Concert Follow Up

Boy am I f*ckin' bushed.

Good part of the weekend:

I'm going to be honest - our seats were a little sub par. But, I can't really complain - I'm very biased. This was only the second time (in seven shows) that I wasn't on the fence. Who cares though, I wasn't there for the location, I was there for the music and performance.

And they didn't disappoint at all.

Without exaggerating - this was probably their best sounding concert. We were off to the side of the stage and I could still hear every word, regardless of how damn loud it was. It was one of those concerts that we were all yelling at each other out in the parking lot after the show. Ears ringing. It was great.

It was a long show - they promised to play for "as long as they could" and that ended up to be over three hours. I was in absolute heaven.

Fun surprise? They played two covers - Pink Floyd's "In The Flesh," which they absolutely nailed and Tom Petty's "Breakdown," which was amazing. God, they're so f*cking good.



Good shit right? You bet.

Bad part of the weekend:

I got called into work Sunday for a 13.75 hour day...womp womp.

Oh well, it's money.

Random part of the weekend:

I found this picture and something drew me to it. Other than being kind of edgy, I'm a real fan of the "realistic feel". I'll admit it's creepy and I'll also admit that this is probably the most random picture I've posted, but, I think it'd genius:

Real life Sponge Bob...who woulda thunk it.

Reunited

Four very simple words are all that matter today.  What are they?

Foo Fighters concert tonight. And yes, unlike those secret shows earlier in the year, I have tickets to this one.

Am I stoked? Yes - I feel like I'm 6 again trying to will myself to sleep so tomorrow will arrive faster. I honestly cannot wait. It's been over three years and I can't wait for them to rock my face off.

There isn't really much more that I can elaborate on. Sorry.

Although, I am looking forward to four very specific songs:







And the greatest song of all time

One Of Those Days

Today was long.

Let's be honest - the whole week has been long. Usually I recoup on Sunday so that when I return to work on Monday, I feel fresh, recharged, ready to take on the week. Unfortunately this Saturday night, based on drinking on haning out with people - I got virtually no sleep, which puts me in a shitty position.

No matter how much I sleep during the weeknights - I feel as if I'm 8 hours behind on rest. Ugh. All I was to do is curl up in bed, not go to work, and not wake up until at least Friday afternoon.

As a result - my brain becomes fried. I feel hazy - slower. The result of this? My writing flounders. Not only do my words stop flowing as eloquently as they should, they almost cease to bubble forth at all. That's why, much like last week, I am taking tonight off. Unlike last week though, I know where I want to keep going with my story - I just can't coax it out of my brain at the current moment.

What I can offer in instead (yup, you guess it) is a video. Wait a minute...a two part video.

One that I think is beautiful. Not in the traditional sense, but I think you'll understand once you watch it.

It's simply about a boy who is a survivor. To be honest, it's not a glamorous story at all, but I'm really drawn to it. How he bounced back from it. His attitude. His energy. He just seems like someone I'd like to meet.

I felt inspired after this story - although I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's as simple as he just didn't give up.

What do you think?





It is a truly moving story.

Barstool Condolences Pt.4

Her jaw hung agape like a door with a broken hinge.

She wanted to use it. Move it. Form words with it, but it felt too heavy. Her tongue was numb, stuck floundering on the bottom of her mouth. Useless.

It was him. And he was standing right in front of her.

The smell was the first thing that took advantage of her, bringing her back to prior times - forcing the memories to come out of the depths of her brain, reintroduced to the light. He had always smelled good - his scent tickled her nostrils. It was a pleasant scent of musk and flowery clothes detergent, the perfect combination to tell her mind that he was both strong enough to never let her fall, but soft enough that when she needed someone to lean on, she would be embraced wholly in him. It always reassured her. It made her think of the thickness of his arms - how her hands could barely wrap around the bottom of his bicep, or the shape of his waist - the lines of his hips. It made her want to nuzzle up against his neck, lost in the waves of a comforter on a Sunday afternoon.

His appearance was what had changed, although his eyes were still as warm as ever, a deep mahogany, dark and stormy, brooding with passion, but inviting. His face was no longer bare - it was covered in hair, the kind that grows when one loses the motivation to impress others. It was perfect for the harsh winds outside, but far from ideal to touch another's face. She was relieved that even through the beard she could still make out the lines on his face that were the foundation of his smile. That hadn't changed either. She knew it would be as big and carefree as it always had, illuminating his face.

