The previous post reminded me of this story. It's the story behind a story I wrote called Being Groove Terminator. I might post that story here some time. It's very silly, but I especially like the series of coincidences and connections behind the story.
The Dreaded One and I are loading up the car tomorrow and heading to Byron Bay and Tenterfield and I am waaaay happy about that. I'm going fully feral again and am going to try not to miss creature comforts like internet and text messaging and ... oh God - two weeks without a theatre hit. Fucking hell. This is serious. And... and what if I come back and everyone has forgotten who I am and I have to start all over again. I think it's funny and everything, but part of me just quite likes seeing my reviews on theatre walls. I like that I was quoted in an arts piece this week: "Interval journo Quick was there and he said blah blah blah..." I mean, it doesn't give me a stiffy or anything, but it's kinda nice that someone thinks I'm worth quoting. What if everyone forgets about me and I never get quoted again. I want to be quoted, goddamnit. I don't want to be forgotten.
Fuck it. Can't risk it. Going to call the trip off and stay home and keep working. What was I thinking? Road trip what? Two dance festivals in two weeks? Sandy beaches? Sleeping in? Staying up all night? Drinks at lunch time? Dancing in sunshine and bare feet in fields of flowers? What? Who the hell do I think I am? Frivolous Man?
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What? I'm confused. Are you coming or going? or do you not know if you are coming or going?
I'm so gone. I went from there and came here. Have been feral for three days in the wilderness. I have three days in civilisation, then back to another festival of feralness.
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