We drove there in the van

Last night we went to Topeka to hear a band whose name doesn't seem to stick in my head. They were pretty good, with a strange red-haired harmonica player who sang one of the songs in an almost scream that had me completely transfixed. That was worth the drive. He sounded like a crazy man.
It was overpoweringly loud, of course; which I find that I simultaneously enjoy and strongly dislike (and which, I believe, is the very definition of the word 'ambivalent'). It's impossible to have a conversation over the air-permeating decibal level of the band, and so we all end up sitting back in our dimly-lit chairs, one hand on our glass or bottle, just listening. The lead singer's red guitar kept reflecting the spotlight into my eyes. The loudness puts me in a little trance (that the merlot did nothing to hinder) and I find that in that specific situation I am able to think more clearly than in any other. I've heard people say that they can only think in the shower or in the car; I guess my primary environment for lucidity is drinking wine in a stiflingly loud bar.
I almost started feeling like I could read people more easily in that state, and it reminded me of when I was a little kid and never talked to anyone in groups but sat, trying to be invisible, and watched them. It's so much clearer what's going on in the dynamics of the people around you when you're not also trying to play into them. When you almost forget that you are even there because your perceptions of the world are completely filled by what you're seeing.
Then this afternoon Nate, Dan, Chris and I hiked to "Fairy Mound", a little hill by the lake, and laid in the grass trying to make cool sounds on blades of grass between our thumbs, which struck me so funny that I laughed enough to put me in a good mood for a few days at least.
Of these things, I have no pictures.

So instead, I give you this picture of the moon in India (in Leh in June), and the cloud just to the left of it which I believe is quite like a rabbit.



The End.