Posted by: birdmaddgirl | 7 December 2011

why can’t my ba-la-loon stay up

i want to write while this is still fresh and raw. no editing. went with my friend sarah to see tori amos tonight at the orpheum in boston. same place i last saw her with kim (who is like beyond my best friend. she’s my life friend.) about maybe 5 or 6 years ago. whenever beekeeper came out. anyway, not the point.

this is also not the point, but, holy shit that woman sounds amazing. better than ever. and she had a string quartet. cello + “cruel” = i die.

ok, digressive girl, what is the point? it hit me sitting at this concert talking my poor girl friend’s ear off about my nostalgia and just a tiny piece of the shit that’s wrapped up in my brain about this woman and her music: tori amos gave me an incredible gift. as an extremely awkward teenage girl with lots of confused feelings, i had this incredible rock. this music that makes so much fucking sense. which wasn’t just tori amos’s music (because shit like marilyn manson and foreigner also makes a lot of sense to me), but she was a woman. a woman who put everything out there. the frustration, the anger, the sex, the sorrow, all the things that women are just not supposed to feel because women are always cheerful and helpful and put together and there for you. and here was this beautiful, talented, honest, ugly shit on stage and writ large and being dealt with. liberated.

and what hit me tonight is that i’ve forgotten how to be that girl in huge ways. scary big not good ways. now that i’m supposed to be a woman dealing with this shit, i’m not. i’ve elided. i’ve tried so fucking hard to be what i thought i should be, what i thought other people wanted me to be. and i’ve been myself too. but in sideways ways. and some of that is growing up. and some of that is bullshit.

so what i want to be is that ugly honest again. not just on the page, where it’s easy to be honest because i can be anyone and everyone. but in myself. and i am myself in spite of everything. but i’m a scared self who thinks that if i’m really me then what? then i make no sense to anyone. least of all me.

and what i want to keep, along with the fucking ridiculous beauty of this show, is this feeling of the music as a vehicle that i can use. because that’s what art is. a way to get closer to being ourselves and to each other.

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