Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Two seconds at The Hopetoun
I don't believe this is the end. There is a big grief behind this denial. I don't suppose I've talked about it before but The Hopetoun is one of the places where I suddenly looked down and found that my feet were standing just precisely where I always hoped they'd be. The other moment I don't talk about is the two seconds where one turned back birthed a god.
They come out of the crowd at The Hopetoun, the one standing next to you suddenly stops at the end of your sentence to look up at the stage. They might make a vague gesture with their head or nod at someone already scrambling onstage. There's always this moment; they breathe unaware of the accordion push of their lungs. They'll stare then at walls or the stage or their last chance to run for the green backlit EXIT. Here's the part that breaks my heart, the first step after they pivot and leave you standing in the crowd. Barely head and shoulders above us but it's enough to get a clear idea of where they're coming from and just where we're likely to send them. It's how we spread our legs and birth our gods, forty centimetres off the floor.