Hunt for Community in The U.S. — Chrissy Fest
My Arrival
When I got there, I said hi to my friend Hayden at the bar she works at. She gave me a free PBR, and I bummed a bunch of her cigarettes. It was karaoke night, and another friend of mine, Sami, was hosting. This karaoke night happened every Thursday and was called Who Gave This Bitch a Mic. Its been going on for well over a year now, and it was good to finally see what it was like after being asked by Sami to come visit and join in on the fun. A few people were there, talking, drinking, singing, and doing some group songs.
Sami and Honey (Who Gave This Bitch a Mic Hosts) / Hayden seen on far left.
I saw my friend Chrissy come up and said hi to her too. I originally met her in Atlanta at a metal concert. She’d been punched in the pit and had to sit outside since she was bleeding. At the end, I talked to her—I don’t remember what was said between her and some of her friends—but we all hit it off. Went to a dive bar, then the Clermont Lounge because they really wanted to see old strippers or something like that. We’ve kept in touch ever since.
Chrissy seen on far left
I’d been to Asheville many times, but today was special. It was Chrissy’s birthday, and she was getting sauced up. Which—good for her, honestly. She was set on re-enacting Star Wars: Episode III's Anakin immolation scene as our karaoke act. It never happened though—she was too far gone. So I sang Bloody Roots by Sepultura instead, my vocal cords worn and sore. Afterwards, I did Limp Bizkit’s Break Stuff. A woman who had just turned 21, I’m pretty sure, started hitting on me. A bit too young for me, but she asked if I was into emo music, (I’m not) where I’m from, etc etc.
I was in a place with people I considered friends, and I felt downright comfortable. I crashed on Chrissy’s couch that night, woke up in the morning, and took her to grab her car across town. I walked around downtown Asheville after, camera in hand, taking pictures of things around me. This part of town felt normal—the damage from Hurricane Helene last year was practically nonexistent in the part of town I was in. Which was great to see, people were recovering. River Arts District was still a mess, as well as other locations and even around the city, but for the most part it felt better than the last time I visited.
Spiritual Psychosis or a Needed Message?
There was an old white woman—I can’t remember her name. She stood at a bus depot, stopped me, and said I was a “hulking beast.” I don’t think she meant anything by it, or at least I hope. I towered over her, and she started opening up about her estranged daughter.
“My daughter’s an artist. I don’t know if she’s any good—I haven’t spoken to her in a while—but she’s so creative.” Her eyes darting back and forth, her rubbing her hands together over and over, Like a Mantis with its arms. She paused, looked at me, and said, “Something attached itself to you when you were a baby. I’d like to pray it away for you.”
I said no, respectfully. I didn’t know what her situation was. But it always makes me wonder why I attract overly spiritual people. I was told it’s because I listen to others, instead of brushing them off or saying I’m busy. But it’s always something, and sometimes it annoys me. I try to be patient with whoever is laying that stuff on me—and I’m a little spiritual myself—but to a point.
Once, I was read pretty deeply by American folk artist Mary L. Proctor when I lived in Tallahassee. She told me I didn’t write enough, that I had a lot of doubts about myself. Just, out of nowhere—this woman was telling me all these things about myself, even though we’d never met. It was like getting an unwarranted tarot reading. She said, “God says be patient.” She offered to pay me twenty bucks if I wrote her a poem. So the next week I came back, and instead of paying me, she gave me one of her art pieces. I was pissed, so I kept it in my trunk for a year. I was 21 and didn’t know who she was at the time—until I visited the High Art Museum in Atlanta years later. All her work was laid out on the walls, an entire section dedicated to her. I eventually sold the piece for a couple hundred bucks at an antique store when I was strapped for cash.
There have been many moments like that—people who were “spiritually touched” coming up to me, giving me long speeches. Sometimes I welcome it, but most of the time I just patiently wait for the conversation to end.
Leaving Georgia - Feeling a Release
The thing I’ve always liked about Asheville is the atmosphere. You’re surrounded by really creative people, young and old. My time in Atlanta has made me feel like everything was so insulated and cliqued up. It’s probably the communities I frequent, or the spaces, but many of the people I know and I aren’t really my friends. Friendly, yeah, strong acquaintances maybe, but not my friends. The only thing we have in common are our political ideals, or that we like the same style of music, but it gets no deeper than that. It’s about as wide as the ocean but as shallow as a puddle. Some of it I’m sure is my fault, I think most people know when to move on, try their luck elsewhere. But I tend to stick around, put up with the bare minimum, and get mad when it doesn’t go my way.