It crossed her mind that he must have noticed the markings on her face. The swelling. The bruising. He had always been so compassionate. Before it all crumbled, they had a strong bond, stronger than she had ever felt - he would never let anything happen to her. Now that he had seen her face, she was scared.

She didn't know what he would do.

He was an imposing force. His body was well taken care of - sturdy, chiseled, dangerous when driven by rage. It didn't help that he knew who had done this or that he was the reason that their bond had fallen apart. She knew he loathed him for taking away the most meaningful person in his life.

Her mouth began to work when he took a seat next to her.

"That seats taken." She knew it was a lie and so did he.

"It's nice to see you again."

Her heart began to melt.

Barstool Condolences Pt.3

The sight of her caused him to shift in his seat, the memories had already begun flooding back into his mind, pushing against all the walls and barriers he had built over the years - ready to overflow. When he finally caught a full glimpse of her face, his drink lost its flavor - something that no longer was important to him or worthy of his time. Boring. Dull.

Looking down into his drink, he stirred the ice around in the bottom, lost in thought about her. He didn't want to look up - he hoped that if he didn't see her, she wouldn't notice him.

Everything he remembered was there.

Even across the dimly light room, her beauty still shown through, parting the swirling, lingering smoke a head of her as she made her way to the bar. Head down, hidden beneath the hood of her jacket, in between the quick steps, he could still feel her. It was one of those rare auroras that had the ability to warm a room. She didn't need to say anything, do anything, or look at you. If you were in her presence you felt it. You were lucky.

His eyes followed her, hovering over her until she took a seat. She ordered - he knew what it'd be. The bartender returned with an amaretto sour. When she took a sip, he looked at the corner of her lips. Waiting. On cue, the sides of her mouth curled up into a tiny grin. That hadn't changed.

They hadn't spoken in years - the last had burnt the final bridge. Yet, tonight, all he wanted to do was walk over to her, sit down next to her and introduce himself. People change, mature, evolve. He wanted to forget all that, throw it away, start anew.

Page one.

The only problem was that he was scared. He felt weak - if he stood up her felt like his knees would buckle beneath him. She had always had that effect on him. He had never been rocked to the core by a woman like she was able to do. Everything seemed to fade into the background when he looked at her - shift out of focus, become blurry, non-existant. Her beauty held complete control over him - he could become lost and never find his way out, blissfully stranded - drifting amongst her sea.

When he pulled himself out of his daydream, he was startled to find her staring at him, as he was gazing back at her. There was a slight tick in her face. Something had registered. He didn't know what to do - yet all he wanted to do was continue staring into her eyes - he felt himself being sucked back in. She controlled him.

Contact had been made.

Step Back for a Sec

Alright - I'm sorry to break the chain that I had going, but its not exactly intentional.

I just got home from work about an hour ago - so I guess you could call it a long day. Over 13 hours, more than I needed for a Thursday. From earlier in the week I am already spent, so A) all I want to do is sleep and B) I don't want to diminish my writing by taking a crack at it without fully being devoted to it.

I know, I know, I'm sorry.

I guess that means you'll just have to wait until Monday for Part 3 - give me some time to develop it, decide what path I'm taking, whats going to happen next.

It's a creative process...it takes time. But I promise Barstool Condolences will continue next week (maybe even over the weekend).

But, I won't leave you empty handed.

Could this be the best time lapse video ever? (I'll give you a hint - it is).

Everything is perfect about it - the lighting, the movement, the sun, moon, stars, the scale, the beauty of Arizona. It just makes me want to camp there.

Thought?


Landscapes: Volume Two from Dustin Farrell on Vimeo.

Barstool Condolences Pt.2

She just drove. Not knowing where she was heading. Who she would run into. How long she'd be there.

The snow below her crunched as the tires rolled over it, wanting to give into the vehicle's weight - there was too much of it. At times the tires spun, struggling to grip and propel the car forward, engine straining. She wasn't the only one fighting back a whimper. The windshield wipers were doing the best they could to clear her vision. The falling, swirling snow pelted the glass, exploding against it as the car trudged forward, blanketing the world before her. She was lost amongst the storm - tumbling in a massive snow globe.

