Burque Celts

After spending most of admittedly shitty day hiding out in the basement from the 106 degree heat, I thought I should get some food and was planning on a overpriced burger and shake at Flying Star, but since I wasn't hungry decided it would be healthier to drink beer, so I stopped by Geckos which was dead, and then headed back through the Coop, surprised to glimpse yet another ex I hadn't seen in some time, who I'd met while drinking, which I took as yet another bad omen, but decided to nevertheless meet my destiny squarely by heading back to O'Neill's for the second night in a row, drink beer, get my face out in public and see who I might meet

turns out it was the monthly open mike night, which not only meant getting to hear the 14 year old folk festival fiddle contest winner again, who is really good, but to be pleasantly doused in Celtic this-and-that, as it was hosted by High Desert Pipe and Drum, a crew of kilt-wearing Scotsman, at least two of whom were so obnoxiously bawdy I began to wonder if this might be an ensemble I could join

as it would happen, I sat unknowingly at the front of the bar, so I could bear the full brunt of about ten sets of bagpipes, which I must admit I find stirring--it certainly stirred the people next to me out of their seats to the back of the bar--but for me the decibel levels were well within healthy range, especially in relation to one potentially deafening rock band I was in a few years back, and the sound is so organic, I just soaked it all in, remembering a Scottish friend's wake where bagpipes made me weep

there were Irish step dancers as well, who my seating gave me the most fabulous view of, reminding me of much about the Celts, including the indubitable sense that the dance reflects their peoples' journey, wherein I'm guessing they had to keep their upper bodies straight enough to function in the world of the empire to which they were often on the outskirts of, or subjugated to, all the while frantically pedalling below in order to keep alive their own vitality, communities, and connection to the Earth rhythms

and I took some guidance from this, although admittedly still waiting to be fully translated from metaphor into some clear course of action, and feeling complete with the celebrations of the evening with those around me, headed toward the door, to be re-greeted by the large kilted host, who I told I would bring the fiddle to play next month, upon which he took down my number so he could get me the music to Ass in the Graveyard, promising it to be a fine tune and one he would like me to play with the group

maybe tomorrow I will get the hood fixed, let go of the imperative to find the new apartment I now need, the money for which now prevents me from any air-travelling workshop, and instead buy a cooler and get out of town, so I can go sleep on a mountain and dunk myself in some river, since a third night in a row at O'Neill's would just make me a regular

an wee cont huv thoot nou con wee?