exodus
i wrote about this last night while i was observing it, but had had a little to drink and managed to delete those words much to my chagrin.
i love it when a bar has a great band that juices everyone up. i love the nonspacific comradery and joy that eminates from a group of people dancing and packed together and drinking and absolutly loving it. i especially love it when most of the people there are strangers to each other, and with the crush of the music can't converse and introduce and become aquainted... and yet merely looking around you can tell that each and every one of them is profoundly fond of everyone else in the croud for the sole reason of shared exuberant enjoyment.
but everyone loves it when that happens. it's impossible to help. it's elemental and pervasive.
my secret is that i often enjoy observing the exodus at the end of the night. it's even better because it makes me feel like i'm the only one leaving the bar that knows it's depth, knows how to be filled up with appriciation for it fully.
see... after a really good night listening to a really good band and drinking in the joy of it, all of a sudden all of these people who shared this common experience can finally talk to each other. when friends talk, the cynacism isn't there. when strangers introduce, there isn't that tension... that worry that the interaction will be found wanting and what the ensuing lack of human connection implies. the human connection is already there. it had been washing over the bar all night.
the conversations people have during the exodus, especially those just meeting for the first time... as a junky for words, i find them sublime.
i love it when a bar has a great band that juices everyone up. i love the nonspacific comradery and joy that eminates from a group of people dancing and packed together and drinking and absolutly loving it. i especially love it when most of the people there are strangers to each other, and with the crush of the music can't converse and introduce and become aquainted... and yet merely looking around you can tell that each and every one of them is profoundly fond of everyone else in the croud for the sole reason of shared exuberant enjoyment.
but everyone loves it when that happens. it's impossible to help. it's elemental and pervasive.
my secret is that i often enjoy observing the exodus at the end of the night. it's even better because it makes me feel like i'm the only one leaving the bar that knows it's depth, knows how to be filled up with appriciation for it fully.
see... after a really good night listening to a really good band and drinking in the joy of it, all of a sudden all of these people who shared this common experience can finally talk to each other. when friends talk, the cynacism isn't there. when strangers introduce, there isn't that tension... that worry that the interaction will be found wanting and what the ensuing lack of human connection implies. the human connection is already there. it had been washing over the bar all night.
the conversations people have during the exodus, especially those just meeting for the first time... as a junky for words, i find them sublime.