The Decagon - part 2
I had originally written this piece for largeprimenumbers.com, but it wasn't meant to be. I present you with part one of my Winter Dreams Trilogy. I never finished the third part, and I don't think I'll be posting the second part in The Decagon. I'm still not sure if I like it.
Winter Dreams
Part 1: the generator
A piece by Evan Kaigle
I hate gothic nurses. Don’t get me wrong, I love gothic nurses, but I don’t like it when I find myself lusting after fifteen year old girls dressed like gothic nurses on Halloween.
"I feel like such a bastard on Halloween, with like, all these lolitas around," I said to my companion as we rode down the escalator in the subway station.
She smiled a little and nodded.
The idea of a life-affirming experience is somewhat strange. We might walk out of a movie theater with a new lust for life; some of us may find it in an arcade or a rock and roll show; others find it with a pencil and an eraser, a paintbrush, or a guitar. It seems most cases of a life-affirming experience come in the form of entertainment. Something that’s not essential.
If that’s the case, do we live solely to be entertained?
At one point, I was walking on a beach with my older sister. A beach located about fifty feet away from her apartment. The sky looked like a blur of pastels. The ocean was an abnormally vibrant shade of blue. In the distance, a man could be seen fishing from the shore. It was a serene scene.
As we turned around to walk back to her apartment and continue our rigorous routine of watching television for the rest of the day, I started to think about something. I looked at my sister.
"You know, someday this entire beach will be gone. This sunset, and this beach, and these memories will be gone.". I didn’t say this. I wanted to. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs. At the time, I didn’t know why. Maybe there was never a reason. I don’t know.
The day that I packed in preparation to visit my older sister, I realized that I wouldn’t have room for my Super Nintendo. I really wanted to take it with me; I had made up my mind that I would finally beat Final Fantasy VI. I settled for stuffing my backpack with t-shirts, pants, socks, and underwear.
As I drove down the highway towards the bus station, I could see the ocean outside of my window. It was a bright, crisp, shade of blue.
"Isn’t the ocean supposed to reflect the color of the sky?" I thought to myself. It was cloudy outside.
I sat in the bus station and waited for the boarding call. A man with his right pant leg tucked into his boot walked by me. A few minutes later, a woman with her left pant leg tucked into her boot walked past the bench where I was sitting. Left Pant Leg obviously had some connection to her counterpart. What was it? Could it be some sort of signal?
The boarding call never came. I walked up to the ticket counter and asked the guy there if the bus to South Station was boarding yet.
"Uh…yeah, I…yeah, I guess so."
"Ok."
"…"
I went outside and walked towards the bus; out of the corner of my eye I swear I saw Left Pant Leg, lurking. I got on the bus and gave the driver my ticket. The bus left thirty seconds later.
I had intentionally dressed somewhat light because I figured the bus ride would be cramped, and hot, and uncomfortable. Turned out that it was just really cold and uncomfortable. My dress coat wasn’t accomplishing anything in the warmth department.
It made me think about Japan. It made me realize that -from what I’ve read on this fine website- the Japanese, as a culture of people, like things to be hot. Their ramen, their subway trains, their toilet seats. New England, above all things, is cold, and I was reminded of this by every cold train I rode on, and every freezing toilet seat I sat on.
The bus eventually stopped at a small park and ride area. One man was waiting there. He was dressed like a bus driver. The bus stopped. Our driver got up and unlocked an overhead storage locker. He took out a metal briefcase; a pair of handcuffs dangled from the handle. He handed the briefcase to the other "bus driver".
"Here you go, sir," Said our driver. The other man smiled and took the briefcase. Could this somehow be tied to Left Pant Leg?
I never grew up with the Super Nintendo. I had a Genesis. I had a Genesis, and yet I love the Super Nintendo more. The thought of sitting, secluded, in a little house by the sea, playing Final Fantasy VI for the better part of a week, warmed me. I liked that thought. It would never come to fruition, but I liked it.
Instead, I’d sit, on a giant couch, in a little house by the sea, with my fresh-from-a-root-canal older sister. I’d watch Trading Spaces for hours at a time, and then, later, I’d talk about Trading Spaces, simply because there was nothing else to talk about. I would even talk about it, days later, with my companion, as we rode the subway on Halloween.
"So I watched this episode of Trading Spaces where they like, hired these actors, and like, played this crazy prank on Doug, and that lady who fucks up every room she redesigns. It was fucking great."
