My last report from the Kathedral.
I pulled up in a taxi around 7:15, having rushed myself as enjoyably as I could through a pint, a burger, and some dixieland at the Rex. Worth the 45 mins I spent warming up. I love a place you can just walk in off the street, and arrive in a different world. It was hot as New Orleans inside. the Excelsior Dixieland Band, you should check them out.
Then a cab over to Bathurst to attend the closing ceremonies. Doors were closed, so I grabbed a coffee at the Timmie’s, moseyed around the side of the building to the alley, and smoked my last joint there.
I got to hear soundcheck.
Came back around the corner, lit up a smoke, and there….. the doors were opened.
The elements came together, the pieces all fit, and the collage was breathtaking.
There are no bricks on the facade anymore.
I shot from the crowd, but my little punk rock princess got her spot up on stage. I love how everyone loves Frannie.
I got some of the warmest, deepest, and truest hugs.
I didn’t shed one tear.
I watched the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen pack the Kathedral take the stage last night in what was an emotional and charged journey for all.
If you see me sometime, ask me about the two bitches I pulled apart while a bunch of punk rock Gods stood idly and watched (protectively).
Ask me about meeting John Tard’s dad….. now I know where he gets the brass balls from.
These people are my family. It dawned on me last night that when I attend services at church,you are hard pressed to get people to shake hands without causing a stir, yet, there stood 400 people shoulder to shoulder, exchanging bodily fluids.
A young man let me have the right of way…. high manners.
A celebration, true, a testament to the power of striving to be, even knowing, what you are.
I hope you all rested in peace last night, I know I did.
And bless you all, ye punks and politicians.