Robert Pollard--Dancing Girls and Dancing Men

Elliott Brood--Second Son

The Mink Troubadour Kamikaze Squadron--Underpants

The Ballet--In My Head

"I believe in love, I'm married to my work"

I saw Voxtrot in concert again. They were fabulous. I got to go for free through KVRX, so that was pretty nice; I'm really glad I've got this chance to expand my circle of influence and being influenced for little money. Because, life is more than what you think it is. And, it is exactly what it is. The show was a mess of trendy kids and pretty people and costumed characters and perfect underground. Live music and concerts and venues are what I live for. I live for stickers on walls and bright colours and messy hair and cigarette smoke and laughing and dancing and lights and undeniable rythmns. Shaun and Jason were there, too. It was so much fun. I can't leave a concert in a bad mood, or tired, or thinking of anything except dancing and life and the fullness of the world with music. It was a good night. There is the important thing. Among so many things that could be said, this is the main one.

"One day you will learn there is some beauty in the thing that makes you sweat"

On another night we ate pancakes. I brought some out of the ordinary people, because I am not content with the same thing forever. Remind yourself of that: do not be content with sameness forever. Take the good and add more good. This is what to do. Avoid stagnation. I love new people. I love friends. I love characters. It was a good night. Continued by coffee and a gay party. And dancing. And gay people and costumes and ridiculous boys and new identities and powerful dance music and one cup of punch too many.

I'm a freelance hobo.

I'm a wild success. I'm a raging diplomat. I feel like I'm drowning. I see the world in lines and waves and webs, each action and reaction holding fast to gossamer-thin strands of thought and memory and notion. The illogical doesn't need to become legitimate; it's the logical processes that have common mistaken identities. The shapes and thoughts and sounds and ways of music and words is what gets me. I get drawn in by sounds, patterns, conflagarations of melody and shape. The rythmn and cadence of life keeps me up at night. I get filled by mornings and sunrises and light patterns. I'm caught up in flickering light patterns, colours, shapes, lights, movements. Just how great it is to see! To see and be and exist. That is what matters; not all the other stuff. How fascinating and interesting and totally worth everything is the way shadows form? To lay in the grass and look up at the underside of a tree canopy as the sun is shining through it (hitting your face with warmth), and the wind is whispering the leaves together, making them switch and interchange. To see light and rain and sun and to feel rythmn in your toes and feet and pants and hair. To feel pictures and lush landscapes of sound.

Words for me are like a wonderful language. How strange it is that they are language, really, and yet so many people don't feel them the same way! Words are a pattern. Words are a language in the same way that music notes or math problems can be language. They are interacting parts of patterns that come together and make increasing sense. They are little links in long chains of reason. The plays between these little words, and those phrases, and the harmony and melody and rythmn and pitch of verse and prose are some lovely creature. They connect in little ways that throw back, echo, and pay tribute to those before them. Jazz pianists may throw in a little tribute to one of their greatest influences whilst playing some improv Jazz; Milton may throw in humble tributes to those who he strives to emulate and surpass; we all try to work in the foundations of ourselves into the product of ourselves.

Because: in the end, what we've done influences who we are, but what we will do influences what we are. "If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am for myself alone, what am I? And if not now, when?" - Rabbi Hillel

I feel the skies turning overhead, while down here we sleep and talk and eat and the wheel of time pushes us always onward.

Wots all this, then?