"Yes."
She was the Cyan to my Sabin.
During my stay at that little house by the sea, I’d eat cookies and Doritos for breakfast, and barely warm delivery pizza for dinner.
I had finally arrived at South Station. I walked off the bus and rid myself of the two girls who had been sitting behind me and talking very loudly about their periods and library late fees. Obviously the two are related somehow.
Inside of the cold station, I sat down on a freezing metal bench. A girl was standing about thirty feet away from me.
"H-holy shit," I thought to myself. She was wearing black fishnets, and a miniskirt I think. I couldn’t be sure, though; the black jacket she was wearing was as long as whatever miniskirt she might have had on. For some reason I kept thinking she was going to walk over to me and start talking. An irrational fear on more than one level. Later I’d see her walking away with a plainly dressed middle-aged man. Huh.
A guy and a girl both sporting bleached hair, leather jackets, and tight black jeans, sat down next me. The guy did most of the talking. Philosophy or something. Used the term "think outside the box" a lot. The girl would occasionally nod her head, accompanied with a "mmm", or "oh". After the guy finished showing everyone how smart he was, the girl talked about her clumsy yet loveable father. The guy didn’t say anything, just nodded once or twice. They broke up a week later.
On the bus ride back from Boston, our driver would be an Indian man named Chandreskar. I sat right behind him, and we got to talking.
"Evan baby, you got a girlfriend?"
"Nah man, I should probably work on that, though."
"It’s real easy. Real easy."
"Oh yeah? Well…what do I do?"
"Hey now, Chandreskar can’t tell you all his secrets."
"You know, there really shouldn’t have to be a secret. Honestly"
"I love women because they’re the way they are. You need to do the same."
"I already do."
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a picture of a girl. He handed it to me. "What do you think?" he asked.
"This your bitch?"
"Yeah."
"She fine."
"You know it."
" Chandreskar, you think you can get me back home fast?"
"You kidding? Chandreskar do this for a living. Chandreskar built this highway. These other fools don’t know shit about driving."
My companion and I walked down a small path in the woods, talking about Trading Spaces, and how much editors suck. We also talked about the coming night. The setting sun backlit the already brightly colored leaves hanging from the trees, giving them a warm glow.
"People in the film industry call this time of day the ‘golden hour’, because the sun gives everything a healthy golden glow, and makes colors stand out. It’s kind of funny how the last rays of sunlight are the nicest; it’s like we don’t know what we have until it’s gone."
"Mmm."
"So there were these like, teenybopper kids on the commuter rail a few days ago, and this girl was all like ‘so I was reading this book that was making fun of gothic novels, but it was totally written like a gothic novel! That’s so genius!!’"
"Stupid bitch," muttered my companion.
"I know, I was getting ready to…"
"Don’t touch that plant!! It’ll give you a rash!"
"J-just by touching it??"”
"Yup!"
"Whew, well that was close. So I was watching Trading Spaces last night…"
…meanwhile!
"I want to see someone walk into their new room and just vomit instantly. That or throw themselves out of a window," I said to my sister. She was asleep. The painkillers must have kicked in. It was hot in the apartment. I was wrapped in a giant blanket, eating cookies. The setting sun poured in through the windows. Outside there was only dead silence.
In Boston, on Halloween, they randomly shut the lights off on subway trains. I imagine they do this in other cities as well. I don’t know why they do this, exactly; I guess it’s supposed to make for a spooky train ride or some shit. It causes teenage girls to scream, which I suppose brightens the lives of train conductors.
About an hour before we would ride haunted trains, my companion and I painted our nails black for the occasion. I was nervous. I always get nervous before potentially life-affirming situations. I knocked over the bottle of nail polish, sending it flying under a dresser.
"God dammit!" I yelled. "Fuck!"
"Don’t worry, it’s okay…jeez. It’s no big deal," said the girl next to me.
I bent over to pick up the nail polish, and knocked over a cup of water.
"Fuck!!"
When the Dresden Dolls walked onto the stage, the crowd of was already exhausted. Devotchka had already blown everyones' minds. My companion had finally gotten back from the bathroom after twenty minutes.
"So apparently I fainted," She said.
Devotchka were a band I had heard of, but never listened to until that night. I wasn’t prepared for their gypsy/punk/mariachi assault. Half of the dance floor turned into, well, a dance floor. When the band, with their faces painted like skulls, tore into a foot stomping chorus, people actually stomped their feet. A lot of people. Let me tell you, brothers and sisters, the floor shook like thunder.
