This is an email I wrote to a man I am amazed to know, the day after I saw Nine Inch Nails in Inglewood, California. It captured the images I saw perfectly, so I am including it here.
Just silliness, but I got to go see NIN last night at the Forum. Such
an odd conglomeration of things from my past... the sound engineer
leaning over his board, thrashing and banging his head as he got into
the music, just like my Drug Ex used to do. The sea of people opening
up into mosh pits below me. The smell of different types of weed, of
beer on the steps growing stale. Music of the past 20 years of my life
rumbling and stabbing through me. It was like I was at the Anti-Club
again, sitting in the corner writing bad poetry, staring at people
through my curtain of cigarette smoke and chickory-cinnamon coffee.
And it was like I was on stage again, the music singing only to me,
and through me, and I was the music and it was me, and there was
nothing. Nothing else and nothing. Alone in a bowl of 18,000 people.
Damned normal for me.
At one point the screens showed blood spatters on a wall. And the
music, the instrumental being played, had chiming bells over all...
and instead of the bells being in a minor key, they were in a major
key... happy... I don't know which song was being played, but it was
such an opposite, and it was perfect.
This might be the basis for my NaNo novel this year. I have a month and a week to go still, so who knows what dastardly tales will demand my attention between now and then. (Can you possibly be any more vague, Sydney? Well, yes... yes, I can.) The papers due for History and the start up of Sociology might derail my novelling this year, but at least that will be worthwhile.
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