The Coincidental Hour

I hope to dance like Yoko sings for as long as Yoko has been singing

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I performed in Providence for a handful of people Sunday. No sleep afterward. Thinking with shoes on in the bed, staring up, wondering if I would be happier doing car insurance commercials and Broadway musicals. Feeling an age thing hard, veteran of the game now. A growing sense of distance from my idiot dance moves and greasepaint face.

I have chosen a strange path thus far and have sunk whatever talents I have into an arcane entertainment fueled by idiosyncratic motivations. Tonight it’s one of those nights where I think about what it would have been like if I chose a more conventional life; meanwhile, somewhere else someone who chose a more conventional life stares up at a ceiling wondering what it might be like to be able to dance like an idiot with a face full of makeup. The grease is always golder on the other side, as they say.

In the morning I had to remind myself: just stay weird and don’t hurt anybody.
I haven’t always gotten that last part right, but I’m working on it.

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