However... Tonight was Tool. I must say, I needed this. This commune with my god, music. I survived the entire show in the front five. At points, if I were to risk it, I could have touched the front railing, but knowing my arm would surely be snapped off and or maimed horribly, I never did, but still.... I was right there the whole time. [Why can't we not be sober? I just want to start this over.]
A moment before the lights went out I hated every single person there. Filled with misanthropic melancholy, I judged every pot smoking pierced drop out there, not as bad as capitalists, even worse, lazy capitalists. But when the lights went down and the rush of the crowd made the individual part of the whole, all judgements vanished. The music unified broken thoughts and fractured emotions, I was part of the sea of humanity, fumbling for sound footing and victim of it�s tide. [I wanna watch it go right in. Watch you flush it all away. Time to bring it down again. Don't just call me pessimist. Try and read between the lines. I can't imagine why you wouldn't Welcome any change, my friend. I wanna see it all come down.]
Two thirds through the show and I�m exhausted, beat up, and ultimately dehydrated. The crowd and the music take on a surreal quality, dream like and hazy. All the sudden the world of elbows and knuckles seem a distant and distorted reality. The only thing that filters through is the swaying and the music. When you�re in the front five, balance is non-existent. You never have sound footing, you are constantly falling with no place to fall. The experience is punctuated by this event or that, flying bodies, men screaming �Yoda�, you know.. the normal stuff. [Twirling round with this familiar parable. Spinning, weaving round each new experience. Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate this chance to be alive and breathing.]
The show ends and I�m exhausted and drained, face fixed with a look that can only be described as tortured peace.
Drunken phone call from Erica, the best kind if you ask me. How do I answer her question? I love questions from behind the armor, they please me like no others. Of course she must know she is the lightning. Silly questions, appreciated questions. [Seems like I've been here before. Seems so familiar. Seems like I'm slipping Into a dream within a dream. It's the way you whisper. It drags me under And takes me home.]
Paul seems to think it�s all a sham, a lie, Styrofoam floating on the sea of belief. Tool is playing Utah tomorrow, this cheapens the experience for him. This isn�t a singular display of passion and emotion, this is rehearsed and pre-packaged propaganda. [Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind. Withering my intuition, missing opportunities and I must Feed my will to feel my moment drawing way outside the lines.]
This is fine, my exception is more curiosity then concern. How can someone give this much on a daily basis unless it�s a lie? Just because I don�t understand doesn�t mean I didn�t feel the presence and appreciate what Maynard was able to give. Was this his best performance or as much passion that he could have put into the show? Of course not, but what he was able to give was appreciable. Yes, I�m sure it wears on a person to do the same thing over and over, photo copies of art isn�t art anymore? At some point you have to appreciate the original creation and be thankful for the glimpse of the genius. Yet I know Greed has become the most lucrative family value. �I want it all, for me, right now or it�s shit.�. I�m not greedy, I�ll take what little piece Maynard is willing to give and appreciate it for what it is, and I give my thanks to him and his band and those who support them in the many different ways that make a show come together. Tonight he was my therapist, my priest, and my persecutor. Tonight, for a short while, I was at peace. That means something to me.
[What was it like to see
The face of your own stability
Suddenly look away
Leaving you with the dead and hopeless?
Eleven and she was gone.
Eleven is when we waved good-bye.
Eleven is standing still,
Waiting for me to free him
By coming home.
Moving me with a sound.
Opening me within a gesture.
Drawing me down and in,
Showing me where it all began,
Eleven.
It took so long to realize that
You hold the light that's been leading me back home.
Under a dead ohio sky,
Eleven has been and will be waiting,
Defending his light,
And wondering...
Where the hell have I been?
Sleeping, lost, and numb.
So glad that I have found you.
I am wide awake and heading home.
Hold your light,
Eleven.
Lead me through each gentle step by step
By inch by loaded memory.
I'll move to heal
As soon as pain allows so we can
Reunite and both move on together.
Hold your light,
Eleven. Lead me through each gentle step by step
By inch by loaded memory
'Till one and one are one, eleven,
So glow, child, glow.
I'm heading back home.]