CL: $200.00
bed bought on CL: $100.00
bed that doesn't fit resold on CL: $25
donation to charity walk: $25
desk sold on CL: $35
money spent on bingo sunday at foxwoods: $35
money won while playing bingo sunday at foxwoods: $0
additional funds lost while pauline was "checking out the casino" (which really means "I want to play blackjack but I'm going to call it something else"): $0
I'm up a mattress, some floorspace, and $100.00. currently I'm in search of a full size boxspring and frame, as well as a cheap desk. I'll keep you posted.
too bad the personals don't work this good.
blissfund-to-date: $420.71 (yowza!)
check out the calendar. apparently, I like to update on tuesdays. go figure.
~vvb
john in the morning is talking about his son's birthday coming up. things are renewing. there's the slightest promise of fall in the air, and this is the time last year when everything started to change.
I came home from work again, wondering how much longer I'd be able to keep it up for. hating the house, hating the garden, hating everything I'd acquired. all tangled up and wanting, but not knowing what. a few days later I sat him down and told him that I couldn't do this anymore. he thought I was talking about sleeping in or weeding. I meant being married. and you've seen the rest, from then to now, spilled out on these white pages as the cursor blinks, waiting. stories of The Boy and endless shows and awakenings and the church of charlie post and the camera and the things kristin has shown me. emotionally exploding, bursting at the seams (from absorbing everything) and all of it, all of it pulling together to form the now. and now. and now.
the divorce was finalized today. I knew we had to go to court, but I thought it was some kind of an appearance thing, with another date in a few weeks. but this was it. and it sort of snuck up on me. it was all very mechanical, we were third in a procession of broken couples, yes I signed that willingly, yes I think these decisions are fair and equitable, no I won't seek alimony in the future, thank you your honor, next case. it was like court tv - a little wood paneled room, maybe about a dozen seats in the back, and a no-nonsense black woman deciding the fate of our relationship. this is not where I thought I'd be in the first flushes of romance... going to the show, knowing his girlfriend wouldn't be there, spending what seemed like hours on the couch under the christmas lights talking. waiting for my song to be sung. knowing I shouldn't be wanting him, and doing it anyways. phone calls until 4 am, tired at work, smiling. first "I love yous" in the chaos, and then the unraveling. calls from karen, lies, creative slumber, being lost.
so I guess there's a progression to everything. but I didn't know it would feel like this. I stumbled down the stairs in tears, three dollars clenched in my fist, wondering what the fuck I was crying about because I don't want to be with him and I'm not sad. there's no underlying emotional garbage, I don't secretly wish we could have stayed, to be honest we never should have begun. and I sat and ate a granny smith apple in the sun with bloodshot eyes and it was like a movie, with locusts as loud it will go, merging into death cab as the cds shuffled forward. and I'm in my movie.
death cab really is truly and tremendously gorgeous, which I already knew, but today it went from my head to my heart and then into my veins. it took a tragedy to put it there, and then the driving was surreal, and the light was so strange, and the wind whipped my hair around and the sky was full of blue with clouds interrupting sometimes. and everyone else was driving too, wherever they were going with whatever was happening to them. and I still don't know what I was crying for.
pauline talks to me about how the ports weren't open, about ships caught in my bay. when I was sad for the words "your husband" and "my wife" today, and talked to matt for a while, I told him that maybe I was sad because I had a shot, at the happily ever after. he said, no, you didn't. you stopped doing something that wasn't working. which is against the grain of everything I know. I like to do the same thing, date the same guy, use the same nailpolish color, over and over and over expecting it to turn out differently somehow. and it never does. so maybe I sobbed for the unfamiliar, for the tortured poet taking a blow, for the change in view - I still can't quite figure it out.
and it's hard to write right now, I keep going back and changing and editing and I'm thinking about writing and swimming about bicycles. to think that maybe if I say it a particular way that I'll understand or that it will make more sense to you. I physically feel different right now, but it's not alone or afraid or everything I'd expect to be feeling. a little displaced. a little bit caught off guard. a little bit worried, a little bit alone, but not about him. I can't even engage in retail or other types of frivolous / unhealthy "therapy", because (a) I don't have the money to and (b) I know better.
