August 6th 2022

I checked out a punk show last night and left buzzing like I’d just done magic mushrooms, an intense mountain hike or hot laborious sex and I only caught a short set by the last band, Bootlicker, from Vancouver: two guitar players, intense yowling barking vocals from up to three of the members and a frantic compacted stage energy.

I had wondered whether post-COVID punk / metal audiences would be reticent to mosh and rage at shows, but they were not and sweat, spittle and limbs were flailing around at the stage front. It was ripping and it was fucking beautiful.

It was an early show at the Upstairs Cabaret, an unlikely venue for a hardcore punk show, though I reckon promoters have to take what they can get these days, as high rent and gentrification have squeezed out so many underground venues. I showed up in between sets; which as an aging, sober, socially anxious person is my worst nightmare, as it means I have to loiter around amidst crowds of people waiting for the band to start. I found a little nook on a stairwell and perched myself there, exhausted from a day of work and social interaction. I’m feeling a lot more solid within myself than I ever have and was able to relax pretty good and check out the milieu of people around me. I was also happily dissociating and feeling cozy in my own little zone.

I was sitting near a railing and someone sat on the other side of it with his friends. I could feel him checking me out with my peripheral vision but was ignoring him as I really didn’t know what to say, though after a while he struck up a conversation with me and my lack of real social skills began to rear out from inside of me as I struggled with how to respond, and then started over-sharing and then spacing out more. Small talk is hard for me when I’m processing layers of trauma and just want to scream cry and throw myself into the sea. I’m meant to be alone right now, other people are just a distraction. I just get my fix of social contact and then I go back into my molting chamber. Though overall, people in Victoria seem really friendly and I enjoy going to shows here.

I was having so many dreams as I slept in this morning. Holy ffuck. I was house sitting for this couple in Vancouver who I had randomly came upon when I was walking down the street and they entrusted me to their place. They had a friendly Tabby cat and I was staying at their place off and on. I was hanging around with this guy called Sarjit who was a mild mannered somewhat submissive Sikh boy who was utterly gorgeous and very clean cut and fashionable. We were spending a lot of time together lying next to each other and talking and he would go around with me wherever I would go. Another woman came around and I think she had dated him previously and was jealous of us but trying not to show it. I was trying not to be too obvious about how much I liked him. I think this woman was an artist or photographer or something and I was hooking her up with some supplies. There was tension in the air but I was ignoring it mostly. I just felt so relaxed and was enjoying life. The cat was around a lot as well and I was hanging out with him and cuddling him.

At some point in the dream I came across what I thought was a dead moth but it was actually a big butterfly and it was red and yellow and had a retro 70’s look to it, like something from an Italian Giallo poster, and I splayed it out into a book to preserve it.

There was so much else going on in my dreams but I can’t remember it all: punk scene stuff and Vancouver and social stuff - but what stands out is Sarjit’s bright teal blue head wrap and the giant, vibrant butterfly.