Supposedly hard to describe, toujours dans la moment, but that was exactly good. Gaslamp Killer was a Jim Henson puppet gone ronin, respectfully. 12th Planet was a dubstep dervish, precise and yet delirious. Daedelus, whom I dimwittedly engaged with the axiomatic 'Montreal loves you.. that is, those parts of Montreal I could vouch for loves you. They're not quite all there, cause I'm here, but they love you!' to much fist-throbbed chest motion, is a composer.
It was all so achonological then, that it decries sense to try depict now, but... there was a moment when, purchasing a shooter, a lass dropped what may've innocently been a billfold. I stepped in and said, scuse me lady, but you dropped something. She looked down and said what? Gentle as I want to be, the room ever having corners with shadows with shapes in them, I say that. She looks at me like I am holding a grilled cheese in one hand and someone's scalp in the other, and teeters. Her friend pops up as I am in the midst of kicking the sanitary pad into the shadows - as a geniality mind you, not a spontaneously-educe-feminine-hygiene-products-from-your-friends service I've got going on the side - and withers my attempts to be conspiratorial. Fine. Time passes, much lots happens. And we're in a crowd. Lady-you-dropped-something rushes past again, somewhere in the midst of her early 20s entourage, and I wouldn't have noticed her except that she caught my arm in her open purse. Seriously. What would you have said? A lot came to mind. Belatedly.
Not much transpired from that, as even within an elapsed 50 seconds it seemed such a waste of moments otherwise human. Being with friends, and meeting theirs', and partaking of a disjointed engagement around the music.. ultimately that's what was. Though there's something in me that ever wants to share it... to hold it for someone in particular, or be there with them to spin it further. It feels like 'missing', but I'm not sure if this is so. I miss so many people, I know it can't be so. Perhaps the future?