I bought a nine dollar water bottle from starbucks. it helped.
for the first time since the beginning of this site, truly:
~vvb
cue kexp:
you seem so so out of context
in this gaudy apartment complex
a stranger with your door key
explaining that I am just visiting
and I am finally seeing
why I was the one worth leaving
the district sleeps alone tonight
after the bars turn out their lights
and send the autos swerving
into the loneliest evening
and I am finally seeing
why I was the one worth leaving
and it's like I've never heard it before. not like this.
often the city wakes up before I do. from where my bed is, next to the window, I can see the bright pink sunrise through old glass and gauzy curtains when the light stirs me awake. it's always fuzzy and it seems like a movie most days, I don't have my glasses on but it's always there just the same. I wonder where it will be when fall comes.
don't let me forget to post the cloud room show, the ten pages I wrote about jon rodgers, and how stars / decemberists / death cab goes on thursday.
is this really my life?
here's how cmj is shaping up:
monday 9/12 - friday 9/16: john in the morning, in the morning! from the museum of television and radio. in studio bands TBA but I know devin davis is one of them.
weds. 9/14: of montreal @ the knitting factory, aqueduct and john vanderslice and more @ the mercury lounge
thur. 9/15: early KEXP showcase @ pianos, prayers and tears (among others), evening @ the mercury lounge for the absolutely kosher showcase (I'm particularly jacked for jim yoshi pile-up and THE WRENS!!!) and silversun pickups @ ace of clubs.
fri. 9/16: cyhsh @ the mercury lounge, cary brothers @ the knitting factory, and more I'm sure...
sat. 9/17: benzos, 2pm @ rothko, amusement parks on fire and youth group @ the mercury lounge, and the sub pop showcase at the bowery ballroom (fruit bats, kinski, wolf parade...)
when I get the actual schedule, my head will probably explode. also looking forward to the cloud room, need new body, and who the fuck knows what else to wrap my mind around. the people, the city, the walking, the films, the panels, the fucking bliss of it - I won't sleep or eat for a week.
watch them be kidding about the pass.
~vvb
summer days at work listening to winter songs, sleepless and smiling, distracted and complete. the most important people to me are thousands of miles away and they understand every single word. the people closest to me can't always hear what I'm saying. but, maybe for just this morning, it's alright.
I knew ray lamontagne was coming to the hampton beach casino ballroom for quite some time now, and sarah has been prodding me to go - when she said it was about an hour from where she was, I thought the drive home would kill me. as it turns out, coming straight from new haven with no bostonian detours puts the drive at just over three hours. I discovered this at about two in the afternoon yesterday, and by three thirty I was speeding up the highway, internet ticket and directions on the seat beside me. welcome to my life. victoria, nice to meet you. hi.
right when the drive was getting endless it was over, and as I sparkled up my eyes and dutifully took lefts and rights I saw another sign that I didn't stop to photograph. I chalked it up for the ride back, but the highway took you a different route - it was one of those store signs up at the road, white plastic with lights behind, for some kind of furniture place. and where the one strip was for interchangable letters, it said simply SOFA*LOVE (which is the same amount of letters as LOVESEAT, but SOFA*LOVE makes it so much more to tug at your heartstrings, no?) and it's burned into my brain forever. if you take 107 to route 1 towards 101 east just over the border in new hampshire, it's on the left. send me a shot, will ya? thanks.
the hampton beach casino ballroom, contrary to popular belief, is not a casino. when I got off the exit, I don't know what I thought I was expecting, but it sure wasn't full blown beach shanty boardwalk town. with little tiny streets packed full of rooms for rent and sunglass stands, of fried dough and penny arcades, of summertime romance and sand in the bathrooms. it's august in hampton beach, and the sidewalks were alive with it. I saw the red letters on the forever changing sign above the entrance (think scrolling marquee held over the heads of the blue man group) and I knew that I had arrived.
