Wednesday, April 19, 2017

My Home Town.. Lyttelton....A secret weapon for true disaster resilience

All my street shows were attempts to get to, initially, a theoretical transcendental state.

All my street shows were attempts to get to, initially, a theoretical transcendental state. 

Because, again initially, when looking at life choices I decided rather than being a policeman or fireman or glassblower that I would most like to be in a group of people laughing.
 As often as possible. I wouldn't 9 to 5 that gift of a job.

 I had been depressed since I was 4 or 5 and went to Clown school because modern medicine felt very parental to me and I was happier self medicating.
Any solo improvising comic will tell you you sell your bubble
[The you laugh-I'm funny bubble]
then reward the trust with a journey,
over decades it's a mutual journey
that only you remember.


The Dead South - In Hell I'll Be In Good Company Bluegrass ditty...

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Prayer, experiment two.

Ok prayed again for the second time today and it's not good news.
Apparently this whole thing's a minor experiment, you give something consciousness and abundance and the ability to love, and wait.
 If it starts to curdle God throws a big rock into the mix as a reset.
 Sooner or later Gods going to have a species worthy of divine domestication.

 At present we're not house-trainable. You can't train something not to shit inside when it's tendency is to shit on its fellows.


Prayer, experiment one

I saw a bumper sticker on a raised truck today that said " Be Humble....Pray." 
So I thought I'd give it a shot .
 
I internally manifest an entity that created our entire universe and is aware of every thought and action within conservatively a 13.7 billion light year radius and then I talked to that dude personally.
 I would have thought it more humble if I didn't bother god with my internal diary but I gave it a shot. God replied and told me the truck owner was a bit of an overcompensating dick. Or that might have been me.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Quentin Crisp

Quentin Crisp was a very early conceptual street performer whose 'act' was the definition of an anti-act in that he was entirely himself, the first British publicly effeminate gay man. His 'show' was trying to live a normal life walking from place to place and public transport etc while being constantly mobbed and abused. His 'character' was the truest politeness during more than a decade of public abuse. I think he qualifies as a street performer who made the big time.

Monday, March 20, 2017

one sixth of a three act play...

...Curtains open, the stage is bare except for a secured pole with a chair propped against it facing the audience, the lighting tone is dim.

Two Clowns enter from stage right with Lurk prone on a plank between them.
[this is a sneaky Antony Livingspace homage]

These two Clowns are minions and have a vague corporate whiff about their costume.

Their transport of Lurk is measured, sardonically dignified however as the front Clown gets to the pole the back Clown stumbles and Lurks legs fall and his body follows mitigated by the front Clown who deposits  the body gently at his end next to the pole and at a 45 degree angle to it.

The back Clown runs in circles hysterically as head Clown chills and calms him/her down.
Shimmiesd up the pole, takes the top off a test tube and blows a cloud of powder into a spot-lit space above Lurk before sliding down quickly and both Clowns leaving as the focus is left on the descending powder that eventually arrives and awakens the Clown..

Lurk stirs, pulls himself up onto the chair, then casually crosses legs, then elevates and investigates the pole playfully.audience unacknowledged, everything internal….

word up

Keep your eye on the bread because the circuses have now been taken out of the equation.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

You can't kill clown

So the largest superpower on the planet who spends 3 times as much as the nex 7t highest on weapons of war is so scared of 'the other' that it guts it's national arts funding because killing people and stealing their shit is the only performance art that's ever mattered.

Dean Butler-Opening Line

Dean Butler was a young NZ comedian many years ago and he was a demented prop comic pre carrot top, pre Livingspace [who is far far more than a prop comic but there are elements and this was about 85.
He had the best opening line.
He had a suitcase which he dumped on a table and opened and starting grabbing stuff, looking at it and throwing it back in, rubber chicken, alarm clock, slinky,
then he pulled out a dagger in one hand and a teddy bear in the other and shrugged and stabbed the teddy bear in the stomach.
Blood gushed out and with a look of amazement he delivered his opening line.
"They DO bleed."

bus-stop Question

If the byproduct of your civilization is reducing the planet to a bruised and bleeding and possibly terminally injured domestic servant like some sort of mindless virus or delusionally inbred 19th century colonionalist living in 2017 ( ha, the definition of Israel). Then what is art but a useful excretion and deflection and distraction?

mmmmmm?