Gogol Bordello fuckin' rules!

Somehow, I can't help but think about how many stories there are. I know they say that there are only, like, 4 or 5 stories just retold with different words, but that's kind of a depressing thought. Besides, if there are only that number of stories, then why do we keep on telling them? Besides, maybe there are only that many beginnings, but they can end so many different ways, and morals, man, morals are what it's all about.

I'm not calling out modern literature on this one, but I kind of liked it when at the end of the story in the old fable books they would tell you the moral. I remember I had one book that actually structured itself like that, at the end, in bold it would say, "Moral: be nice to people, yo".

And I'm thinking about this because I've heard many stories the past few days, and I've told a few, written a few, and maybe even experienced some. Maybe what I've experienced isn't quite literary. I mean, there's no character establishment, no rising action, no morals. Or maybe there are. I don't really know, because I'm one of the characters, and it hasn't been traumatic enough that I learned a lesson, or I learned anything.

Actually, that isn't really all that true, because I have learned some things. I have learned that Gogol Bordello fuckin' rules. I have learned that mosh pits are sweatier than I could ever imagine. I have learned that $2 chow mein is tastier after a concert than after a night drinking. I have learned how to get to my friend's house late at night. I have learned that the night can be very pretty over the river when you're on a bridge. I have learned a lot, and yet, I'm confused. In all the stories, the characters learn things that change their lives, that make them believe in something or lose faith in something and there's always a happy or a sad ending. But there's none of that here, I know this isn't a story, but I feel like, considering how much has happened, that something about me should be fundamentally changed. Except, that's the thing, if I am a character, and this is a story, then I would be far more of a romantic character than a novel character.

I will elaborate. The original long form of prose-fiction was the romance, which differs from modern day romances. Old romance is not about love, or rather not only about love, it really depends on the story. As far as I can tell, the main difference between a romance and a novel is the characters. In a novel, the characters push the action, they make things happen, they are movers, they are doers, they get shit done. And they are central to the story. In a romance, on the other hand, the characters are secondary, and the story more happens to them than the other way around. In other words, the characters succumb to the will of the story. Romance characters have no motivation other than this is what the story requires right now.

And, I don't know, I feel like a romantic character. I don't really mean that in a bad way, since I'm having a ball, but yeah, it's like events are shaping me, rather than the other way around. And no where was this more apparent than in the mosh pit at Gogol Bordello. This place redefined the meanings of heat and moisture, it was ridiculous and amazing. But, really, the best way to get to the front, right in front of the stage, is to let the people behind you push you up there while you focus on having a good time. I mean, I was 3 people away from the stage, and I wasn't even trying, I barely even listened to Gogol Bordello before last night. But that's the way the current pushed me, so there I was, 3 people away from the stage, and it was pretty amazing. So, I'm not sure about how I feel about fate right now, it confuses me.

Oh, and to anyone reading this who I was telling the story of the Emperor's New Clothes to the other day, I forgot the most important part. See, when the Emperor was naked, everyone in the kingdom was too scared to say anything, lest they suffer the Emperor's wrath. It was only the child that had no concept of the punishment that might befall him, and who had no concept of authority, who could stand up and say something, because he was too ignorant to know fear. I'm not sure what the moral of the story is.

Also, this may be vain of me, but I am immensely curious about how many people actually read this. So, if you could please comment, that'd be great. Besides, I want a more dialoguic thing to go down here. And my feelings won't be hurt if not very many people comment, because right now I'm under the impression that only, like, 3 people read this. Though if it's less than 3 (haha! <3! LOVE! LOVE IS LESS THAN THREE!) I might just get depressed and kill myself. So, if you want me not to die, make sure there are at least 3 comments here! Peace out! 

EDIT: Comments should be working now, sorry they weren't before, I don't really know what was happening there.