No sleep till October
Vancouver, September 15, 2009
Go on baby, vocationally disfigure me
Vancouver, September 14, 2009
Lips. I used to have lips. An upper lip and a lower lip.
I have photos to prove it. Look at them … well you can't, but take my word for it, in the photos I have an upper lip and a lower lip. Like you do.
Except I now have no upper lip.
Yet I had it when I was thirty. And when i was thirty-five. Now it's gone. Why is that?
Wind erosion. Like Monument Valley. My upper lip.
Gone with the wind.
I've been shouting so much for so long I've worn it down and then I've worn it off … So it's gone.
Like I say, wind erosion.
What else is there to explain it?
I've shouted it off.
I've bellowed, yelled and shouted the damn thing off.
And it ain't coming back in a hurry.
So I'm going to sue. Except I'm not sure who … Should I sue the audience? … but they'd be hard to track down … and most of them run away when I appproach anyway.
Should I sue the promoter? Except it was usually me …
Or should I sue my lower lip? 'Cos it's done fine out of this. And it's the same it ever was. It's SUSPICIOUSLY the same as it ever was.
That's it. My upper lip is going to sue my lower lip.
There's a phrase these young folks use these days, apparently. The phrase is, that'll work.
So, that'll work.
However, I'm not sure about the legalities of all this, so I'll get back to you when I've done some serious wikipedia.
But in the meantime: Sympathy please, I have no bloody upper lip.
And I even more resent having a vocational disfigurement because I never had any vocation. My intention was to do nothing forever and never have any money. And that got a bit trickier as I got older, and welfare got more sticky, so I became a poet which, as everyone knows, is a sure fire way to stay broke. Except I didn't. I got swept away by the excitement of it all, the freedom of the medium, the aesthetic possibilities for being smart and/or poncy and/or stupid, and getting away with it by being ridiculous …
Ahhhh yes, the Derridean erasure of self-deprecation … of irony … of pseudo-pseudyness … of extracting the michael from oneself. Aaah, the Derridean erasure of Wayne's World … Not!
So yes, forgetting my original ambition to be skint forever, I went for it so hard that, after eight or nine years I actually ended up making some money. Whoops.
And now I make a living. Like cash. From being a poet. Who'da thunk it? Who'da frungit?
Whatever, it was never the plan and I want my upper lip back.
Otherwise … all is good, there's some nice juicy line-ups forming on Granville Island … I've seen Red Bastard, and Cam and Legs, again … and all feels pretty good to me.
For my show … I have a 6:45 on Weds, which should be good, I have a 5 p.m. on Friday which could be good, and I have a very nice 7:30 on Saturday, best time slot of the whole fringe, which might be marvellous … we'll see … I've had great press from Colin Thomas in the Straight … and Peter Birnie in the Sun … and it all feels nice, going on very nice.
And as for the Fringe … Yeah, it feels good … Lots of good shows are going to do great … and there's loads of nice people around to chinwag with … volunteers, house managers, punters, performers, techies, so me, I'm having a jolly time.