I find it kinda sad,
That dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I've ever had.
The songs "Mad World" and "Wonderwall" will never be the same to me.
All I know is that I don't live in doubt. I live in bewliderment.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I thought it best to start my very first blog out, with one of my favorite moments captured on camera.
July 12th, 2009. Columbia, Missouri. On the corner of Walnut and Eighth. A crowd of restless teenagers await the appearance of one Christofer Drew, commonly known as his solo project refers to him, as Never Shout Never. Some sit on the pavement, some stand, some wander aimlessly from group to group, some talk, some listen. There's a thick tension suspended in the air. Eyes dart back and forth, heads turn over shoulders when footsteps are heard, sighs of dissapointment escape when the feet that make them belong to yet another teenager looking to join in on the growing impatience. Cut to a front view of the tourbus they gather around, tall and loomingly black, it casts a shadow twice it's size. Zoom in on two girls to the right of the gas-guzzler. One is tall and dark-skinned with heavy eyeliner and long flowing black hair. She watches her friend, the other, less exotic looking of the two, who leans limply against the side of the tourbus with her eyes closed. Her pale skin is tinted pink from the adrenaline of music pumping through her veins and other bodies smashing against her. Her body is exhausted, but her thoughts refuse to slow to a comprehensible speed. She opens her eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, as she's been crying, to meet her companion's. Giving her a warm smile her friend jiggles the camera in her hands. She smiles back, but only half-heartedly. She closes her eyes once more. Behind her eyelids she sees herself. She sees herself and her inspiration. She can't press herself to think of things to say. What do you say to one of your heroes, she wonders? Ask about the weather? Ask about family? No. Never get too personal, she warns herself. If you were famous, would you want everyone poking around in your personal life?
Her eyes snap open as outcries of "It's him!" and "He's here!" and the ever-so-popular "Oh my god!" break loose. She pushes herself slowly off of the toubus and turns herself fully to face the compacted crowd, now swarming around one body. He doesn't look frantic at all, he moves casually from person to person, making sure to ask each person a question or comment on how sweet they are to him. Hugs all around.
Her once speedy thoughts reach a peaking point, and she stands dumbly away from the crowd. She clutches her friends hand as she moves forward, slipping deeper into the mass. She's standing next to him. She doesn't want to hound him like everyone else seems to be doing. She wants to let her turn come naturally. She lets the crowd thin. There are less and less grabby and shouty fans. She taps him lightly on the shoulder. He turns to her with a wide smile. Perfect teeth. Ping! Says her brain. Good teeth are the way to a girls heart..
Forcing herself to focus, she tells him of how she's followed his career. The words slowly form from half-thoughts. She easily carries a conversation about ukulele and the tour so far. He asks her if she'd like a picture, forgetting she's already gotten one, most likely from being hounded all night. She says yes, she'd like one of them hugging, if that would be alright. His head tilts as he says, "Come here!" and proceeds to embrace her. Tears spring into her eyes. And she unwillingly lets herself fall into him. Thinking this hug would be just as short and non-chalant as the rest were, she starts to let go. His arms tighten their grasp around her back and waist and she gives in to the embrace. Forgetting that everyone is still watching him, and now her for that matter. He stands her back up and reaches into his pocket. Fishing out a dollar bill he asks for her myspace url, and that he'd like to hear some of her music. She clumsily scrawls out her lenghthy url and hands it back to him. She says thank you and reluctantly turns away from his smiling face. She slips into the back silently, feeling the slightest bit drowsy. A content exhaustion. The ride home is quiet, apart from a few questions her friend's mother asks her about the concert. She answers all of them in short sentences, dreamily gazing out the window. Though, she's not seeing what is right in front of her, nor hearing directly what's being said. She's seeing her own arms wrapped around his green blazer, and hearing him talk to her as she leans into him. Realizing the car has come to a stop, she thanks her friend and her mother off-hand for the ride. When she floats through her front door she kisses her mother on the cheek, tells her it was wonderful, but she'll tell her all about it in the morning. Finally, slipping into her own bed, without even bothering to dress herself in pjs or brush her teeth, she lets all of the crying and worrying and dancing and singing and talking and shouting and energy that came from the nights events sink in. As her weary eyes look out into the black stillness of her empty room, she thinks, I'll have to write it all down tomorrow...