Rain Dates
I heard a really memorable cover of Bjork's Unravel at the Vox Populi fundraiser last night. Or at least I think that’s what I heard. Its performer, Frances All the Time!, had such an amazing voice, a good take, I can't stop thinking about.
It became clear in a vignette to the next segment of the show that a thunderstorm was on the short horizon, but the next act—rentboy—set up nonetheless.
We saw lightning in the distance with a breeze picking up. We thought about how we’d dogpile to safety if it got dicey. We were not able to worry about those scenarios because the mood was so limber. This was an event that had been postponed at least two times due to weather hashtag climate crisis fml we are here to stay et cetera.
An industrial strength patio umbrella whipped out of its slot and blew away, at which point rentboy quickly said their thank yous and told us to get to safety. I sat in a tight circle with a friends, under another patio umbrella while a short lived but intense rain blew through us. It was actually quite pleasing and peaceful to be held by rain.
And
I thought at that point about the difference between fantasy and fright. Imagining the sublime unknown by surrendering to anything being possible, versus sublimation to the discomfort of unknowable possibilities. The difference between lightning, an open road, inside jokes, treacherous hearts. Weather systems are all possibilities and my imagination is best left alone, but occasionally—on occasions—I need to know what is happening and sit in cold, wet absolution to find out we are waterproof precisely because we are liquid.
