Their names are written on us, while we cross the almost desert lawn. It's waaay to early, but the sky is blue and the grass is shining. We lean on the fence, and the scene doesn't seem that far away. We're waiting for The Who, and I still can't believe it. People start gathering behind us, the first warm-up band plays unknown music in the sunset.
When the Counting Crows get on stage, the feeling somewhere near where the heart's supposed to be is really strange. I hadn't listened to any of their songs in a while, and "A Long December" comes as a real kick in the back of the head, bringing with it five years old memories, dragging them out of the closet and throwing them right in my face.
Some people start screaming. Someone turns off the sky, someone else turns on the stage lights. The crowd grows, the crowd screams. And there you go, Pete and Roger walk in on the stage. They do not appear from darkness, they don't come flying down from heaven. They just walk in. And I suddenly realize how our little stupid fence is miles and ages away from that scene. I try to grab the air, and the beating of my heart. But you can't touch dancing nerves.
They start. The music strikes the fluorescent petrol in which we're all floating. We get hit by it, time after time. Rogers's voice never gets covered by the screaming, ooh no. The voices of the crowd in the stadium take his vibrant tones and throw them up against the sky. The stars look at the music and soon realize that this kind of shining madness can only be human. So they throw it right back at us, song after song.
Orion is shining (upside down as always) right o'er the stage. Baba O Riley comes right after another song, totally unexpected. Notes from nothing. I've never really been religious but I've heard about people who can swear they've seen god, angels, and stuff. I think something similar happened there with the Music, and the idea that we all have an amazing unexplored ocean inside ourselves. As the organ starts to play it feels like there's just one voice, made out of all the screams. Just one heart beating, out of all the people. And that heart is beating inside my head.
Reign O'er me, You Better Bet. The night is long, the crowd is hungry. On the bus to the city center we all look pretty wasted. We have been inside a tornado, we just don't know it.
I think I've lost the fear of getting lost.
March 26, 2009
Through the windows of Auckland
The magic of all places is that they're never, ever
what you expect. I guess.
March 19, 2009
Rocket to a ghost
The brilliant Journalist: Have you ever had your heart broken?
The Ghost: I've never been in love.
[They look at each other for a long while, without moving any facial muscle at all. Than she smiles]
The Ghost: Of course I have, just like anybody else. Everybody's loved, cried, got a heart broken at some point. What is special is why those things have happened, and how. And "special" doesn't mean interesting for the rest of the world anyways. You have to have or find a reason for doing the things you do, you know...
The brilliant Journalist: Do you have a reason for everything you do?
The Ghost: You know what I saw today? There were a man and a woman sitting in the park, holding around each other. A little kid was running around them. It was almost dark but nobody cared, they all three just tasted the liquid honey of the night slipping down from the sky.
The brilliant Journalist: Do you believe in God?
The Ghost: I haven't slept for three days now, you know. They've kept us awake for a long time in Limbo, we're rebuilding the whole thing. We keep seeing these glass walls where all of our past reflects, running in a loop, day after day. No, why should I believe him?
The brilliant Journalist: I asked if you believe IN Him.
The Ghost : That's a dumb question. And the only reason for which you're asking it is because you're too afraid of answering the question yourself.
[The ghost smiles again]
The Ghost: I'd rather talk about the rugby league.
[But before the brilliant Journalist can think of any brilliant australian rugby-league name, the Ghost vanishes leaving him alone, holding a question mark in the hand. Question marks are beautiful. You can saw them, and wait 'til some question-mark plants grow big in your garden.]
[The silly lyric I'm listening to tonight is "Rocket took a lover", by Bell X1. It does make you fly.]
The Ghost: I've never been in love.
[They look at each other for a long while, without moving any facial muscle at all. Than she smiles]
The Ghost: Of course I have, just like anybody else. Everybody's loved, cried, got a heart broken at some point. What is special is why those things have happened, and how. And "special" doesn't mean interesting for the rest of the world anyways. You have to have or find a reason for doing the things you do, you know...
The brilliant Journalist: Do you have a reason for everything you do?
The Ghost: You know what I saw today? There were a man and a woman sitting in the park, holding around each other. A little kid was running around them. It was almost dark but nobody cared, they all three just tasted the liquid honey of the night slipping down from the sky.
The brilliant Journalist: Do you believe in God?
The Ghost: I haven't slept for three days now, you know. They've kept us awake for a long time in Limbo, we're rebuilding the whole thing. We keep seeing these glass walls where all of our past reflects, running in a loop, day after day. No, why should I believe him?
The brilliant Journalist: I asked if you believe IN Him.
The Ghost : That's a dumb question. And the only reason for which you're asking it is because you're too afraid of answering the question yourself.
[The ghost smiles again]
The Ghost: I'd rather talk about the rugby league.
[But before the brilliant Journalist can think of any brilliant australian rugby-league name, the Ghost vanishes leaving him alone, holding a question mark in the hand. Question marks are beautiful. You can saw them, and wait 'til some question-mark plants grow big in your garden.]
[The silly lyric I'm listening to tonight is "Rocket took a lover", by Bell X1. It does make you fly.]
March 18, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)