The asshole from the camera crew who had said -with a smug smile- to his buddies "So, you guys like Devotchka?" now stood stunned, his eyes fixed on the band flailing wildly on the stage. The dancing grew more frenetic; sweat and heat filled the air. A girl stepped on my foot, and it barely registered because of the steel toe in my boot. She turned around and slapped me on the shoulder, laughing.
"I’m sorry!"
"It’s okay."
She skip-dashed back onto the dance floor, and glanced back at me. The only thing I could think was "What the fuck are you doing, you idiot? Go! Dance!".
At that moment, the lead singer of Devotchka, backed by a sad and gorgeous violin riff, summed up my thoughts of Halloween night, and the days and nights that had preceded it:
"This will end," he sang.
This club, and this music, and these memories will end. If everything was going to end, why wasn’t I dancing? Why couldn’t I let go of my inhibitions? I started to think about Final Fantasy VI; I started thinking that it was better that I hadn’t brought it, and my Super Nintendo with me. What if I had beaten it? What if I had watched the credits roll in that little house by the sea? More importantly, where was my friend? She had been in the bathroom forever. Had she secretly left? Was I bad company? Had she been kidnapped by Left Pant Leg? A few minutes after Devotchka were done with their set, she materialized out of the wall of bodies in front of me.
"So apparently I fainted."
MY SPOON IS TOO BIG
"Yeah, you need to play Silent Hill 4, it’s scary for all the reasons mentioned in that review you sent me."
"The story always intrigued the hell out of me."
"It’s really great. Very Freudian." She said "Freudian" and looked at me. "Would you…like to know more?"”
"U-um, sure."
What I imagine is the biggest plot twist in the game was then revealed to me. (It’s really no big deal…I shouldn’t have asked you to tell me more. However…my curiosity got the best of me.
"Want something to eat?" She asked.
"Sure."
She went downstairs, leaving me alone in her bedroom. The room was hot. The single light that was turned on glowed orange. Downstairs, I could hear a television being turned on, and the vague sound of a voice coming through the speakers. Dozens of Ladybugs crawled around on the ceiling, preparing for their winter hibernation. They would form tiny clusters in the corners of the ceiling, and sleep. I felt like sleeping too. The cold New England wind howled outside. I never wanted to be out in that wind again; I just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep, like the Ladybugs above me. Nothing would ever end again. That room would be my womb.
Yet, in spite of this, I stood up. I had seen something the night before that had made me realize that sometimes, in that wind, there’s hope. Sometimes, we have to put our comfort behind us; we have to do something knowing full well that it will come to an end.
I walked downstairs, and into the kitchen. On the counter, a bowl of soggy ramen and undercooked broccoli sat by its lonesome. I glanced at the bowl, and then at the girl. We made eye contact, yet didn’t say anything. Two grilled cheese sandwiches were frying merrily in a pan. When they were done, the girl picked one up with a spatula. It promptly flew off the spatula in a manner that defied logic.
I laughed.
"Shut the fuck up!" she yelled, half laughing. She picked up the tainted sandwich and threw it away. "Oh well, I guess I’ll just drown my sorrows in cream cheese," she said, reaching for a bagel.
When she got back from the bathroom, fresh from fainting, the Dresden Dolls walked onto the stage. Everyone was exhausted, but they cheered. We all cheered. Hundreds of us. Amanda Palmer, pianist/vocalist of the two person band, always called us "beautiful people", or, "lovely people".
"This is our exact five year anniversary, to the day," she said, and when we heard that, we cheered louder. No one danced when they played; they could only stand and watch, in amazement. Brian Viglione smashed on his drum kit with every ounce of strength in his body, and yet played with impossible proficiency. He would stand up and beat on the drums with so much energy and passion, that one of his drumsticks shattered, somehow sending a piece flying down his throat.
"Don’t worry, it only entered his lungs," said Amanda, as Brian stood on stage for a minute, coughing into a towel. We all laughed, and when they started playing again, we all stood in amazement again.
The Dresden Dolls opened their set with a song that would be perfect as an encore, and finished with a song that would be perfect as an opener. And as I stood there, watching a stage that burned with the glow of hundreds of lights. In a club that burned with the heat of hundreds of bodies. As I watched two people put every ounce of their soul into performing for us. As they began their set with an encore. I knew that ever so slightly, something inside of me was changing. This wasn’t just entertainment, this was something different. This needed to be seen. This was essential, and it always will be.
