"A Policy of Truth"
Sep. 13th, 2013 02:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonIf video game designers aren't the new rock stars, then no one certainly told them. Such were my thoughts standing on the 'lawn' of the Lakewood Amphitheater as I partied with some of my RPGang and their coworkers at the Depeche Mode show. Let's see... there was my Dungeon Master, his wife the black belt graphic artist, his bosses Toki and Skwisgaar, their ladies, Indie Rock Kirk and about a half dozen others rocking the Group-On discount tix. Throughout the show they laughed with abandon, smoked up the green magick with impunity and danced with naked rapture under the good night air.
I was lucky to have enjoyed them for all three.
In fact I didn't just dance out there, I was a mother fucking gothnado and really who was going to tell me I couldn't? Bitch please, I come from a parallel universe where street gangs still battle with West Side Story inspired moves to Bernstein covers by gutter punk garage bands. Whether it was line stepping to Personal Jesus, miming a slow motion martial arts battle against an invisible foe to Enjoy the Silence or jumping up and down like a twelve year old on his bed to Just Can't Get Enough... I was having a sweat soaked blast the whole time. With the band just as phenomenal as when I first heard them from my best friend's new wave older sister and the stage light set to epilepsy it was hard not to.
Later I rode back with Mr & Mrs Dungeon Master. They had a car service waiting. The chauffeur took one look at me and asked if I wouldn't mind riding in the trunk with the dead hooker? Fuck no, this ain't my first rodeo after all. We decided on me riding shotgun and this dude... this driver of theirs is some sort of American Jason Stratham character. This dude knew some sort of back route through the hood usually reserved for evacuating the president or some other high ranking government official. We zipped, roared and flowed around the post show madness to be back at the DM's within fifteen minutes.
If anyone has need of a getaway driver, I'll try to shoot you his digits.
Anyway, on the long walk home from the DM's to home, I felt squared with the universe. I felt the first gusts of coming autumn whisper in my ear. I heard her. I don't know who yet, some echo from a future to come. She said: "You're not forgiven, but the slate is clear. You cannot repay the sins of your past by hiding from the future and if you come down out of the clouds I promise you a view just as grand if not different. Come find your grail, knight... I'm waiting."
Arriving home, clothes soaked in sweat and legs old man sore, I just have to laugh. To think I almost didn't go because I couldn't find a date. All of that would've been missed because seeing myself as alone I forget that dynamic world of souls that see anything but.
And that's as faithfully as I can deliver the proof of this policy of truth.
I was lucky to have enjoyed them for all three.
In fact I didn't just dance out there, I was a mother fucking gothnado and really who was going to tell me I couldn't? Bitch please, I come from a parallel universe where street gangs still battle with West Side Story inspired moves to Bernstein covers by gutter punk garage bands. Whether it was line stepping to Personal Jesus, miming a slow motion martial arts battle against an invisible foe to Enjoy the Silence or jumping up and down like a twelve year old on his bed to Just Can't Get Enough... I was having a sweat soaked blast the whole time. With the band just as phenomenal as when I first heard them from my best friend's new wave older sister and the stage light set to epilepsy it was hard not to.
Later I rode back with Mr & Mrs Dungeon Master. They had a car service waiting. The chauffeur took one look at me and asked if I wouldn't mind riding in the trunk with the dead hooker? Fuck no, this ain't my first rodeo after all. We decided on me riding shotgun and this dude... this driver of theirs is some sort of American Jason Stratham character. This dude knew some sort of back route through the hood usually reserved for evacuating the president or some other high ranking government official. We zipped, roared and flowed around the post show madness to be back at the DM's within fifteen minutes.
If anyone has need of a getaway driver, I'll try to shoot you his digits.
Anyway, on the long walk home from the DM's to home, I felt squared with the universe. I felt the first gusts of coming autumn whisper in my ear. I heard her. I don't know who yet, some echo from a future to come. She said: "You're not forgiven, but the slate is clear. You cannot repay the sins of your past by hiding from the future and if you come down out of the clouds I promise you a view just as grand if not different. Come find your grail, knight... I'm waiting."
Arriving home, clothes soaked in sweat and legs old man sore, I just have to laugh. To think I almost didn't go because I couldn't find a date. All of that would've been missed because seeing myself as alone I forget that dynamic world of souls that see anything but.
And that's as faithfully as I can deliver the proof of this policy of truth.