Sinister: drunk, and laying outside on the lawn, really, there's an end to this...

[Robyn Fadden]

um, yes, list, there is sadness afoot on the cdn west
coast,
But perhaps it is sadness you can relate to. perhaps not.
here is the story, i will make it descriptive like the
teachers say to do: i've got my looper/flaming lips ticket
in the pocket of my shiny grey pants, i've got my pink
t-shirt, i've got shiny hair. i've got the bus downtown.
all is well. i arrive at the commodore ballroom, recently
handed over in management to skanks and assholes who take
their jobs "seriously" and have decorated the once amazing
club in a not-quite-funky, but nice and non-offensive way
(fuck beige). and i check my coat. i sit down w/ friend and
drink. and stare at a pulsing screen on stage. then some
band comes on. they are called the beans. they are okay, i
enjoy in the way someone enjoys something that comes before
one of one's favourite things. 

then i wait a little more. 

then i move towards the stage. 

which is being set up for the flaming lips.

lights pulse, some guy sets up a ladder and does something
in the rafters. a pattern of sound comes up from the crowd,
and i listen to it, discover a number of patterns. without
headphones because they ran out of those. and without
looper t-shirt because they didn't bring t-shirts across
the boarder. then flaming lips come on. they throw confetti
on the crowd. it is like snow. but i am confused. i did not
read the signs out front. i am covered in confetti. looper
did not get past the border. or something. or whatever.
they are not playing. 

i know not everyone likes looper. i like looper. i have to
admit my sadness. and the sadness of others, sitting back
in the club, spending their looper t-shirt money on double
rye and cokes. i have a conversation with the bartender
who, like all good bartenders, understands my sadness, asks
my name and shakes my hand. it's what it's about. the
confetti is bound to become a soggy mess in my hair in the
shower; it's imbedded. i stay anyway. i feel like a kid,
all spoiled, and think i should enjoy myself, but it's
really much more like i just broke up mutually with a
boyfriend of two to three months. a sadness you know you'll
get over, but still, it could have been good, it could have
been a lot of things.

mm. i had to tell someone. you know it. i'll be better
soon. i'm no critic, i'm fully subjective. i didn't hate
it, i stayed, i kept the beat, i thought about music. then
i said, fuck. 

at least i smelled good, expensive perfume from the day's
excursions into posh stores. rah! 
and rah! glamour! my lipstick wore off fast...
o-kay, it's fine. i'm o----kay.
there was a gong. someone kept saying "smash!" But i kept
standing still with confetti on my shoulders, thinking
about snow days, playing supermariobros all day in 1988.

so that's the long way round to the end of this message,
but radio escapade is now playing smiths "last night i
dreamt...",
oh fuck, yeah,
it's like the music at a film's credits, except it's my
night. it's not my life though, getting down to brass
tacks, dick slaps, it's an old story.

sorry, i'm a sentimental fool. it'll all be fine in a few
days, it all comes back to you in the end... 
please, enjoy looper double for me if you see them. 
and, oooh, how can one not be happy when canada has a new
political party? the "small c conservatives"! kiss my ass,
politics, i laugh in your face.
but really, honestly, phew, it's life,
so love,
Robyn



=====
I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything. ~Steven Wright
~~~
Robyn Fadden    rfadden at yahoo.com    Vancouver, BC

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