I walked into the temporary music box, Holy Heart, and sat down in the 3rd row, nearly directly ahead of Hawksley. A little to stage left. I anticipated anything...I was so unsure of what I
was about to hear. Yes, of course, I had seen him twice before in St. John's, once when he was feeling less than terrific at the Delta ballroom. But he made our hearts dance anyways.
Sitting there, in that theatre, I thought back on all the songs that made my spirit laugh, fly, smirk, and weep. I had a few picked out that were favorites, but thought, "I couldn't care less what he plays,
I'm just humbled to be here with all of these great smelling people" (everyone around me smelled amazing...boys and girls.)
Hawksley walked on stage with his band, and began the evening that won't soon be forgotten by myself, nor by any residents of this rugged city.
When I wasn't unknowingly having pictures painted in my mind with Hawksley's image evoking lyrics, I was catching myself smiling up at his beautiful eyes. (what is a girl to do?)
Suddenly, it was the end of the second encore, and Ice Age was fading out as Hawksley said, "Thank-you! Good night!"
Bon nuit, Mr. Workman. Thank-you for the spirit lift and inspiration.
Little note:
Not sure if Hawksley comes to read what his fans are saying, but I can only assume.
Assuming so, I will tell him a story.
Once upon a time, on a beautiful, sunny, October morning in St. John's, Newfoundland,
a young girl sat on the steps of the local convention center, awaiting her bus (which was running late).
She took out one of her cigarettes, lit it thoughtfully, stared up at the candy blue sky, and was calmed by the rays
of the sun. Her peace was joined with a guest, when a darling man, carrying a liquor store bag with a bottle of wine, began walking across
the street to where she was sitting.
"That looks marvelous," she thought. "The wine would be nice as well."
The man sat next to her on the step, talking away on his cellular device. She knew who he was, even if he didn't at the time.
But she didn't disturb him. Her mother taught her strict manners. Even if "Hello" was floating from her heart, she would wait
until his chat was over.
"I think I left it in the studio..." she heard the man say. And hello receded back into her heart as he got up and walked across
the street to the building he had emerged from. Gone from her sights again.
But for that brief moment...they brushed paths. Perhaps again, one day, fate will make a brush stroke between them again. And therefore,
this story has no ending. But a few unwritten paragraphs for hope's sake.
- Lace
"Be Clever, Not Beautiful"
" roll the dice
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.
go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.
if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.
do it, do it, do it.
do it.
all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is."
- C. Bukowski