(scurries up to entrance) "what time do doors open?"
"they're open already. do you have a ticket?"
"for sure." (rummaging in bag)
"you don't have a camera in there, do you?"
"no. absolutely not. my notebook, datebook, see?" (camera under filofax)
"you can't bring a bag that big in here."
"well, this is what I use as my bag, you know? really, I just drove almost four hours..."
"MIKE! can she bring this in?" (hollering up staircase)
"it's like, my bag, you know?"
"yah, whatever."
"yah, you can bring it in."
"sweet. thanks." (bounds up stairs)
once I reached the top of the wide carpeted staircase, I handed over my ticket and looked around in awe. the line of sight opened up into this huge cavernous place, with insanely high rafter-ish ceilings and rows and rows of little tables and chairs. then a chest high stage, wide open in front and waiting, and then rows and rows of tables and chairs on the other side. there must have been a few hundred people there already, and no one was standing up front. I resisted the urge to go stake out a spot, mostly because I didn't want to stand there alone. I sat down with a snapple and started fielding all of the "you're where?" calls. as it got to be about an hour before the show, one couple came up and stood up dead center in front of the railing in front of the stage. two more followed suit. then me, then a handful of people on either side of us, and in under a minute there was about thirty or forty people making up the first two rows. I did the usual: front row, stage right.
ray came out to introduce sarah blasko, and for a moment I thought that I had never seen a man look so god damn sexy. regular old levi's jeans and a paper thin light blue summertime buttondown shirt with the first two buttons undone. his hair is back to long and moppy now, and he spoke quietly and clearly to thank us for coming and to rave about sarah. he exited with a grin, telling us he'd see us in a while. I went weak in my knees. sarah took the stage to rescue me from my lovestruck fantasy, and won me over instantly. I was in her grips.
sarah blasko (dot com) is a picture perfect vintage foriegn gal with kate moss cheekbones and the purest clearest voice I'd ever heard. like a bell, like channeling bjork, with a pinch of portishead here and there. she stared off into the distance in her black high neck secretary's dress and sparkly little slippers. I want my bangs to do what hers do. she carried us through the forty minute set effortlessly and beautifully, and as is par for the course ended with Perfectly Strange Choice Of Cover Tunes - this time it was goodbye yellowbrick road. seriously, put bjork in her swan dress, sitting on the stage, with a guy doing some acoustic strummy backup to keep her in the lines of the song. when are you going to come down... when are you going to land... can you hear it? I know you can. listen to the accent. go there. it's okay, I'll wait.
are you back? good. wasn't that awesome? right on.
it seemed like a hundred thousand years went by between sarah's departure and ray's landing. it was about thirty five minutes, but by the time you hydrate, urinate, and relocate, about six minutes have passed. if you're lucky there's a line for the bathroom which maybe puts you at ten, and in any case it was a half hour of torture. smalltalk with the strangers, most at their first or second show, the heads and I talking about how this is four or five, the kid that saw ray in northampton the night after the paradise, and what we're hoping to hear. the screaming and stomping ensued after about a half an hour, and the lights dropped as ray ambled out onto the stage.
the set was perfect, bone chilling, goosebump inducing, sweet smiling madness. how come was slowed down and bathed in red light, with a lot of reverb and a dirty sexy feel. like sex and a dream and a little bit of tripping but not too much. it took everything I had not to fling myself at chris and ray's feet. here's the set list, which should be pretty accurate, you know, since I got it off the stage and everything (!!!).
