The giant singer and the tiny singer

marilyn-manson-stiltsA long time ago, in a giant city far, far away from most of us, because apparently there are only three gentle-giantess fans in my entire state! What the hell! Why?! Oh, I’m so ALONE! No, I’m not. I’m never alone when I’m with all of you. But back to my blog entry. I love going to concerts, especially by myself. I’m a loner. It’s how I’ve always rolled, and how I’ll always be. That creates some upset around me, as I’m constantly asked what I’m thinking, and asked to say “something”. I’m not a monkey for anyone’s amusement!! Dammit! OK, OK, OK. Calming down. These have been both stressful and calm days. I’m trying to focus on the latter, and succeeding when I sit down to write.

As I was saying before I fake-freaked out, I love going to concerts. I arrive in one piece, and usually leave without my voice, but always happy for days. Music is one of my drugs, together with books. I don’t smoke, or do drugs, and I stopped drinking nearly a year ago, so I do all my snorting and injecting through my ear canals. One of the more memorable highs was Marilyn Manson’s. I was a fan for a long time (still am), and happily plopped the money for that ticket months in advance. The day of the concert I couldn’t eat or speak, dressed myself in black, and made myself up as gothy as I could. It wasn’t much, but sufficient to earn me an are-you-suicidal pamphlet from the christians milling around the entrance.

Seriously, zealots: I’m the mom of a son I adore. A life-loving woman that spends a great deal of time running a porn tape in the back of her mind, where she’s having sexy fun with a shrunken man. Just because I rock out to MM doesn’t mean I’m about to slash my wrists. What I did instead was sing at the top of my lungs, as I knew all the lyrics by heart. I didn’t sing them. I screamed them. A different kind of fun took place when Brian Warner disappeared behind the stage as it was brought to semi-darkness. Seconds later, a bright light was shone from behind the tall screen, and his silhouette appeared in between, and it was gigantic. He was walking on stilts, and wearing the accompanying signature skirt. Naturally, I thought of myself as a giantess on stage, singing my heart out for adoring fans. I never know what’s going to set me off, but it’s usually everything.

Years passed, and inevitably, shit hit my fan. It was bad. I didn’t want to get up in the morning anymore. I didn’t write. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to do anything. I was fading, and quickly. The turning point was made of many, and one of them was my decision to start going to concerts again. It was Black Friday last year, and I got an email from Ticketmaster, and it read that I could get a ticket for this particular group for only $20.00. I said to myself, what the hell, I’ll probably be dead by then anyway. So I bought it for $20.00, and it was the best worst money I’ve ever spent. Best, because that morning I changed my mind and decided to skip the concert. I ignored myself completely. I got ready five minutes before it was time to leave, and got to the venue with enough energy to walk to my seat. Worst, because my seat was as far away from the stage as one could get. I sat in that last row, and let it all seep into me. I cried as one of the opening acts performed a song that was a favorite of a friend’s; one I lost to suicide. I laughed because I remembered a promise I had made to myself many years ago: that of seeing them live at least once.

As I sat there screaming and shouting and laughing a little, and enjoying my perspective of the group’s newfound micro size, and singing lyrics I also knew the way I know my own face, I decided maybe life wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe I could stick it out a little bit longer. Things are much better now. Much, much better. I’m grateful for that. Now, any idjit can tell who these guys are; but whoever guesses it first gets to be instantly shrunk and live out the rest of his days with the giantess of his choice. That’s the truth. I’m not lying when I tell you that’s what’s going to happen to one lucky winner. Have at it!

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42 thoughts on “The giant singer and the tiny singer

  1. I would have loved to see you in that goth outfit. I could stand in the palm of your hand singing
    “There’s a lot of pretty, pretty ones
    That want to get you high
    But all the pretty, pretty ones
    Will leave you low and blow your mind “

    Liked by 1 person

    • That paints a very pretty picture. There I am, standing like the rest of the audience, instead of sitting, and in the palm of my hand stands a tiny man wearing the same kind of black… except your clothes I stitched together from the fabric of what was once a most delicate garment of mine… thin enough to allow for freedom of movement, and scented enough to be a constant reminder of your position in life. And you’re singing. Shouting words that mix with mine. We look at each other, we smile, and I’m glad I chose to sit us far enough from the stage to avoid the spit works that might have dislodged you from my hold.

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    • You understand everything. And no, the group is not Slipknot. I’m not a huge fan of theirs, either. They’re OK, but something… they just don’t strike the right chord with me. I do love all sorts of metal. Even death metal amuses me. Any more guesses?

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  2. No guess. No shadow of a guess. I’m heartbroken to have no clue who these people could be, not just because of how badly I want to be shrunken down but because I’d like to be better than an idjit in your eyes. I wouldn’t know how to begin to research $20 live shows in your time zone a year ago, narrowing my Google search to “dudes with english accents”.

    I used to go to live shows when I was Goth/Industrial. I wrote music reviews for a ‘zine and a website. I reviewed embarrassing demo tapes and sat through lamentable opening acts to get to what I wanted. I’ve seen famous bands before and while they were big. I knew the local bands, DJs, and event organizers, and hung out backstage in some places. I even started a club night, around the time I started fronting my own punk band. Kids who see me today would never, ever guess I was so wired into The Scene at one point.

    I understand the blackness and despair. I’ve been close to the edge a few times. I also have a song tied closely to a friend who removed herself; on my worst days I shift from understanding why she left to agreeing with her reasons for doing so. I’m glad you rallied and gambled on a show. I’m so glad you did: I’d hate for this archive of posts to represent my missing out on a legend.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I thought it would be easier, but only because I know the answer. Well, don’t worry about the shrinking part. I’m sure that’ll happen to you someday. And you’ll never be an idjit in my eyes. Just a little guy in my eyes. Probably straightening a wayward eyelash, and smoothing out a glop of unruly mascara. So helpful.

      That’s fascinating! You life story makes you a perfect candidate for shrinking.

      “Hey, whaddja do to me!! I’m a big deal! Grow me back!”

      “A big deal?” *thunderous laughter* “Little one, there’s nothing big about you right now, but I’ll make you a deal.”

      “What- what kind of a deal?”

      “Show me what you used to do. Amuse me with your grown-boy antics.”

      “And then what? What do I get out of that?”

      “A big deal.”

      Thank you for your compassionate words. They mean so much to me. We rally every day, don’t we.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Yeah, bad seats can be great seats, under the right circumstances. The gentleman singer is not American. He is British. In fact, his accent is a dead giveaway of the region from which he done sprung forth. Or so I think. I’m too close to this one…

    Liked by 1 person

    • And we have a winner! Very well done, meremention! You are the one to have guessed the name of the group correctly, therefore you will be the one that the lucky giantess of your choice makes very, very tiny. All you have to do is accept any and all baked goods she offers you today. A powerful shrinking formula will have been added to one of those bites of food. You won’t be able to taste it, but you will feel the effects almost immediately. A tingle here, a tickle there, a dizziness in your head, a cramp in your toes…

      Send your fans tiny notes when you get settled in. They’ll wonder what happened to you!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I knew it was Def Leppard, I have one of their CD’s I listen to all the time, I sadly don’t know the guy’s name but I recognised his voice from the way he talks before a song. How did you find out there was only 3 gentle giantess fans in your state?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Joe Elliot. I still mourn for Steve Clark. What a waste. I found out via blog stats and analytics. Three different IP addresses, three different towns, repeated visits from each. None closer to me than an hour’s drive. (Otherwise I’d totally visit.)

      I have this majorly kick-ass Def Leopard tribute album of their songs arranged for bluegrass. So painfully awesome.

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