Of Montreal, Good Times

Let's pretend we don't exist...let's pretend we're in Antartica. - Of Montreal

Had a great time last night at the show at #'s. Typically, don't like or enjoy #'s so much but this time living large, enjoying the band and the good-natured, dancing crowd. Very few annoying boys to spoil the fun. And no inch-deep pools of fetid urine and shitty water in the boys room, now that's a real improvement from last time when I went home and immediately threw my pants into the washer so as not to have to wake up to the reeking bottom half of the jeans.

The pretending we don't exist is as close as I get these days to Metaphysics or any awareness of myself or ourselves outside of time and space. So much of my thinking is narrative, historical, infinitely placed and specific (I have quite a bit of fear of decontextualizing and losing touch) that last night a rush of joy and pleasure and letting-go swept over me, the thrill of being gone of not being or perhaps of just being in the moment and jerking my legs and upper body about in a hyper-conscious kind of way. I felt that not existing was a viable option and it made me smile.

Let's pretend we don't exist...let's pretend we're in Houston.

It's not as if we are the center of the universe and quite often disappearing from the surface, going underground, being less visible is entrancing and very possible. And seductive, very seductive.

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