it's 9:01 a.m., on 2001-06-25 - thom yorke's planet.

~

Impressions of Radiohead in vancouver:

--the hippie, flowers in her hair and a tye-dyed teeshirt, dancing her pants off to Dre, and thinking jesus, this is woodstock and we're being peace and free love to the beats of the street

--huddling in the bleachers over a piece of paper and thinking, exposure, exposure, I can't get to the stage, writing so small to try and be invisible

--Thom, gorgeous Thom Yorke moving so fluid, as if his arms and limbs and head were all on strings and the music snaps him back and forth

--all of a sudden, the *snap* and it's another world, like 'everything in its right place' has the potency to take the stage and make it shift, slide, churn

--Thom Yorke as a cult figurehead, the new god and the mesmerizing one

--Oz, talking to Cordelia about meeting Thom Yorke:

"You did NOT meet the lead singer of Radiohead!"

"Well, yeah, I did. He was cool. We hung out."

"Oh, yeah? Well, what did you do?"

"He taught me to play piano?"

"No."

"Well, okay, just one song."

"What song?"

"Chopsticks."

"So, what else did he teach you?"

And Oz would smirk to himself, and answer, "That's a secret."

--Cable, in mist and smoke and across a shift line that blurs the figure, leaves the impression, the shape

--the jungle, god, the jungle on-stage, a palm leaf hanging over Thom as he sang 'might be wrong'... or was it something off amnesiac?

I can't think of more. I need to sleep badly. I have a chance to see Neil Gaimen tomorrow if I call Jodi early enough, and I can't even spell Gaiman right now. Perhaps I shouldn't go-- I probably won't. I'd want him to sign a copy of something like the beginning to the Book of Dreams or Good Omens, and I don't have either readily available, and I *want* his new book, but I can't afford it right now.

The concert was good. I could have had more fun, but that has nothing to do with Radiohead. It has to do with the fact that, secretly and deep down, I *hate* outdoor shows with a passion because I can never see when I'm on the field, and the bleachers are always so goddamned far away.

--thousands and thousands of ant people, looking up to see a fluid yogic queen strumming madly on an acoustic guitar, jumping stage and mad

I have 'you do it to yourself' stuck in my head-- or is that called something else? I'm horrible with older song titles. They played 'might be wrong' and 'karma police' and many good things. But they didn't play 'anyone can play guitar' or 'you never wash up after yourself, and those are two of my favorite radiohead songs, for no reason. But they did play 'everything in its right place' and a bunch of stuff from the new albums, including 'idoteque' which was a sound and sight festival of fools and fabulous. Thom Yorke really is a whack job.

They didn't play 'creep'. I didn't really expect them to.

Love affair with Michael Stipe is still going strong-- I pictured him and Thom Yorke being crack-fiends together, rehearsing backstage one day.

~*~

That's all from last night-- this is being posted in the morning because I couldn't get to d-land last night. Broken d-land. Wah.

I don't have anything else to add, except that I feel like shit and I'm not going to see Gaiman. I'm going to stay in bed all day, and then watch the qaf finale at ten today. Exciting, I know.

I had new worlds yesterday. I have to recover.

~

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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015

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