leo kottke in streaming consciousness

I've been trying to write more. Just whatever is in my head, a few minutes at a time. Not editing or thinking about it too much. And apparently, not using the shift key either. Most, I don't post. They are too personal or rambling or show all the cracks in my armor too well. But a couple have made it here. Like this one.

We went to see Leo Kottke on Sunday night. He is this amazing acoustical guitarist and very clever storyteller. You should look him up and give him a listen if you haven't heard him before. His music is like audio hot chocolate with a little bit of cinnamon in it.

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leo kottke. the smell of a theatre full of people is a mix of perfume and animal. and upholstery. some cigarette smoke. depending on who you were standing near, booze. the lights were home sweet home like. lamp like. subtle and cozy. making me wish for a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate. making me wish my theater seat was a couch and that instead of the balcony it was on the stage. everything had an amber glow to it. that’s my favorite kind of light. 40 watt light bulb filtered through an off white paper shade kind of light. or better yet afternoon sun coming through a curtained window. makes me want to nap or hug someone. i don’t know which. everything i touched was smooth. the railings were oiled dark wood, silky after decades of hands. the cups, plastic and cool to the touch. the velvety fabric covering the movie theatre style seats. my hand holding my other one. all smooth. all soft. even the hard things, soft. it was quiet given all the people and their winter coats. all the shuffling and seat adjusting that was done was done in near library quiet. if there is such a thing. truth be told, i’m probably use to such a constant din of traffic and furnaces and coffee grinders that i wouldn’t know what quiet really was until i was left out in it for a few days or more. but i said it already. it was quiet and it was considering there were hundreds of us there. but when he started playing, the quiet turned to silence in the audience. he said his notes hung in the air and it made it hard for him to catch up to himself. and i think they did. it’s like water or fine sand, his music fills in the cracks. the theatre was already full of people but soon there was no room left to move. light and airy and happy and frog croaking. i wanted to hold hands sometimes. touch knees other times. once, my head felt to heavy to hold up. but i held it up. the night flew by. the intermission and encore seemed nearly on top of each other. i liked how his feet tapped. i was surprised to see him standing up. he mentioned that too. that people are often surprised to see him on his feet. and i was. he looks the same every year from the distance our tickets always seem to put us. i wonder if the front row dwellers thought he looked older. he never talks about thanksgiving. never makes any food jokes. never plays any Christmas music. makes me like him all the more. it seemed warmer outside this year than other years although i remember always wearing my winter coat.