Under the Town

Last night I went to Ruby's Lounge and saw Holly Throsby, preceded by The Bittersweets and Ollie Brown from the Art of Fighting.

Since I arrived just after 8 and she came on stage at about 10:45, I had awhile to sketch and write. Here are some excerpts from my notebook:

"Sitting here at Ruby's - lone figure, single bar stool, small table adrift in a spacious room. It is dimly lit and slightly smoky, I listen absently as musicians test their sounds and count off - one, two, two, two.
Maybe I should feel lame but I kind of feel cool because I am alone. Noone knows me. Why I am here (though you can assume, of course, it's for the music) or what I am writing.
A cello that looks remarkably like my own sits on the stage at the feet of the double-bass player. Makes me realise I take my instrument too much for granted. Though of course I am not much good at playing it - should prolly work on that.
I love this rehearsal feel when snippets and melodies are sung and played while testing the levels. Holly seems sweet and sincere, open with her emotions through her music, yet unobtrusive with it. Must be an interesting girl. Woman.
I love the instruments everywhere. I love being alone. I am curious what - if any - fleeting thoughts are given to my solitary figure in the middle of the room, but I am not concerned by it. This feels freeing somehow. A relief in a way. I don't always know what to expect of myself.

Pick up the thread
of a distant
thought

fluttering,
drifting,
meandering by.

I held it, caught it,
captured it.

I wanted it but
now I don't know
why.

Introspection, baby,
this is
who I am.

gentle rhythm
soothes a
tired soul

this rustic beat
it echoes
in my blood, so

mild, melodic,
hypnotising.
this rhythm is my
role.

Like a picture postcard
frozen in my mind
your smile sees through
the heart of you
allows me to unwind

why verse,
when I don't dream in rhyme?

I enjoy the
randomness
of paper and pen

Thoughts meander, as
I keep track
of them

Truly random,
is that me?
my hand is heavy,
heart is dry.

This rhythmic beat
and husky tone
makes me write
in rhyme (and moan)