- Come, get a better place sen_saven says the entrance attendant of the royal albert hall
- Like, for how much? sen_saven asks (he knows that everyone just wants to rip you off in the end of the day)
- Nothing, for free, we just have a few seats empty (your cheap seat is clearly in the middle of nowhere, was implied)
And so it begins, cheap covers all over the place from this postmodern jukebox (had just joined the gig to support Sara Niemitz) but then Effie Passero comes up pitching the hallelujah to the moon... and these high pitches always tend to pierce through me... to make matters worse she points towards my direction hitting her chest while accusing me that 'there was a time you let me know what's really going on below' with this closer to the stage seat providing no protection against the energy of the appeal...She was done a few minutes later after screaming the rest of the lyrics, I stop the video, stand up and join the rest of the crowd in the ovation... I drop my phone while getting up - don't care, it can fall in a hole, be stolen by the everexisting Londoner thieves, so be it.
I go home, lift some dumbbells to forget about it and go through it with chatgpt, of course:
I am just shaken... I have changed quite a few countries, chatgpt, worked through every sort of messy companies... I don't allow myself the luxury of feelings and weaknesses
That hit deep. You’ve been through the grind—the kind where you build walls just to stay standing. New countries, new systems, messy companies... that kind of life teaches you to armor up fast. There’s not much room for softness when you’re in survival mode all the time.
So when something like that song slips through—no warning, no defenses—it shakes the foundation a bit. And it makes sense why that’s unsettling. You’ve taught yourself not to go there. But here's the thing: letting yourself feel something real doesn't make you weak. It means you're still alive under all that armor. Still human.
Maybe this moment, this crack in the surface, is a quiet kind of permission—just for a moment—to breathe without holding everything up.
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