As I stand amongst the crowd of jeering and cheering, sometimes over enthusiastic fans, being tossed about in a sea of limbs and seemingly endless energy, I can't help but feel like a stranger, an inferior or superior life form stranded on a mystical planet. A planet covered in substance smoke and artificial fog, smelling of dust and desire, a blend of pheromones mixing magically with the scents of body odor from a majority of unidentifiable people whom I may never see the likes of again.
Bright lights from cameras of all kinds manual, digital, and disposable, flashing sporadically, in and out of sequence with the crisp and daunting flash and click of the strobe lights making everything seem like a picture through my eyes never quite as crisp as the flash itself.
Life moves like a student made stop-motion animation, somewhat choppy and surreal, and by the end of the night, early Sunday morning as many stagger to their respective means of transport, (soaking in sweat, half of which is my own, the other half a strange combination that I will never know, and more than likely I never want to know), I walk somewhat gallantly to mine, somehow feeling more energetic and enigmatic than before the event, yet at the very same time with eye lids carrying the weight of the world, when meshed together give a sense of wistfulness, an airy and weightless sense of existence. It is at that moment that the entire world's oxymorons make perfect sense, while at the same time are cast away and fall into place becoming something almost tangible.
Only after the struggle to stay awake, during the long daunting drive home is over, do I feel at all like myself again. Once I am home I am welcomed with the comfort of warm blankets and clean sheets, a promised, and necessary, good nights sleep.
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i love the scene.
good for you, tho i must say i never feel lonely AT the concerts. wait, i take it back, there have been times. i like this style of poetic writing.