Evan Kaigle
11112005/5262006
Winter Dreams
Part 1: the generator
A piece by Evan Kaigle
I hate gothic nurses. Don’t get me wrong, I love gothic nurses, but I don’t like it when I find myself lusting after fifteen year old girls dressed like gothic nurses on Halloween.
"I feel like such a bastard on Halloween, with like, all these lolitas around," I said to my companion as we rode down the escalator in the subway station.
She smiled a little and nodded.
The idea of a life-affirming experience is somewhat strange. We might walk out of a movie theater with a new lust for life; some of us may find it in an arcade or a rock and roll show; others find it with a pencil and an eraser, a paintbrush, or a guitar. It seems most cases of a life-affirming experience come in the form of entertainment. Something that’s not essential.
If that’s the case, do we live solely to be entertained?
At one point, I was walking on a beach with my older sister. A beach located about fifty feet away from her apartment. The sky looked like a blur of pastels. The ocean was an abnormally vibrant shade of blue. In the distance, a man could be seen fishing from the shore. It was a serene scene.
As we turned around to walk back to her apartment and continue our rigorous routine of watching television for the rest of the day, I started to think about something. I looked at my sister.
"You know, someday this entire beach will be gone. This sunset, and this beach, and these memories will be gone.". I didn’t say this. I wanted to. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs. At the time, I didn’t know why. Maybe there was never a reason. I don’t know.
The day that I packed in preparation to visit my older sister, I realized that I wouldn’t have room for my Super Nintendo. I really wanted to take it with me; I had made up my mind that I would finally beat Final Fantasy VI. I settled for stuffing my backpack with t-shirts, pants, socks, and underwear.
As I drove down the highway towards the bus station, I could see the ocean outside of my window. It was a bright, crisp, shade of blue.
"Isn’t the ocean supposed to reflect the color of the sky?" I thought to myself. It was cloudy outside.
I sat in the bus station and waited for the boarding call. A man with his right pant leg tucked into his boot walked by me. A few minutes later, a woman with her left pant leg tucked into her boot walked past the bench where I was sitting. Left Pant Leg obviously had some connection to her counterpart. What was it? Could it be some sort of signal?
The boarding call never came. I walked up to the ticket counter and asked the guy there if the bus to South Station was boarding yet.
"Uh…yeah, I…yeah, I guess so."
"Ok."
"…"
I went outside and walked towards the bus; out of the corner of my eye I swear I saw Left Pant Leg, lurking. I got on the bus and gave the driver my ticket. The bus left thirty seconds later.
I had intentionally dressed somewhat light because I figured the bus ride would be cramped, and hot, and uncomfortable. Turned out that it was just really cold and uncomfortable. My dress coat wasn’t accomplishing anything in the warmth department.
It made me think about Japan. It made me realize that -from what I’ve read on this fine website- the Japanese, as a culture of people, like things to be hot. Their ramen, their subway trains, their toilet seats. New England, above all things, is cold, and I was reminded of this by every cold train I rode on, and every freezing toilet seat I sat on.
The bus eventually stopped at a small park and ride area. One man was waiting there. He was dressed like a bus driver. The bus stopped. Our driver got up and unlocked an overhead storage locker. He took out a metal briefcase; a pair of handcuffs dangled from the handle. He handed the briefcase to the other "bus driver".
"Here you go, sir," Said our driver. The other man smiled and took the briefcase. Could this somehow be tied to Left Pant Leg?
I never grew up with the Super Nintendo. I had a Genesis. I had a Genesis, and yet I love the Super Nintendo more. The thought of sitting, secluded, in a little house by the sea, playing Final Fantasy VI for the better part of a week, warmed me. I liked that thought. It would never come to fruition, but I liked it.
Instead, I’d sit, on a giant couch, in a little house by the sea, with my fresh-from-a-root-canal older sister. I’d watch Trading Spaces for hours at a time, and then, later, I’d talk about Trading Spaces, simply because there was nothing else to talk about. I would even talk about it, days later, with my companion, as we rode the subway on Halloween.
"So I watched this episode of Trading Spaces where they like, hired these actors, and like, played this crazy prank on Doug, and that lady who fucks up every room she redesigns. It was fucking great."
"Yes."
She was the Cyan to my Sabin.
During my stay at that little house by the sea, I’d eat cookies and Doritos for breakfast, and barely warm delivery pizza for dinner.
