for the curious:
"it's summertime and the living is easy."

sweeping kansas summer sky and all existence feels itself flying on the very wings of the wind. brilliantly booming lightning storms a week or a day away; breezes lightly rustling the lengths of a few dresses bring not a scent of rain. an evening ripe to capture the raw power of man-made electricity.

"there's something happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear..."

ponder how to capture what escapes boundaries of sound and space with mere words? mind soaked and seeping of fresh knowledge, at first there is only a reeling, ringing dizziness. the senses are stunned at absolute freedom in thought; distractions no longer more than a nuisance. nothing deemed worthy of detracting from a pure and renewed state of mind.

…

the lines fill, brim with eager anticipation and wait to spill into a single space. cool people and calm exteriors do not betray beating—no, bursting—hearts holding hidden treasures. one step closer to security; don't let it get to you, man. they only want to hold a nazi party. let them play their game. not everyone is blessed with the will to follow a spark towards conscious awareness. humour their reality a short while.

dancing steps into a concrete concert hall constructed to withstand an F5, surely not built for acoustics, but from its center come the sounds of musical perfection: well-thought, well-played intelligent music. the band kinski must be the four lead members of some sort of kick-ass electric orchestra. (a definite add to my pandora. and projectplaylist. and life soundtrack.) rock on sister, your bow-work is so goddamn intriguing. slow friends are missing out on this phenomenon; most are seated, eyes fixated. the floor is quiet, relatively--heads trained on the indefinably operatic opener.

"i get by with a little help from my friends."

trembling at this point. mind racing in time with blood's beat. a trek for water to murder time through the set change. friends finally in tow and negotiated good seats. now they want drinks. Schnell! Schnell! slow docile sheeple crowd themselves around the scattered meccas of consumerism. pause unwillingly in line, wondering at how united meditation with environment is achieved with a greasy pizza held mid-way to mouth. sicken a little that couples can't stifle the need to spend on twin sets of t-shirts (cheaper online. oh well, let the posers pay for that expensive-looking light show. an exception here for new wardrobe staples purchased way prior to stage time; oh yeah, and kinski schwag.)

don't you understand what we're trying to make happen here?! if you're lost, kindly step out of the way for others with knowledge of the path. please, it's time to fucking hurry.

"lend me your ears..."

introspection is a dangerous thing. it twists and turns, not completely conscious and thus uncontrolled. deep meditative exercise is necessary daily, and still distractions force the unconscious into the mind's deep corners. all around there are signs of people feeding a personal I, Me, My schema. where's that fat security bitch on a power trip? ponder that some just stand there, sullen sodden stones. these are songs of revolution! patriots should be stomping out the rhythms of songs for the good fight. ambivalence and avoidant-agression in the few of this multitude infringe on attempts at a collective carpe diem.

certain herbaceous plantlife has calming, restorative effects. nearly two songs in, and this is no time to worry about drones. is this an imagined lag? sounds hit the ears twice and lock into a new synchronity. someone's not singing these melodies correctly; drunk mumbling muffles the impact of a vocalist eager to play. schism helps establish a basic level of communication as the screens slowly come to life. knowledge from previous experience prepares for rosetta stoned—just look and listen. silently lips form words; important bursts of sound tear forth at gripping verse. the crowd can no longer compete with the men molding both music and moment.

anticipation for right in two turns to disbelief at its actualization. defying limits of beauty and wisdom; simple in its truth. a skilled mind and hands wield the drums that strike power into this mantra while a twirling ouroboros graces the screens … wings/tenthousanddays unspeakably truthful, and yet still some refuse even an ounce of reverence. laser lights guide the inner eye to focus; sympathy turns to empathy for those willing to explore their own hearts: a shared pounding at the gate of heaven for all inspiring figures gone before. (a tear perhaps, or two, for a personal hero’s passing.)

“feel inspired to, fathom the power to, witness the beauty to…”

the familiar virtuousic opening notes of lateralus energize active participants in this consciousness-experiment; pushing towards awareness, all are caught up and lifted with the sheer force of sound in this attempt to spiral out. eyes riveted by the scene, mind opens wide …

“pull your head on out your head, please, and give a listen.”

vicarious may truly rival all other attempts at visual impact. white noise and green laser lights enclose the stage; justin and adam stare out as if caged. the band a visual parody of themselves—idolized, pedastalized entertainers calling the fans out on their bullshit: a life vicarious and falsely lived. a song not without hope: the information imparted forces a meaningful impetus to action for reflective listeners.

“some say the end is near…”

a single expectant shout from seating—aenima!; an immediate reply—f-a-n-tastic. (could he have heard …?) nothing more pertinent now than this farseeing, decade-old song; the world cannot abide this life of illness longer. fret for warming trends, fret for carbon emissions, fret for violent consumption and violent storms, fret for careless ambivalence, fret for all this trash, fret for recylables discarded thoughtlessly in the grass.