Tomorrow when I’m sober and can spell without autocorrect z
It’s not exclusive.
There are no prerequisites or standards to get in.
Most of the pictures I saw were not of major acts.
I have the safety blanket of digital anonymity to shield me from the jeers.
Still, my stomach is upside down over the ONE (1) picture I added.
It’s like putting a piece of yourself on a pedestal for the entire world to judge. I don’t know why I’m so anxious, but I am. I honestly don’t even care, it bothers me that it bothers me. I don’t get it. I need to sleep. It’s not even the slightest bit relevant to my life. I’m rambling.
In Between Time: Something that I wrote because I woke up sad and everyone seems to hate Amanda Palmer these days ›
You know how sometimes you wake up in the morning and you feel good? And sometimes you wake up exhausted, and sometimes you wake up in love?
This morning I woke up sad. I woke up sad, but the first thing I heard was the chorus of Melody Dean. I’d burned a CD of Amanda Palmer/Dresden Dolls…
This is pretty spot on, and excellently written. Immediately after reading it, I felt the insatiable urge to listen to the song, and my mood elevated with the tempo and everything is right.
If you ever wondered where all the weird kids fit in or where they make friends, go to an Amanda Palmer show. Buy a cd. Read her blog. Search for her name on tumblr.
Enter that world with an open mind, and I dare you to try and feel unaccepted or out of place.
Then, when looking back on your intangible heroes, understand why her fans support her so faithfully.
Understand why people would happily lend a million plus dollars to an album project.
Understand why people are more than eager and willing to play at a show for free.
It’s not about money.
It’s not about fame.
It’s about art.
It’s about people.
It’s about life.
Come see me sometime!