It’s more like a strong acquaintances framework, which in all honesty, isn’t enough for me anymore. A simple head nod, a handshake and an Irish goodbye, or a quick chat about what’s going on in my life, or theirs, really isn’t all that engaging anymore.
Someone you know knows someone else you know, you go out and a drunk person comes up to you and asks you questions you gave them answers for a month ago. “When did you cut your hair, where do you live again, etc etc.” It’s so routine, and lackluster, and for my friends here, my real friends, not that I fault them, are simply too overwhelmed to really prioritize me at all. I mean people fall out, they stop hanging out as much, then there’s work and the pitfalls of capitalism on top of that. It’s natural, but it also absolutely sucks when you realize you need to make new friends. It’s not the worst thing, but after a while, you start to crave more, you realize that you’re more lonely than you originally realized. Artistic/musical spaces sometimes feel like nothing but big networking pools, where everyones trying to be famous, or it’s a clout measuring dick contest. “Who do you know that I know.” That’s not to say you don’t make authentic connections, you definitely do, some of the best people I’ve ever met are in those same spaces. But it takes time, and patience, something that in all honesty is wearing quite thin for me.
Asheville has that same quality, but it functions like a cross between a small town and a big city. A good balance, especially if you’re involved in DIY or queer communities. People who have lived there a while know all the cool spots—and they’ll share them with you if they like you. There are nature parks and mountains surrounding you, trees and kudzu everywhere. Niche subcultures and event spaces hosting all sorts of things. Some of it goes too far—like white people with dreadlocks in a drum circle, or unruly tourists that cause trouble—but other than that, I mostly tend to have a good time. I’m sure the feelings I described previously are the same for just about any city as well, and I don’t doubt for a moment that Asheville has its same plights.
Bands: Falling Behind / Rest Home
What I really want to know: what makes people want to settle down somewhere? To feel compelled to stay in the same area for years? Is it community, friends, a job that pulls you in? I long for that sometimes—the consistency, the quiet. I don’t care too much for cities, if I’m being honest. Sure, cities are great for meeting people, but after a while it becomes restrictive, routine, once you’ve seen a lot it becomes “what now?” Unless you have some kind of tie to that place, or something that keeps you there, what’s the point. If I have trouble connecting to communities, if I have friends that never show up, and I’ve seen much of the city, then why am I still here? Why stick around? Cities are the most beautiful things to look at and photograph, with amazing people to meet—but to live in one? Maybe it’s just not for me. Maybe I’d be better off moving into a good small town, or finding a city that makes feel like it’s where I truly belong.
Chrissy Fest
The next day after I arrived, I hung out with Chrissy and the rest of my friends again for “Chrissy Fest”—a benefit for Pansy Collective and Fuck You Feed People. I snapped shots throughout the day, capturing performing artists, the crowd.
Pansy Collective Table / Chrissy Playing Pool
Chrissy Fest had everything: a pickle-eating contest, billiards, Halo 4 and a bunch of console games, weird props scattered throughout the building. When the bands and performers did their sets, I saw older adults interacting with the youth. Everyone just in one collective area, having a good time. Sweating in the pit, cheering during the pickle contest, having conversations about shared interests.
Performers: Rawra / Corpse Dust
Of course, not all of Asheville is like that. But this community—this group of people— Queers, anarchists, punks, artists? They are people who were true to themselves and had found each other because of that quality.
Chrissy Fest Pickle Eating Contest
Speaking for myself, growing up in a small town, most of the students got along—usually. Not always, but often enough. Many of us went to the same elementary and middle schools, played in the same sports leagues, joined the same clubs, shopped at the same stores. I remember sitting at the lunch table with all sorts of kids—Black, white, country, artistic, metal heads, skaters, Tumblr kids, athletes. Yeah, there were shitheads and bullies, and some groups didn’t get along. But more often than not, you’d see a table of teens just being teens. No judgment, no rude questions or ignorant comments—just people enjoying each other’s company.
This group felt a lot like that. Maybe there’s some drama or side stories I missed, since I’m still an outsider looking in. But it felt like a community that worked—naturally, fluidly. I mean, this whole event was called Chrissy Fest. A lot of people came just to see her. Folks drove from all over the state to show up, say hi, and celebrate her birthday. You think to yourself, Wow, she must be a one-of-a-kind person to receive that kind of love.
I had fun. More than that, I felt full—like I had been reminded of what community can be when it’s done with care, authenticity, and joy. I'm planning on finding more of these little pockets out there in the U.S. Niche, creative, offbeat, unbothered. I want to see what’s out there—want to see how people are really living this year.
Not just existing, but living.