I had finally arrived at South Station. I walked off the bus and rid myself of the two girls who had been sitting behind me and talking very loudly about their periods and library late fees. Obviously the two are related somehow.
Inside of the cold station, I sat down on a freezing metal bench. A girl was standing about thirty feet away from me.
"H-holy shit," I thought to myself. She was wearing black fishnets, and a miniskirt I think. I couldn’t be sure, though; the black jacket she was wearing was as long as whatever miniskirt she might have had on. For some reason I kept thinking she was going to walk over to me and start talking. An irrational fear on more than one level. Later I’d see her walking away with a plainly dressed middle-aged man. Huh.
A guy and a girl both sporting bleached hair, leather jackets, and tight black jeans, sat down next me. The guy did most of the talking. Philosophy or something. Used the term "think outside the box" a lot. The girl would occasionally nod her head, accompanied with a "mmm", or "oh". After the guy finished showing everyone how smart he was, the girl talked about her clumsy yet loveable father. The guy didn’t say anything, just nodded once or twice. They broke up a week later.
On the bus ride back from Boston, our driver would be an Indian man named Chandreskar. I sat right behind him, and we got to talking.
"Evan baby, you got a girlfriend?"
"Nah man, I should probably work on that, though."
"It’s real easy. Real easy."
"Oh yeah? Well…what do I do?"
"Hey now, Chandreskar can’t tell you all his secrets."
"You know, there really shouldn’t have to be a secret. Honestly"
"I love women because they’re the way they are. You need to do the same."
"I already do."
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a picture of a girl. He handed it to me. "What do you think?" he asked.
"This your bitch?"
"Yeah."
"She fine."
"You know it."
" Chandreskar, you think you can get me back home fast?"
"You kidding? Chandreskar do this for a living. Chandreskar built this highway. These other fools don’t know shit about driving."
My companion and I walked down a small path in the woods, talking about Trading Spaces, and how much editors suck. We also talked about the coming night. The setting sun backlit the already brightly colored leaves hanging from the trees, giving them a warm glow.
"People in the film industry call this time of day the ‘golden hour’, because the sun gives everything a healthy golden glow, and makes colors stand out. It’s kind of funny how the last rays of sunlight are the nicest; it’s like we don’t know what we have until it’s gone."
"Mmm."
"So there were these like, teenybopper kids on the commuter rail a few days ago, and this girl was all like ‘so I was reading this book that was making fun of gothic novels, but it was totally written like a gothic novel! That’s so genius!!’"
"Stupid bitch," muttered my companion.
"I know, I was getting ready to…"
"Don’t touch that plant!! It’ll give you a rash!"
"J-just by touching it??"”
"Yup!"
"Whew, well that was close. So I was watching Trading Spaces last night…"
…meanwhile!
"I want to see someone walk into their new room and just vomit instantly. That or throw themselves out of a window," I said to my sister. She was asleep. The painkillers must have kicked in. It was hot in the apartment. I was wrapped in a giant blanket, eating cookies. The setting sun poured in through the windows. Outside there was only dead silence.
In Boston, on Halloween, they randomly shut the lights off on subway trains. I imagine they do this in other cities as well. I don’t know why they do this, exactly; I guess it’s supposed to make for a spooky train ride or some shit. It causes teenage girls to scream, which I suppose brightens the lives of train conductors.
About an hour before we would ride haunted trains, my companion and I painted our nails black for the occasion. I was nervous. I always get nervous before potentially life-affirming situations. I knocked over the bottle of nail polish, sending it flying under a dresser.
"God dammit!" I yelled. "Fuck!"
"Don’t worry, it’s okay…jeez. It’s no big deal," said the girl next to me.
I bent over to pick up the nail polish, and knocked over a cup of water.
"Fuck!!"
When the Dresden Dolls walked onto the stage, the crowd of was already exhausted. Devotchka had already blown everyones' minds. My companion had finally gotten back from the bathroom after twenty minutes.
"So apparently I fainted," She said.
Devotchka were a band I had heard of, but never listened to until that night. I wasn’t prepared for their gypsy/punk/mariachi assault. Half of the dance floor turned into, well, a dance floor. When the band, with their faces painted like skulls, tore into a foot stomping chorus, people actually stomped their feet. A lot of people. Let me tell you, brothers and sisters, the floor shook like thunder.
