Growing up in about a million look alike small towns, one of the things I enjoy in adulthood is diversity. I truly enjoy the individuality of people who have been cultivated in places where their individuality has been allowed to grow rather than repressed into the oneness of the Norman Rockwell painting.
Because of this urge to find the truly unique and cutivatedly different, my peer group is a montly crew of people. I have friends who dress up in suits, wear coveralls, wear the white uniform of the medical profession, are unemployed, are starving musicians, are punk, are heavy metal, are emo, are country, are conservative, are liberal, are straight, are gay, are somewhere in between. These wonderful people with their glorious blends of humanity have allowed me views on life my sheltered childhood prevented.
One of my favorite people is a professional body piercer. He also happens to be my own personal piercer. He is amazingly talented, and although humble, probably one of the top 10 in the nation. He looks like you would expect a piercer to look. He's kinda creepy looking. He has dreadlocks down past his waist. He has more tattoos than I've seen outside of a magazine. He is obviously pierced, but he also has an assortment of implants distorting the natural shape of his head and hands. And he is extremely intelligent. He knows the cultural significance of each of the markings on his body. He knows the historical beginnings of the art that he does, and what he does is art, any way you look at it. I don't like needles, but I adore this guy and have come to really enjoy what he does.
This weekend he did a suspension show. It's not his first suspension show, but it was the first performance show in front of a crowd in the area. There were some glitches, but all in all it was amazing. His set went off between a couple of bands. In theory the show was supposed to be about the bands, and his act was supposed to be the filler during set-up. But, he stole the show.
There were four bands. One of the bands simply sucked. They had put all of their artistic energy into the attempt to be as offensive as possible. And I have a pretty high tolerance for offensive. They weren't even artistic. They just sucked. The other three bands were pretty good. The cool thing about the other three bands is that the members of the bands kept mixing up and they all just played together. One of the lead singers...we're going to call him black fairy man (because he was dressed all in black including his black goth fairy wings) was clearly out of it.
During the suspension black fairy man kept acting like a spoiled child. It was like he was personally offended that the entire crowd wasn't watching him during the set change. He even went so far as to encourage the crowd to break down the barriers set up for the safety of the people suspending. All of that would have been marginally excusable but for the fact that it was obvious that the guy was completely fucked up at the time. Art is art, be it music or some other form. If you don't have enough respect for what you do to do it without stumbling around on the stage I have a hard time taking you seriously. Sorry.
That said, about 45 minutes later, as the really horrible band was playing, I was sitting in the back of the room with Ms. Twinkie watching the crowd bounce around. I was watching the "I'm too cool to be here" emo kids sit on the side of the room bobbing their heads to the bass. I watched the "I can't believe they bought the fake ID" kids clearly out of their element. I watched the "I'm WAY to fucking drunk to still be on my feet and I'm going to give a lap dance to the table" girl fall over when she forgot she was wearing heels. And I watched black fairy man stumble in.
He walked in from the back of the room, weaving and stumbling, trying to stay on his feet. The crowd was pushed up towards the stage, so there was a pretty good clear space towards the back. He wove his way towards the wall, held on to the wall for dear life, and then just slid down on to his ass and sat there. His pasty white face a beacon against the broken black wings smashed against the brick. We watched him, making sure he was still breathing. The crumpled mass of the leader of the crowd sitting, ignored, in the back of the room.
From my vantage I could see the crowd worshiping the stage. Thrashing their bodies in rhythm to the performing band. Backs turned on the developing scene inches behind them. Black fairy man likely didn't even know where he was. He had been drawn like a moth to the flame, back to the crowd. Back to the noise. Back to where he felt he belonged. But absent the microphone, absent the stage, absent the bright lights, he was nothing. Left isolated in the corner, laying in a pool of his own vomit.
Tomorrow I go back to the world of blond hair and navy suits. Of briefcases and nude stockings. Of American made cars and suburbs, and discussions of global economies and supreme court rulings. But are the worlds that much different? Once we take off the costumes, once we jump down from the stage, once the lights turn off and the microphone is taken away...we're really all the same. Searching for the place where we can be accepted. Searching for the people who won't leave us in the back of the room laying in a pool of our own vomit.
The imagery from that evening is extremely powerful. The complete relegation of control by those hooked and hung in the suspension. The hungry eyes of the performers searching for acceptance. The complete bottom of the black fairy man. And yet, the pictures all fit in the album of my life.
