Feeling that festival winter blues
I don’t know anymore. I don’t know period. Swings and roundabouts are the scourge of those of us who organise, produce, programme and sell events. You can’t relax, never can, can’t afford to, always worried, after the great summer months of work, work, work - all that now a distant memory – that you’ll be beaten into pauperdom as the dark months of the new year draw close, looking to settle, bear in to make life difficult, another test, another effort, an endless offensive you feel you’re engaged in a perpetual war, there’s no sign of peace, it goes unabated and the more it drags on the further you fall, sucked dry, energy sapped, drink fuelled and hungover in no mans land going round and round the abysmal carnival rides, the empty showground, no one is coming, wants to see, be entertained, educated, questioned, engaged in debate, discussion on whatever, wherever, who cares, you’re all alone thinking deep, vicious thoughts, skewed, the brain pounding, dreaming nightmares of killing, hating anyone and everyone that disrupted, got in the way, made life difficult, didn’t appreciate your work, took you for granted, but it does no good especially when you have to smile and say hello, good evening, how are you, shake hands and look for money,
“Yes, there’s a cover charge”, “No, I’m not taking the piss, there’s a cover charge, you coming in?”
It’s raining, great torrents teeming out of the heavens especially for you, and you’re so tired of yourself and of people that make promises to help and pull together but don’t and all you’re left with are poor excuses to hand out like lollipops to those that you’re answerable too; the artist, the manager, the venue and all you can do is shrug and say,
“Hopefully it’ll be better next time, the weather was dreadful and we were unlucky with the night because Mr. Popular – mainstream – themanabouttown was performing and wiped us out, what can you do, everyone is broke and I did all I can”
you know the spiel, press play, the recession is hitting everyone and it’s not just a news item, blah, blah, blah, you missed the boom boy, you missed the boat, and now you’re going to sink, yes, drown, yes, along with all those that took advantage, you don’t get a golden ticket,‘ You don’t drown because you didn’t indulge’ just because you didn’t eat your cake when it was gifted to you on a plate and yes you’re on a down but that’s the game, swings and roundabouts, just don’t be fooled by truth, it doesn’t exist in a hall full of mirrors, no, believe in what’s right, what you feel, what you sense, coax your spirit, mould it into a swashbuckling derring do fighter, a lone gunman, a pale rider that rides above the plains of mere mortal circumstance, yes that’s right, take the high road you might as well if you’re going to die, fall from a height and fly the flag the whole way down, down, down
299 total views, 1 today