The asshole from the camera crew who had said -with a smug smile- to his buddies "So, you guys like Devotchka?" now stood stunned, his eyes fixed on the band flailing wildly on the stage. The dancing grew more frenetic; sweat and heat filled the air. A girl stepped on my foot, and it barely registered because of the steel toe in my boot. She turned around and slapped me on the shoulder, laughing.
"I’m sorry!"
"It’s okay."
She skip-dashed back onto the dance floor, and glanced back at me. The only thing I could think was "What the fuck are you doing, you idiot? Go! Dance!".
At that moment, the lead singer of Devotchka, backed by a sad and gorgeous violin riff, summed up my thoughts of Halloween night, and the days and nights that had preceded it:
"This will end," he sang.
This club, and this music, and these memories will end. If everything was going to end, why wasn’t I dancing? Why couldn’t I let go of my inhibitions? I started to think about Final Fantasy VI; I started thinking that it was better that I hadn’t brought it, and my Super Nintendo with me. What if I had beaten it? What if I had watched the credits roll in that little house by the sea? More importantly, where was my friend? She had been in the bathroom forever. Had she secretly left? Was I bad company? Had she been kidnapped by Left Pant Leg? A few minutes after Devotchka were done with their set, she materialized out of the wall of bodies in front of me.
"So apparently I fainted."
MY SPOON IS TOO BIG
"Yeah, you need to play Silent Hill 4, it’s scary for all the reasons mentioned in that review you sent me."
"The story always intrigued the hell out of me."
"It’s really great. Very Freudian." She said "Freudian" and looked at me. "Would you…like to know more?"”
"U-um, sure."
What I imagine is the biggest plot twist in the game was then revealed to me. (It’s really no big deal…I shouldn’t have asked you to tell me more. However…my curiosity got the best of me.
"Want something to eat?" She asked.
"Sure."
She went downstairs, leaving me alone in her bedroom. The room was hot. The single light that was turned on glowed orange. Downstairs, I could hear a television being turned on, and the vague sound of a voice coming through the speakers. Dozens of Ladybugs crawled around on the ceiling, preparing for their winter hibernation. They would form tiny clusters in the corners of the ceiling, and sleep. I felt like sleeping too. The cold New England wind howled outside. I never wanted to be out in that wind again; I just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep, like the Ladybugs above me. Nothing would ever end again. That room would be my womb.
Yet, in spite of this, I stood up. I had seen something the night before that had made me realize that sometimes, in that wind, there’s hope. Sometimes, we have to put our comfort behind us; we have to do something knowing full well that it will come to an end.
I walked downstairs, and into the kitchen. On the counter, a bowl of soggy ramen and undercooked broccoli sat by its lonesome. I glanced at the bowl, and then at the girl. We made eye contact, yet didn’t say anything. Two grilled cheese sandwiches were frying merrily in a pan. When they were done, the girl picked one up with a spatula. It promptly flew off the spatula in a manner that defied logic.
I laughed.
"Shut the fuck up!" she yelled, half laughing. She picked up the tainted sandwich and threw it away. "Oh well, I guess I’ll just drown my sorrows in cream cheese," she said, reaching for a bagel.
When she got back from the bathroom, fresh from fainting, the Dresden Dolls walked onto the stage. Everyone was exhausted, but they cheered. We all cheered. Hundreds of us. Amanda Palmer, pianist/vocalist of the two person band, always called us "beautiful people", or, "lovely people".
"This is our exact five year anniversary, to the day," she said, and when we heard that, we cheered louder. No one danced when they played; they could only stand and watch, in amazement. Brian Viglione smashed on his drum kit with every ounce of strength in his body, and yet played with impossible proficiency. He would stand up and beat on the drums with so much energy and passion, that one of his drumsticks shattered, somehow sending a piece flying down his throat.
"Don’t worry, it only entered his lungs," said Amanda, as Brian stood on stage for a minute, coughing into a towel. We all laughed, and when they started playing again, we all stood in amazement again.
The Dresden Dolls opened their set with a song that would be perfect as an encore, and finished with a song that would be perfect as an opener. And as I stood there, watching a stage that burned with the glow of hundreds of lights. In a club that burned with the heat of hundreds of bodies. As I watched two people put every ounce of their soul into performing for us. As they began their set with an encore. I knew that ever so slightly, something inside of me was changing. This wasn’t just entertainment, this was something different. This needed to be seen. This was essential, and it always will be.
Evan Kaigle
11112005/5262006