Because of this urge to find the truly unique and cutivatedly different, my peer group is a montly crew of people. I have friends who dress up in suits, wear coveralls, wear the white uniform of the medical profession, are unemployed, are starving musicians, are punk, are heavy metal, are emo, are country, are conservative, are liberal, are straight, are gay, are somewhere in between. These wonderful people with their glorious blends of humanity have allowed me views on life my sheltered childhood prevented.
One of my favorite people is a professional body piercer. He also happens to be my own personal piercer. He is amazingly talented, and although humble, probably one of the top 10 in the nation. He looks like you would expect a piercer to look. He's kinda creepy looking. He has dreadlocks down past his waist. He has more tattoos than I've seen outside of a magazine. He is obviously pierced, but he also has an assortment of implants distorting the natural shape of his head and hands. And he is extremely intelligent. He knows the cultural significance of each of the markings on his body. He knows the historical beginnings of the art that he does, and what he does is art, any way you look at it. I don't like needles, but I adore this guy and have come to really enjoy what he does.
This weekend he did a suspension show. It's not his first suspension show, but it was the first performance show in front of a crowd in the area. There were some glitches, but all in all it was amazing. His set went off between a couple of bands. In theory the show was supposed to be about the bands, and his act was supposed to be the filler during set-up. But, he stole the show.
There were four bands. One of the bands simply sucked. They had put all of their artistic energy into the attempt to be as offensive as possible. And I have a pretty high tolerance for offensive. They weren't even artistic. They just sucked. The other three bands were pretty good. The cool thing about the other three bands is that the members of the bands kept mixing up and they all just played together. One of the lead singers...we're going to call him black fairy man (because he was dressed all in black including his black goth fairy wings) was clearly out of it.
During the suspension black fairy man kept acting like a spoiled child. It was like he was personally offended that the entire crowd wasn't watching him during the set change. He even went so far as to encourage the crowd to break down the barriers set up for the safety of the people suspending. All of that would have been marginally excusable but for the fact that it was obvious that the guy was completely fucked up at the time. Art is art, be it music or some other form. If you don't have enough respect for what you do to do it without stumbling around on the stage I have a hard time taking you seriously. Sorry.
That said, about 45 minutes later, as the really horrible band was playing, I was sitting in the back of the room with Ms. Twinkie watching the crowd bounce around. I was watching the "I'm too cool to be here" emo kids sit on the side of the room bobbing their heads to the bass. I watched the "I can't believe they bought the fake ID" kids clearly out of their element. I watched the "I'm WAY to fucking drunk to still be on my feet and I'm going to give a lap dance to the table" girl fall over when she forgot she was wearing heels. And I watched black fairy man stumble in.
He walked in from the back of the room, weaving and stumbling, trying to stay on his feet. The crowd was pushed up towards the stage, so there was a pretty good clear space towards the back. He wove his way towards the wall, held on to the wall for dear life, and then just slid down on to his ass and sat there. His pasty white face a beacon against the broken black wings smashed against the brick. We watched him, making sure he was still breathing. The crumpled mass of the leader of the crowd sitting, ignored, in the back of the room.
From my vantage I could see the crowd worshiping the stage. Thrashing their bodies in rhythm to the performing band. Backs turned on the developing scene inches behind them. Black fairy man likely didn't even know where he was. He had been drawn like a moth to the flame, back to the crowd. Back to the noise. Back to where he felt he belonged. But absent the microphone, absent the stage, absent the bright lights, he was nothing. Left isolated in the corner, laying in a pool of his own vomit.
Tomorrow I go back to the world of blond hair and navy suits. Of briefcases and nude stockings. Of American made cars and suburbs, and discussions of global economies and supreme court rulings. But are the worlds that much different? Once we take off the costumes, once we jump down from the stage, once the lights turn off and the microphone is taken away...we're really all the same. Searching for the place where we can be accepted. Searching for the people who won't leave us in the back of the room laying in a pool of our own vomit.
The imagery from that evening is extremely powerful. The complete relegation of control by those hooked and hung in the suspension. The hungry eyes of the performers searching for acceptance. The complete bottom of the black fairy man. And yet, the pictures all fit in the album of my life.
PS. Thanks for letting me use your pic George.
3 comments:
This is a wonderful and well written post. Very well done.
I am infatuated with diversity as well. I like the "different" people. It sounded like a great experience.
Great post. I'm constantly amazed the numbers of diversity around here, if you know where to look of course.
OK...I have zero diversity in my life....I'm sad now.....
Great post, btw....fantastic image of black fairy man in the back of the room. Kinda makes you feel sorry for him.
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