Surreal
I have never seen pocket watches melt in the desert, but Monday night I experienced the surreal. Because suddenly in the middle of a blowing, chilly wasteland, there were guitars. They were loud and brawling to hold this stage, this scene together. Heaving down on one side of them were drums and a booming saxophone. Lifitng up on the other side and smoothing with desperation were a piano, an organ and violin. The tumult, the synesthetic stew demanded, where does it end and where does it begin again? Struggling for an answer, the guitars dripped sweat. I swear I saw it.
Somewhere on the edges of this appearance, there may have been more passive things. T-shirts and beer for sale on the horizontal rim and wealthy-containing boxes running way up the vertical. I have been told too that there were 20,000 other people in the general vicinity. I do not call such a statement a lie, but I cannot claim to have seen them. When one is the front row of a Bruce Springsteen concert, the world condenses and dramatically increases in speed. I can claim nothing for the experience except the experiencing.
May 18th, 2009 at 9:17 AM
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