Tonight I joined my friend to enter the world of the “indie” crowd. Feeling slightly out of place because of my modern, yet classic look of leather loafers, jeans, and a sweater; I looked at the crowd of beards, tights, and those funny hats that aren’t really hats at all but are mere extended creations of crochet. So I sat, wondering how I ended up at the Velour, and why I was so different.
Then the music began.
The bands are the up and coming, the live your dream until you succeed or have tried so hard that your soul hurts and will no longer precede. The artists who, at times, were singing so intensive as if to scream “like me, choose me, I’m trying…..really hard.” But, as I looked across the scene of those who are just naive enough to believe they can succeed, and just bold enough to try, I realized I am not that different. The words spoken were poetry, masked by music (some of which was good, some of which was not). The reference of larks was reminiscent of Thoreau, the poems of heart break similar to Drydan. Regardless of setting, each of us relate to the connection of human passion, nature, hope and the dream for a better day. After reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand this moment was like being the grotesque, angular animal that lives where the sun has never shown beneath the daunting and consuming ocean, and catching just a intimation of what the sun is and what possibilities exist in the upper levels of the world.