thestandard

I took a trip to Vancouver to see Mass Undergoe, one of the best Vancouver bands there is, and I was shocked by the city's beauty. The light and electricity of this living city, the modernity and history combined, all nestled between rivers and mountains and sky caught me by suprise. I've been through downtown Vancouver all my life and this is the first time that I have noticed it's aesthetic appeal from any sort of objective point of view. This aesthetic appeal was smashed, however, by the real city. After the show (which rocked my party) I was accosted by a homeless woman wearing a deteriorating dress shirt. There were no buttons left and she had to clutch at the open garment to conceal her breasts. She did a miserable job. Her body was robbed of any beauty or femininity, of any practicality or humanity. It became, instead, a testament to her repugnant existance. The pretty city had nothing for this woman. The beauty of the mountains and water, of the lights and history can't help keep this woman's shirt on or cure the demons in her head and her past and in her veins. I recognize now that Vancouver's beauty is merely a magnificent garment, with all of it's buttons marvelously intact, hiding this woman and bearing nothing more than blind awe. No amount of my money, sympathy, empathy or anything will do this woman any good, she is at odds with the city's pretty clothes and I'm no tailor.