The good, the bad and the hideous

Yesterday was "joy and pride and happiness", and heart-bursting oompf. As a surprisingly wise woman said, yesterday was the crystalization of a year's worth of fascination. I have realized that this fascination has consumed me like a fever, but I have no reproaches for it or its effects whatsoever.

The "gig" started in the wee hours of the morning (11 o'clock O.o), but since senpai and I are ladies of great import and self-respect, we joyfully headed for a juicery first. Green slashes of something were floating around, and sparkling electricity-like and there was expectation, and lo, it was waning.... ummm... hmmmm... I wonder wonder wonder why.



We saw documentaries on Japanese pop culture, and they opened my eyes in a different direction. Are these people that put up a facade, then use methods such as pop art to break out, to seek release? Is it simply enjoyable and slightly therapeutic? How much love for simple things can be mimed, and how much of it is real? How can a whole people be soooo beautiful? They are, I have finally understood, aliens. They are a people of aliens that are spectacularly similar to Earthlings, and who have smoothly blended into our world, but the fascination and hypnotism is there, most definitely and painfully there. How, why?

The AMV projections were prod-buttock to the last. Though I had hoped to see Romanian-made AMVs, which have the great potential to be awe-inspiring, we were given winners of various contests. Still, the joy of sharing something which had been so intimate with a room full of people (and I /mean/ full) who were all vibrating on the same wave-length was delicious. It was also frightening. And wall-breaking.



The festival had three separate locations, each with its charm and goodies - the cosplay kicked severe ass, but the merchandise was a painful letdown. Well. The originality is to be praised, while the quality is still to be eyebrow-raised-at. Maybe next year. Maybe somewhere else. Maybe I'm not as fiercely proud as I should be of talented people that I happen to share a city with. Yeah, perhaps so.



I feel how bland the words are, but I cannot do this. I said I'd try, I'd drag it out of myself even if I had to break something in the process, but the emotions won't leave me and go on the page/screen. It's frustrating, but I cherish them all the more posessively the more I try to force them out. Bah.



The intervening trip around the old center was something that will stay with me for a long, long time. I will always be so so grateful, senpai, for wanting to be there, for agreeing to be there together, sharing the sights and the feelings, and thank you :). It would have been meaningless any other way. Because I've realized that, while I can't find my place in this world, and I can't find my roots half the time, what happened yesterday /is/ a world I would like to hide in, with you. For as long as we can.



At 9 we were at the club, waiting for the concert. I was already feeling apologetic for having dragged my two dear people there (I always always always will keep the feeling of "dragging", even if I'm not. But I am :)...) The pre-concert performance was so daring, and so unique, that it left a pleasant taste in my brain. People who are talented, and passionate, and courageous and creative. It's nice to find something to aspire to, even when there's next-to-zero chances you'll get there. Because it's the Road that makes the traveller, not the destination.

And then, with a delay of only 10 minutes, the Thing started. (oh, dear fellow Romanians - and I say it deprecatingly -, dear artists, care to take a hint? Oh beloved musicians such as Kumm, and the R.I.P. Urma, and LA and Travka, and all the other people I used to give my admiration to so hopefully, care to take a bloody hint? I guess not, because neither you nor the public were raised and instilled with that inherent respect towards your fans, towards the people who may have forsaken things, who may have gone to lengths, or may have simply come there to smoke a peaceful joint, in order to be there that particular night, to enjoy your music, to breathe with you, to move with you. We are sheep and you are all-mighty, but other people go through the trouble of being considerate to their public. What novelty, what daring! What a piece of shit.)

Two men, two beautiful men with beautiful costumes and beautiful music. And they /felt/ their music, they put on a show, even when the sonorizare SUCKED COCK, and the Suburbia people weren't all that bothered with it, of course, when the club was half-empty to begin with, and emptied even more after people started showing the performers the finger and started filing out. Rewind: people who have travelled the world, and come to a new public full of hope, with open hearts, come before a public that knows, or at least recognizes, their songs, and dances to them, and applauds to them, and they are shown the finger?! In what other Universe does that happen?!

But the songs and the performance were simply perfect. The kimonos, and the makeup, and the scenical movement, the involvement with the public, the effort to learn phrases in our language, the fact that they knew where they were (i.e: not Budapest, Romania, not Bucharest, Bulgaria, and other other other fuck-ups and permutations), at least /that/ should earn them some respect. Even if it's only circumstancial.

No? Then let's move on: the lyrics, the composition and programming, the smiles, the sweet shyness of 449 when he addressed the audience, the fucking /hot/ moment when Andro put his arm around 449's shoulders and they sang a piece together, their pleasure when they were called back for the first encore, the way they looked like they slightly could not believe it when they were called back for the /second/ encore. The fact that they found energy, after two hours of intense performance, to give a little bit more to a painfully small bunch of people. These are artists.

And I'm just a fan. A new-born fan, at that. With the surprise that they captured me with what they did on stage last night. So as lame as it may sound, thank you, Gothika, for last night's Suburbia performance. Just thank you :).




















The bad: my lungs and throat hurt and are incredibly sore. Intensive care in that department, coming up.

The ugly: E-mail forwarded to me, an e-mail from a person in China. Where there are currently around 29 000 estimated deaths. Twenty-nine thousand people dead. Where people are sleeping in the streets, for fear of more earthquakes. Shit. Fucking fucking shit. We're so helpless and fragile.