and your hands as utensils
i recalled seeing portishead live once.
it dawns on me that, i've seen many a band. many an artist. perform. hopefully pouring their hearts and souls out.
i'm a lucky chap.
but. portishead was a weird experience for me.
my head span all across its neurons. they lit up more than the stagelights at orange.
all i could think about, was the moment i retold the story of seeing them live. instead of enjoying the concert, i scanned for possible moments that might have spurred a known sensation, or feeling, that i could use to enhance my tall tale. that was such a weird manifestation of some thing that's been lurking in the back of my mind for a long time. we're obsessed with bragging about shit. sometimes, it might even turn out to be our only motivation for doing stuff. (yes i know i'm not only kind of repeating myself here, i'm my own plagiat)
i'll be damned. but. staying in the moment proved impossible. i was back home. telling this story to somebody who became rather jealous of me. that was the only thing that went through me and my mind, so i can't remember much of the concert.
what a spoiler.
if i ever were to gain weight, it's most certainly definitely due to all the beer i'm drinking.