3 solo (in no particular order, I believe were ali, one new one, and one I can't remember but it was one we know)
jolene
narrow escape
hold you in my arms
shelter
hannah
you should belong to me
trouble
how come
forever my friend
you got (about a girl named danielle who doesn't answer the phone, the thoughts won't leave him alone - loud and screaming and perfect)
somewhere in there was a new one with this perfect line, about cracked and dusty dime store lips / I've been to hell and back / so many times / I must admit / you kind of bore me - fucking brilliance. plus a few unlisted songs, bringing the total set to a toe-curling ninety minutes.
encore:
can I stay
all the wild horses (which he didn't play, but it's on the list)
I have to pause for a moment for those of you who have not had the bliss of seeing ray live, tortured by the studio madness which is good in its own right but still not what we experience at shows. see, the first ray I heard was an instudio on kexp, which prompted the paradise show and all the ensuing multi-venue goodness. he's got this amazing, amazing powerful voice live, he hollers and strums his heart out and gets weak in the knees when the notes really get going. his voice goes into your eyes and ears and mouth and gets into your blood and bones, it runs through you like a drug, like a perfect hit of something, bringing you to your knees, making you beg for more. but there's no bad side - he makes your heart sing, he brings you down and gets you high... and now, on top of all of those things, he is hands down The Sexiest Man In America. j from the cloud room has officially been dethroned... cue the brilliant love letters. really, anyone who can write, think, and sing like that should just be worshipped in every sense of the word. as long as, you know, it's cool with them. but ray's probably pining away for sarah blasko. I'm in love with her too.
I fucking fall in love with everyone I meet. I have to stop doing that.
so the set ended, and we screamed for an encore, and I single handedly shut up the audience with a big "just SHUT UP!" when everyone kept shushing. ray giggled. and can I stay floated through the air, off the stage, and the words landed in little piles around my wounded feet. I cried for things I'd lost and for loves that slipped out of my grasp, for what I haven't felt yet, and for the feeling of clumsy crushes and the adolescent fumbling of belts, buttons and bra straps that seems to be slipping away. but I held onto the railing and was comforted by being in ray's sight for a moment, in the great scope of everything, the dave matthews shows and the trips overseas - ray lamontagne, for a moment, looked at me and smiled. this instant, the whole show - it was worth every minute of the drive, every dollar of overpriced gas, and every bead of sweat. so should he ever come across this very moment, the best I could do would be simply to say thank you. so thank you, ray, wherever your tour has you landing today. Thank You.
I didn't want to stand in the big line that formed after the show, I always feel like it's such an obligation for them to stand there, and answer silly questions, hands outstretched for autographs and moments of uncomfortable silence. so for the last time until next time, I was within ten or fifteen feet of the man who sang the song at the perfect moment - the fall of my changing, the beginning of my cocoon, which I keep shedding and reforming and shedding again. the day of crying at my desk for everything I was afraid of, and the bliss of doing it anyway. sea breeze in my hair, matt pond PA softly through the speakers, peanut m & m's after the show for the ride home, and heartbreak. sweet, tender, post-show heartbreak, aching and blowing kisses at the ocean with the setlist in one hand and the hopes for the rest of my life in the other.
sigh. I should probably go back to work now.
~vvb
so I think that maybe I might be Figuring Some Things Out.
I don't know what an artist statement is, and I don't know what in the world I'd have on a resume about taking pictures, but in discussions with matt the wire guy, one thing did come up: that the pictures, in fact, take me.
now, don't think I'm crazy or anything. I'm not talking about some bizarre dream world where I exist in moving frames, like in the hewlett packard commercials. photographs dropping from the sky. it's more like... I think that this might be one of my things. every time I see something, and I go hey, that would make a great picture, and I don't stop the car, I can't help but wonder if it was put in front of me because I could capture it so perfectly. like these things that get put in my path, in my line of sight - it's like they're just for me. the cemetary sign I drive by every morning, broken and beaten and about to fall off the fence. the strange grammar on the window of the chinese grocery store. PARK in red letters on white background in the hot new haven night. they're burned into my brain, like moments that won't leave, like a shirt I didn't buy and now I can't stop thinking about. or at least that's the only similar feeling I can find right now.
so, yeah. so that's like, stuff I've been thinking about for a while.
