Dreaming Other Peoples Dreams...

Spent a large slab of the weekend chilling out in Embra dreaming other peoples dreams. Privileged as anything.

Met up in a place called 'The Lot' in the Grassmarket - loving it - a chilled out venue that does well tasty grub. Mayhaps a tad too fragile to one day withstand legions of demented mosh-pitters rutting within its dainty bowels, but none the less an ideal setting to hear about what’s going down inside the heads and hearts of other urban pilgrims.

It was refreshing to remember that it’s a big old world out there. New places and people outside of this weird-assed self contained community (Livi, bands, alterna-punters - that whole thing) are good. Homosapiens spend so much time creating ghettos for ourselves, introspectively defining who we are and who we aren’t. People outside of our little box help us avoid becoming a community of pretentious inbred hillbillies.

That evening I headed on up to Henrys Cellar for familiar faces in a new configuration, a ten-legged behemoth jamming under the collective moniker of ‘Jackie Treehorn’. New dreams again presented themselves, this time in the shape of a first gig. A veritable scorcher.

Both appertainings ensured that ma rock bladder – once swollen and bulbous – was thoroughly expunged. Yas.