Friday, March 29, 2013

You've Been Wandering Around.  You've Been Fucking Around.

Anxiety dream: declaring my intention to perform every track on a local musician's shimmering symphonic pop masterpiece live at a UBC critical studies conference, even going so far as to insert the performance's title, date, and time into the event's sans-serif poster.  Subsequent interrogation by unhappy friends and artworld colleagues rightly inclined to consider this a "terrible, terrible" idea, including one particularly caustic assessment from a local painter-sculptor with whom I have only the most tenuous real-world contact.

Colliding, still dreaming, with the musician at the tiny backroom speakeasy down the road, the bar's Christmas lights blinking off and on, illuminating his checkered shirt and half-amused, half-annoyed dark eyes.  "You might learn something, I suppose.  Performance is hard."

Hard cut to the lecture hall, voices rising from within, the unfamiliar acoustic guitar banging hollowly against my knees.  Walking toward the stage, its single microphone.

The deep hush of expectation.

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