~vvb
...I know I need unique new york.
charming my pants off, part two. in the steamy sultry august night, I stand in the middle of my silent street with ringing ears, full of chords and leftover sparkles. I feel... penetrated. with everything. things got through my skin and into my bones, these moments of intense energy at the show tonight, driving around the city without one shred of panic, the clear blue eyes of indie rock boys as we turned them down for a few drinks around the corner, and the photographs to prove it all. red lights blue lights dirty puddles feet and fences and yes.
for a few moments, I wanted to live there. but then I knew, somewhere deep inside, that new york would eat me alive. it's a nice place to visit and a better place to rock, but hanging my hat in new haven is suiting me just fine for now.
it's 2:40 am. the futon beckons.
~vvb
I haven't written in a few days, I have to write. I have to go sit and write. this usually does not take place from the comfort of the dozen or so walls that I currently reside in. no, it requires an out and a purpose and a place to not look at the dishes and lights yet to be hung, at the sink or the bed that I thought about making - now staring back at me. waiting.
I have to write.
today is anger, terror, fear, dissapointment...
today is also love, acceptance, helpfulness, and now.
right now is faux wood laminate chairs and built to spill.
as I run, little feet following big feet, my flip flops in the impressions her pink low-tops have left before me, I find myself suddenly plagued with luxury. What Do I Want To Do. what dreams do I want to fulfill. I wrote a list down today of a bunch of things that I like, am capable of, and want. I am a photographer in the mind of a writer in the body of a groupie in the office of a mortgage broker.
the woman on my front porch a few minutes ago wanted nothing more than to take it all in. I wanted to leave. she's living her dreams. in between beads of sweat I told her how she'd already helped me. she was thin and small and beautiful. she knew things. like strangers on a blind date know if they've found each other or not.
maybe I'm doing it already.
I've been pointing out so well how other people are living, getting tangled up with myself in the meantime. so much has changed. so much has gotten better. but then more has been required - the fine tuning, the subtleties...
(cue you were wrong / when you said / everything's going to be alright... through the coffeeshop speakers)
~~~
and as fate would have it , built to spill is going to be at toad's in october. how's that for a segway...
so I'm completely, utterly and a totally terrified about city wide open studios. this morning, that's where the sentence ended. scared to the point of being immobilized. so I scanned through all of my files and came up with about eighteen shots, shots that may quite possibly be fit for consumption. and now it's not so scary anymore. as I sit, storefront coffeeshop sidewalk, curled up across two chairs. there is a hypersensitivity about everything. an ultra-awareness, an absolute moment-being-in-wondrousness. at the same time there's almost a paranoia about everything that might be: here, not here, will I see everything I want before I die, will it all go flying by me, do I have the balls to do anything about any of it, really - it's hard not to fall back into old mindsets, that everyone else knows what's going on but you, who do you think you are anyways, etc. etc. I could sleep all the time but I hate that feeling that I'm missing everything, but still - I'd love the sleep. we're going to have to go inside once the weather turns cold, and my furniture will get reduced to piles of shelving. I don't want these things anymore. I don't want to keep focusing on things that don't matter, and the less I have, the less I can do (in the good way). I cleaned my entire apartment in about twenty minutes. I don't need to buy anything, really. except maybe some pants when fall comes.
I put my fucking photos together. I almost can't believe it. now I think that something's wrong, they're the wrong shots - fuck it. it's all bullshit. I'm fucking doing this, dammit.
and it's a perfect saturday. it can't be more than seventy five degrees, shade, breeze - footsies and the paper would be nice.
but it's no longer a requirement.
~vvb
