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Our Own Little Worlds
Last night I went with some friends to the Blue Moon Cafe, up in the University District of Seattle to see a concert. The concert itself was pretty cool, but there was one character there who really caught my eye far and away beyond everything else there. I’m referring to the “mentally exceptional” (ie, clearly crazy) Asian guy who was sitting in a booth by himself the whole time, laughing and playing a wooden flute in a very animated way.
I’m sure part of it is the draw of naive college kids with money to burn, but once you cross the freeway into the University District, bums and crazy people seem to crawl out of the woodwork in droves. After all, this is where I encountered the Crooked Man Who Walked A Crooked Mile a few weeks back. Or maybe there’s just some kind of energy there that draws people out who have a substantially different mental configuration.
Whatever it is, there seemed to be a small congregation of such gentlemen at the bar we were at. My favorite, as I said, was the Asian flute player. Now, this guy wasn’t just playing a flute in a bar. Cause that’s strange but not exceptional enough to warrant a post of its own. No. Instead, this guy was literally putting on a performance for an invisible crowd. He huffed and puffed into the flute and moved his arms and body in exaggerated motions, to express his creative energies to an assembled gathering of friends and followers. He punctuated songs with laughter, otherworldly smiles, and unheard conversation to people seated all around him.
But of course, he was alone at the table. No people - at least in this time space - sat near him. Nobody seemed to even be looking at him. And yet he went on and on, performing and interacting for his friends. I pictured him sitting on some great rock outside an ancient palace of some kind. Young people with flowers in their hair thronged around him to hear his tales and music. And all the people adored him.
Perhaps he was there at this 21st century Seattle bar because it had some kind of similar energetic signature to his fantasy world of some other dimension. Maybe the drunken revelers gave off some kind of astral heat which reminded him of the world he left long ago. Or maybe he never really left it.
Watching him, I got to thinking about my own headspace. I’ve had a great deal of personal stuff on my mind lately, and it’s made it difficult at times to really engage with what’s happening around me in the here and now. While I haven’t (so far) taken to serenading my personal demons with flute song, I’ve come to realize that there are times when what’s inside me seems so much more real and pressing than what’s outside.
It’s hard for me to judge whether this is good or bad, right or wrong. What’s more worthwhile - an ancient palace of flowers or a dingy bar full of college-age kids swilling beer? Maybe there’s really no difference. Maybe we’re both equally lost and equally found wherever we are, both inside and out. The difference might just be how well you play your flute and perform for the assembled crowds, whoever and whatever they are.
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February 18th, 2006 at 10:09 pm
For a man so “nuts” is it not telling how important that very flute must be to him? Why did he have the flute and yet not a wife or girlfriend? Nor did he probably arrive there by car. If you wanted his “digits”, I am sure he wouldn’t have any. In fact, he probably has no home. But a flute! A flute he did have.
And to everybody else he was indeed invisible. Perhaps even more invisible than the “audience” he entertained was to us.
Speaking of invisible people, I often run into them on the Ave and elsewhere in the U District. By invisible, I do not mean INVISIBLE — but, souls who feel themselves to be worthless.
I can’t explain it really, but I’ll try. One time this girl was walking towards me as I walked towards her. As she got closer her sad energy grew in strength and every emotive sense I had took notice (emotive blips were off the charts). When we were finally within arm’s contact with one another I realized she was an empty vessel — she was less there than she actually was! Her energy dropped off completely into a face of nothingness. Caked on makeup clearly to cover pocks, a child of sorts who, now far from home and her personal era of innocence, in college, has found that there is nothing in this life for her. I wanted to chase after her or at least have my feeble spirit do so. And perhaps it did. I have never forgotten this poor girl.
February 18th, 2006 at 11:24 pm
Join the club. I’d say the majority of people are like this the majority of the time…
February 19th, 2006 at 8:24 pm
[Comment removed by administrator for needless fucked up racism - Get a life you fucking asshole.]
February 19th, 2006 at 11:28 pm
Huh?
February 19th, 2006 at 11:41 pm
Why can’t it just be a guy playing the flute? Why the subversive need to mention the guys race? You are a good philosophical hypocrite Tim, however I confess, I wipe my ass with better stuff than this tripe.
February 20th, 2006 at 1:10 am
Ban offensive commenters by single IP or an IP range
http://www.haloscan.com/
February 20th, 2006 at 2:49 am
Oh Roy’s not offensive. I am just picturing somebody trying to wipe their ass with something they read off a computer screen and confessing to it.
February 20th, 2006 at 2:50 am
Probably some schizo Asian flute player or sumptin.
February 20th, 2006 at 10:53 am
How did the music sound? Was it actual music or just sounds? If there were songs, were they recognizable?
What an interesting experience. On a side notice, WHY is it bad to mention someone’s race, per that guy’s comment? Race is one of the easiest identifiers for metally visualizing a person; mentioning it does not make one a racist in my opinion.
February 20th, 2006 at 1:36 pm
Silverspringwoman:
I couldn’t hear his music as he was across the room from me and a band was playing.
As to Roy’s comments above, he essentially made remarks promoting genocide, which I’m not willing to tolerate as a joke or as rhetorical instigation on any level
February 20th, 2006 at 2:42 pm
Ya, i understood what you meant; I was curious about his follow up comment about being angry at you for mentioning the flute player’s race. I was just struck by the oddity of his argument.
I love the image of the flute player having a blast playing for his own audience.