which is like, my new phrase. sunsets are epic and sweeping. bands, frozen moments in real time, snapshots - epic and sweeping. moments in songs. everything. it's my new favorite word. kristin's getting sick of it. but so many things are epic, you know? all vast and barely comprehendable.
I just got back from seeing phantom of the opera at the paramount, and I'm listening to eric's old Officially Emo Mix from a few years ago (before the emo kids knew they were emo, and the ones that did were indie before everyone went indie, eric was one of those guys) to kind of counteract the night. counterbalance. something. but yeah - that, my friends, was epic. the fucking bustles on the dresses were epic. I was (am) so wide open, you know, so every prolonged note, every angst-ridden moment, every sweeping gesture just pulled my heart right out of my chest. the phantom flung off his cape with a flourish, and it pulled me up straighter in my seat. christine hit the high notes, and my tears fell on cue. gloria thought it was great, and proceeded to have a conversation with me at intermission about how good it was that I felt everything, that I was into everything, all wide-eyed and childlike. it's funny, just meeting her and all, and how she holds the mirror up to me and is like, you have an honest joy for living. you don't take these experiences for granted. you're so awake to all of it, and I felt all shiny and glossy and loved. and I'm like, wow. you're talking about me. and she's like, maybe this is just who you are, victoria. and it hung in the air all heavy and good, like the velvet curtains all around, the kind with the smooth gold twisted rope to hold them back when they need holding back. I am not jaded. I am more than two percent magic, and so are you. so is everything.
the part came where the phantom takes christine in the boat for the first time, and the dry ice poured out perfectly on cue, spilling over the edge of the stage into the orchestra pit, and gloria goes, "I love dry ice." and I go, "it's not dry ice, gloria, it's magic." we just had had a conversation before that part about how you watch the show from the side and you see guitar players yelling to each other in the middle of a particularly - well, seemingly epic moment, and it becomes mechanical. the thrill evaporates just a smidge. and she proceeded to relate a story about one of her favorite things that had been bled of so much magic (and I really, really wish I could talk about it like I want to talk about the zen blizzards) and I talked about okkervil river and how it became a little less magic, and then in the same breath, I could be front row for phantom of the opera or front row for elliott brood at the tractor, and they both take my breath away just the same. I guess the thing that really gets to me is heart. when cheryl said that nick cave, after being a total fucking dick to her on the air, that it was worth it for those four songs - well, I didn't believe her. but I suppose dick and all, he must have heart. he had to have. at least for his own craft, if for nothing. I suppose in all cases it goes a long way.
I am so fucking tired. I want to get up early tomorrow and write but this edge of being sick is kicking the shit out of me. not to be confused with getting my socks knocked off every couple of days in the good way. it's just taking away that little extra thing that will get me up to go to caffe vita, or to even consider the gym before work - I was just falling into it and then the sick came. and now I just sleep like a rock, body all under repair - it's got to pass soon enough though. lots of handwashing. lots of airborne.
on that note, it's probably time for bed. I don't feel like expending the time or the energy to talk about how the romantic parts on the rooftop made me sad for raf and everything that got broken, and how when we watched it on broadway for my 30th birthday that I really thought we might be alright somehow. because it's time for all of that to be put to bed, eight weeks in seattle, probably about twelve out of the relationship. I will expend the time and energy to note how nice I looked tonight all dressed up, black pants and black collared tunic shirt - I even did my hair a little - because it's nice to put your best dressed self out there sometimes. it makes me want to do it every day, but then every day would be like, prom every day, and then it wouldn't be prom. night. at hater high.
yeah.
and because it's about to fade out into the back of whatever compartment it's in in my brain, elliott brood was fucking awesome, I can't stop talking about them, and I can't stop showing people the pictures. that's on the list for the weekend, with paying bills, post office, notarize the timeshare stuff, and probably meet gloria for coffee on sunday. it's hard to come up with ways your life is unmanageable when so much shit is so awesome.
epic. epic polaroids. I wonder if there could be such a thing. I think there can be.
it's Ben Gibbard Night tomorrow, complete with sushi and Fun With Sharpies. it's a Welcome Fall Fest. tour. crunchy foliage. apples. I left a bright red leaf on the table for kristin - I hope it's still bursting with color in the morning.
all reeling from the glitter and the bustles, the heartache and the masquerade -
VEvB
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