She was always amazed by the crowds when they were deep in the Magic.
She doubted him at the beginning of every set, but kept the faith as each note was released into the air.
The view from the stage was into a canyon of the universe, stars flashing, ablaze, repeatedly, supernovas dying and being reborn within the chaos.
Why were they taking pictures of him? And Them? Aka The Band, aka the Group, aka the Monsters, aka the Cash Cows, they were the same-even after 40 years. Minute differences in shading from one year to the next were unworthy of such careful documentation.
Walking through the crowds at the convention, she saw scrapbooks of their shared histories. Fans taking pictures side by side. A calendar montage from a movie from 1939. And a constant reminder of how the body and the soul age at different rates. Flip. Dorian Gray. Flip. Dorian Gray. Flip. Dorian Gray.
There was a spontaneous gathering and sing along in the lobby of the hotel. She watched from the balcony; bodies not accustomed to dancing freely, voices strong with song. Her camera froze them into rapturous statues.
She ran backstage to show him and the other guys. But he was bored. They were bored.
Even the Pope gets jaded.
The green room was Waiting for Godot.
She doubted him at the beginning of every set, but kept the faith as each note was released into the air.
The view from the stage was into a canyon of the universe, stars flashing, ablaze, repeatedly, supernovas dying and being reborn within the chaos.
Why were they taking pictures of him? And Them? Aka The Band, aka the Group, aka the Monsters, aka the Cash Cows, they were the same-even after 40 years. Minute differences in shading from one year to the next were unworthy of such careful documentation.
Walking through the crowds at the convention, she saw scrapbooks of their shared histories. Fans taking pictures side by side. A calendar montage from a movie from 1939. And a constant reminder of how the body and the soul age at different rates. Flip. Dorian Gray. Flip. Dorian Gray. Flip. Dorian Gray.
There was a spontaneous gathering and sing along in the lobby of the hotel. She watched from the balcony; bodies not accustomed to dancing freely, voices strong with song. Her camera froze them into rapturous statues.
She ran backstage to show him and the other guys. But he was bored. They were bored.
Even the Pope gets jaded.
The green room was Waiting for Godot.
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