flowing like poetic wine

Tomorrow Jeff leaves for Japan. Today I’m to meet up with him at Joe’s for 2, thus continuing my ‘hitting the Drive every day’ pattern. One week down. Yesterday I just squeaked in a visit by going to Wazubi’s for food after Rasputina.  I really think I need to move back there.  I talked to Chetan yesterday and hassled him to put the board back up at Sweet Cherabim.  It’s the place to find the sort of room for rent adverts that I answer. I hope friendship is enough leverage to move that rock.  I need to live somewhere barefeet can go to buy groceries, where I’ve got some memories. Hackysack circles, water balloons, coffeeshop backrooms, concerts in the park, parades at night. Spinning fire and Brenda.  A list of names to tie me to. A list of days to make me free.


Rasputina was last night at Sonar. I’ve never been there before, but I must say it’s a nice space. I would love to live somewhere with that set-up. There was horrible canned skater rockypop playing when we arrived. The opener was an odd choice. He opened brilliantly. A solo artist in a white suit, complete with caramel ribboned fedora,  playing the microphone to sound as if he was singing to us from an old record cut in the 1950’s. He didn’t live up to it. A middle aged crooner with uninspired lovesongs and an annoying penchant for twanging harshly on the one string that wasn’t tuned.  I appaluded when he left the stage. Then there was an unexpected fifteen minute break until when Rasputina finally made thier entrance. They made up for it.

They came through the crowd making room with thier cellos. Antique huzzah tunes swelled, and the crowds attention solidified onto the stage, not to look away until they were done. The music was stunning.  No space for dancing in that packed close sea of black, but oh! the music. The sheer swing and warmth of it! The lighting camera flashes with the crash of cello thunder. I was perched atop a stack speaker and so could see the stage. Melora and Zoey were beautiful and thier drummer simply skillful. They ended with a cover of Wish You Were Here that’s caught at me. I’m converted, a follower for life.

Ian is driving down to Seattle today to catch thier concert there and I dearly wish I could go with him. If it were tomorrow I would have said yes. I would toss away the Terracotta Warriors and flee to beauty. But tonight is Shane’s CD release party with Dominique and so it’s not to be. I dearly hope he gets to have his girl along. I told him to tie her up with licorice string and so by the time she’d eaten her way from her bonds, they would be almost to the border.