French From France

par emilio esteban


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& just like that, the music started.
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before I digress into the utterly random way TWO musical gigs fell into my lap unexpectedly, I would like to take a minute to personally shout out-out-out-out to a lady bird whose wings I can feel whirring from the distance of two provinces to the left. so, my dear queen, my thoughts are these on the subject of take-off:
fucking do it. run to the hills. run to the ends of the earth. run until you are out of breath. run in a zebra tshirt. run to test waters. run trips, races and routes. take a different path. navigate heartily. Exhale heavily. (twice as often if need be.) Go. and finally, to begrudgenly utilize the epitomy of slave labour: Just Do It. whatever it may be. even if you dont know what it is yet.

I say these things with utmost conviction while cruising a cough-drop high and bathing in memories. I say these things because, after looking through diary after diary of emochristmas past for lyrical inspiration in a time constraint, I know with certainty how the pangs of flight response manifest themselves. I was just soooo there; it hurts me how 'there' I was, actually.

but the blessings dear, they will be aplenty. because -eventually-
you get to look backwards in on yourself and finally be a spectator to the circus that was your life. you are able to finally laugh at the ingenue you once were and the things that used to make you cry. you will finally feel like the angst of your heart had merit and can be shared and cast uncensored. words that were dumb will spring forth unstuddered as they pour out before you. everything will be new for you. everything will be fresh. everything that had mattered will matter only in nostalgic content and used as a markstick; as penciled lines upon a wall.
the question peroid that preludes and follows such a run will be enormous and you know it. what should be crafted with all the changes? what should be cut or tucked, trimmed and built? what should be sheared off or added? what to express with a mouth that is stiff upper-lip'd and painted crimson? what parts of pain can be turned into a song? what would you have said? (god knows there are volumes and volumes of unspokenness which, had they been delivered in proper timing & dramatic flourish, could have changed the conversational course entirely) what can you express now instead, or as well as?

woah. on top of this I am making a mental list of things that I have learned and done that I couldnt of while standing still.
run. run. run. run. run away and ask the questions later.
-- ---- --- --- that is all I have to say about that. -----------------------

a couple days have gone since penning that & they were filled to the brim with activitiy and haste. At this moment I feel very similar to how I felt before the burlesque: half-worried about how to simultaneously conceal/show-off my brioche while dancing like it doesnt bother me; half-worried the indie kids of montreal with judge this spectacle (BUT half-knowing that they're blowing it anyway & it is easier than doing anything in front of winnipeg..), half-wondering why I got myself into the situation I am in the first place, but half-knowing that its going to be fiiiiiiiine as long as I have fun & a few beers beforehand...

Basically, the angsty panic at the moment is due to a friend from work who invited me to jam a little over a week ago; I agreed, excited to cowbell to my hearts content, but was told at the close of the sweaty-banged madness that there were TWO shows booked for the following thursday&sunday... & would I be the official cowbell/back up lady. woah. Other than said nerves (& a huuuuuuuge tambourine bruise on my leg) I am pretty excited. I have obviously never been a back-up singer nor in any sort of band-coalition during my twenty two years of life, so this could be a pretty neat experience to have; I will be proud when I am a nostalgically inclined vieulle dame. Plus, surely there will be a 'backstage' - which I am usually never a part of - and 'free beer' - which rules - on top of 'a cut from the door' - $ is a good incentive.
So what the hell? a grolsch&guru down the hatch & I am out the door in dancing clothes..

alors, friends from winnipeg & otherwise, any mental 'cassez votre jambes' you wanna thorow this way over the next couple would be heartily appreciated, though surely I will have some sort of photog evidence of the events in question if I find a way to demeurely blog it. also, the bruise on my right leg is just so disgusting I have to show you:

ahhhhhhahaha GNNNNNAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLYYYYYY


yours in song, laura beeston