1) How many performance artists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Answer: I don’t know; I left after 3 hours.
2) How many spoken word artists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Answer: I don’t know; I didn’t go.
People, for the most part, don’t like going to readings. Unless you’re David Sedaris, readings are poorly attended. Why? I don’t know. But I wrote a review on a reading while in a flu haze, so I could try and make sense of it all. I’m still trying to figure out whether I figured it out. Anyways, you can read it here.
“There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It’s like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction—every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it’s really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.”—
When your friend is running late and you want to avoid the giant scene outside a craft fair, you pop into a record shop where the walls aren’t quite plastered yet. You jot down the names of your favourite covers. You come home, you look them up again and it’s just not the same thing online. The covers aren’t battered and peeling off. You can’t smell the years that have settled into the fine cracks of the vinyl. Your computer keys don’t leave dust on your fingers.
“I hate slick and pretty things. I prefer mistakes and accidents. Which is why I like things like cuts and bruises – they’re like little flowers. I’ve always said that if you have a name for something, like ‘cut’ or ‘bruise,’ people will automatically be disturbed by it. But when you see the same thing in nature, and you don’t know what it is, it can be very beautiful”—David Lynch (via black-wolves)
We put holes in walls. We sat in imported grass high up above the city. We told the police that this time — we swear! — we would keep it down. We were called street kids. We drank shitty wine. We bought each other bagels. We ate burgers next to cardboard-James-Dean. We dyed our hair different colours. We tied flowers to our bikes — even the broken ones. (I mean who needs breaks, really.)