Her mind was clouded, confused, dazed. She couldn't see straight. Her eyes were leaking - running down her cheeks, falling onto her jacket, splashing down to mix with the slush, salt, and grit that pooled on the floor only to become lost within another mess.

She wasn't sure what had happened. It was their anniversary, things were supposed to have gone well. There were plans for dinner, followed  by a night out dancing. He showed up late - tie loose, hair ruffled, eyes bloodshot. His breath smelled of hops. In what seemed like a flash, everything had fallen apart. He had stormed out of the restaurant, leaving her in amazement. She followed - leaving her dignity at the table with the tip.

It was only when she walked into the apartment that she heard him and smelled it. The liquor had already begun flowing. Straight. Out of the bottle. She could hear it sloshing in his hand. He was murmuring under his breath - names she had never heard before, names she didn't think he'd ever call her. He was pacing back and forth. She wasn't scared until her turned, eyes locking with her's. That's when he took his first step and she began to back up.

She was walking now, briskly against the pummeling wind, leaning into it, trying to stand upright - she didn't want to fall again this evening. The air felt strangely nice against her skin. It kissed her cheek, taking away the pain from the night's earlier events. She stumbled a bit. It was hard to guide herself through the storm with one eye. The other had already swollen, the skin pushing up against her eye, like a back against the wall - a position she had already been in earlier.

Looking up, the bright "Bar" light caught her attention. She needed to get out of the cold - her fingers were already tingling, pleading for warmth.

Ducking inside, the odor was what first hit her. Pungent, yet inviting - the aftershave reminded of her father as she had nuzzled against his neck as a child and the cigarette smoke brought her back to the packs of Pall Mall cartons sitting on her mother's dresser - the "classy way to commit suicide".

It was right after she took off her coat that she noticed him, sitting there, staring at her from the corner of the bar. He looked familiar.

She walked forward, hoping, praying, it was dark enough to hide her face.

Barstool Condolences Pt.1

It was one of those nights. The kind that even amongst a winter of ashen skies, bleak days, and temperatures well below freezing - it still managed to stick out as worse.

The wind was howling  - swirling the very top layer of snow throughout the streets. It wasn't even snow, but just tiny ice crystals piling up to create a powdery, sand-like layer. Snow didn't have a chance to form within these temperatures.

He trudged along, feet shuffling through the inch and a half of icy grit. His hands were dug deeply into his pockets, collar raised around his neck, head down, pushing forward, trying to protect as much skin as he could. Still the wind licked at the corner of his eyes, temping tears to well forth, only to freeze upon contact with the air. His nose wanted to drip, his ears were ringing from the cold, and he could barely feel his feet. All he wanted to do was get inside.

Not far ahead of him was his salvation. Glowing proudly in the swirling streets was the neon "Bar" sign. Somehow it shown through the particles in the air, even when it was a struggle to see the streetlights. The thought of whiskey warmed his core and he quickened his pace.

Reaching the door, he shouldered it open, not wanting to reveal his hand to the elements. The first thing to hit him was the warm smell - of cigarette smoke drifting high in the air, stale beer spilled on the bar, the lightly buttery scent of the popcorn machine in the corner, even the cologne of the regulars, all combining into a cornucopia in his nostrils. It smelled like a drunk's Thanksgiving. Once he was inside and the door swung shut, he slowly removed his hands from his pockets, flexing them softly, trying to regain some blood flow. Next came his hat, followed by his scarf. As warm as it was in the bar - he still felt naked without them wrapped tightly around his body. It had been a long winter and it had become habit.

He waved and nodded at those he recognized and took a seat at the bar. Two shots of whiskey. Filled up. One went immediately - tingling every inch of his throat on it's way down. He waited a few seconds and let out a sigh. Down went the second one - sending a gentle warmth throughout his body.

He ordered a beer. When it arrived he took a sip, slumped his shoulders and began to relax. A storm was brewing outside - he could hear the wind kicking savagely at the door. It was going to be a long night, but he didn't mind. With nothing else to do - he decided he would wait it out. It would be nice - he was sure no one else would be foolish enough to come out in this weather.

He turned when the front door rattled and she walked in, bundled up. He only caught a quick glimpse of her in the smoke-filled, dimly lit entrance, but he recognized her and the tears frozen against her cheeks.

Tonight would be different.