well there you fucking have it

i had the pleasure of witnessing uncle trent's very last ever clap/sing along the other night.

fuck.
fuck.
fuck.

(ftw!)

it was SO very good and i'm SO very glad i allowed myself to be prodded into dropping the change and going to a concert where i wouldn't be doing the barrier. (and 'twas a nails show, at that). like the idiot i am, i had allowed myself to forget how necessary this mildly squishy and solid-feeling music is for the health of my wilting glials. it makes me smell things and see things and may just be dangerous enough to require a warning label regarding its side-effects.
or effects, i haven't decided.

fuck.

at one point uncle trez was playing a tambourine with one hand and a mini xylophone with the other. it was pure rub-your-tummy-and-pat-your-head-at-the-same-time insanity. and he did it all with great mastery and style, as well. they played with sound like i've never heard before at a concert. it was just spectacular. when i saw the sound guy on the way out, i had to high-five him, because fuck yeah, motherfucker. their exit was well earned, four encores and all. my hands, red, stinging and puffy from clapping, nearly blistered right before the house lights came on and my voice still hasn't come back fully.

and now their live show is extinct like so many archaeopteryx. and i get it - i get why he had to stop. it's just strange and will be strange, but at least i'll have this to hold on to, for now until i lose the rest of what's left of my mind to booze and loose women.


you really think it would be better to have useful information here? fascinating.
i guess it's like how some people will never get star trek. there's just some people who will never understand.