I have spent enough time trying to get to know people, being pushed aside and forgotten, waiting for that invitation into their lives. I'm done. I've got beautiful people right beside me (which is a world of a difference compared to right in front of me). I'm grateful for this weekend.
"With all its sham,
drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy."
Tonight... saw Bahamas and Amy Millan & the Secret Weapon.
When I was in junior high, I started to read (but rarely post in) indecline.net -- which still exists, but for the most part has been moved over to spinternet.ca. -- Edmonton's music community. I would pour over pages of discussions, reading about 'local' bands I would never see, remembering names and members and faces and bars.
In senior high, I started going to hall shows in a neighboring town. I was at the front of every crowd, intrigued by what really was simply mediocre high school punk bands, and making friends* with traveling bands.
When I moved out, the walls of my first apartment (aka. dorm room) was plastered with show posters. In fact, I attended more concerts than handed in papers -- on time. I bought my first record player after my father refused to let me pack his vintage system to champ city with me. Almost two years ago, I was hired as a membership and door girl at the Starlite Room, one of the city's concert venues. I've worked my way up to serving and I have my own bartending night (Tuesdays!).
But I'm restless. I want more. I want this passion and this creation that I spend so much time watching from the outside. I want more than to listen and to move to the beat.
I want to stop falling in love with musicians. Fall in love with me.
* "making friends" may or may not mean sharing drinks and smoking doobs.
Come back to Edmonton. Stay. Party with me. My lover never came. This gypsy heart is lonely these days. Stay. Party with me. I'm not sure he is my lover. Take me with you. Take this heart out of the prairies. There is no love. Drop me off in the big city. A real big city. The night ends with a broken bottle. Or maybe it's just an empty bottle. A bit like my heart, I suppose. Stay. Take me with you. Party through the tough times.
I used to be a strong-willed girl. A strong-willed, wild girl following her own rationality. Chalk full of determination. Heart full of gold -- got to save the world!
Life has kept me a wild girl, but trials and tribulations have made me a strung-out girl, following her own reckless path. Dear drugs, please harden my heart. Please tarnish the gold.
I applied for to model for a nude calendar today. I am in love with strange beauty, with bodies that tell stories, instead of just being conventionally attractive. I am a strange beauty, a body that tells a scarred story of strength.
I am still a determined girl. Head-strong, high-strung, strong-willed, and scarred. But my body is not my heart.
I miss summer nights, kissed with alcohol's light lips. I miss the walking these city streets late at night, the street alive only with the echo of my steps. I miss bartending a quiet bar, where the music is the only thing we need. I miss sleeping in till the afternoon when the sunlight poured in through my window. I miss seeing colors, seeing light.
I must've looked different in the summer light, because I miss you, seeing me.