Humans are friends. Not food.
The Emotron played a show in Brooklyn on Friday with Mose Giganticus and Belly Club. the show was at a place called Surrealestate in East Williamsburg.
I got there at 8pm but the show was not to start until 10pm. They were still building a stage and speakers for the big event. Time to kill.
Around the corner in the middle of what seems to be a warehouse district, there was a coffee shop/movie rental joint and tiny corner granola grocery.
Time to kill.
I chatted with CK. Time to kill.
I got some california roll at the grocery and inspected their granola organic wares. Time to kill.
I looked at all the titles at the coffee shop. Time to kill.
I got some hot chocolate. Time to kill.
I read a book in the stairwell. Time to kill.
I took a walk around the block in the dark.
I read on the street. Time to kill.
I went back and had some tea.
Time to kill.
At last, they arrived in their short bus fueled with veggie oil, full of gear, a mattress, six sleeping bags, band boys, and god knows what else.
The show was like nothing I have seen at a ticketmaster venue these days. The Emotron bringing his technicolor electro-shock-strip-punk gospel, Belly Club a rap duo with a fella at the laptop and a lady rapper channeling the Beastie Boys through a veggie fueled, pro-bike, granola feminista point of view, and Mose Giganticus rocking the keytar heavy and hard. Exactly, what's been missing from my life.
I sat on the couch after and caught up with KK. The life of a starving artist is hard knock indeed. Full of hunger and hustle, shady characters. Gawd. CK reminds me that these are his choices. And to be fair, he looks good.
It was good to see him. I am glad that he is still alive and shiny, whole souled. Were I a praying women I would ask that the road be merciful enough to keep him that way. As it is, I know that he can do this for himself.
Two people had their bags stolen at the show that nights, a purse and a fanny pack. It was my first exposure to crime in New York.
One of them was CF, roller derby queen and also of Sonic Death Rabbit, whose phone is gone but fortunately her gameboy was left behind. The gameboy is her instrument of choice for music. She had tales of being trapped in New York, shady promoters in LA, doormen who run off with the money, and the cutest little bike I've seen.
I also met MG. He asked me about my life and what I want for my life. What my ideal and happiest version of my life would be. I have been asked this often and asked this of myself as well. But so far have no satisfactory answer. He asked me what I have done with my life so far. I told him, only to have him ask me if I was lying. Apparently, the true story of my life is improbable. I asked him to tell me a tall tale version of his life which he did with great ease after which I had to agree with him that my life up to now has indeed taken some curious turns.
From that point on he would request lies of me only to find that I am terrible at it. Despite the interrogations and accusations of the brilliant and the powerful, I am not as skilled at it as I once was. These things take practice.
I slept on the floor with them. Cuz, I am not very smart. Ach. Sleeping bag on a cold concrete floor, I have not missed you. My hip bones have certainly not missed you. And you probably contributed to the plague that has since settled on my lungs. I don't really have the constitution of one who tours hardcore like that.
I got up eventually and met the girls for boozy brunch the next day. From one world to another and then back to my current reality, whatever/wherever that happens to be.