Moshing is Not a Spectator Sport

Last Saturday, I attended my first real concert in my entire life's history - Yellowcard featuring Mae. Granted, I'm a seventeen-year-old American male and it was held at a local University. It hadn't originally been my intention to, but, somehow, I ended up in the mosh pit after discovering what it was (pathetic, I know...you don't have to tell me that which I do ^^). It allowed me to loosen up and really have a good time which was basically downtrodden because people in this area - this country, actually - really don't know how to party unless boose is involved. Also, its not like I even had a choice to mosh...I approached the pit, as a spectator, and was hurled into the center as a curiously-retarded dog is so unexpectedly into a tornado. Once you are inside, it's either mosh and be moshed or be fucked. The exhilaration was such that my hip got bruiesed, although I've heard that some even have limbs and/or noses broken due the the excitement. After the concert, I even convinced the cashier at our mall's FYE to let me have the poster that advertised the concert for free, the day after it took place.

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I traversed to Philadelphia with some kids from my school, yesterday on a school trip, to the Franklin Institute which has been holding Gunter von Hagens' "Body Worlds" exhibit since October. It consisted of entire and partial human remains (whole bodies and cross sections/body parts/fetuses (morbid, I know), respectively) which have undergone the process of plastination. There really are no appropriate words to describe such things that this museum displayed.

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I'm going to end the post now since my blogger's-block seems to be continuing. The motivation and/or creativity that is involved in this art seems to currently escape me as it has for the last two weeks. I haven't uncovered the source of this pulsating void of blogger-blocking thought stints, but, as soon as I do, you shall see a resurgance in my subject matter and interesting content - for now, I apologize.