A Man Wanders On Stage

A man wanders on stage. Drunk. A glass of whisky rocks in his hand. He mumbles and bumbles but acts the part, he is part of the act. They believe. He tells them he isn’t a poet, and neither is the man before… or after. Maybe they think he is deep, or as empty as his glass seems to be. 

As poetry begins, it should begin with a cadence, a rhythm, a rhyme, no reason, but it must have some song. He thinks to himself as he beats his foot in time, and he would clap his hands… but that would spill the drink, so he continues without clapping. He continues... tapping... explaining he is not a poet. He stops tapping. He continues drinking, and explaining whisky; to whisper why, for the explanation of it all, whispers to the whisky, explains to it the way it brings the emotion out, in heated extremes, and as they come, the emptiness in contrast brings a chill to the heat. The whisky is on one hand indifferent and cold as the rocks, on the other hand a radiant warmth, a burning, and if there were another hand... the ability to expose the self.

"The fire only freezes the ice in a heart" he mumbles, he repeats, "The fire only freezes the ice in a heart" he says it louder... and holds his glass up high to prove his point. 

Some in the audience murmur their lack of impress, some nod, some hold their own glasses up, some clearly judge him. Judge him for what he can not say, he has already told them he is not a poet. So, he brings the glass to his mouth, finishes it in a drink, lifts it high again and drops it to the floor. And now, if not a poet, he is a performer. And now the fire is real and he takes a moment of silence.

Why does he morn? He does not tell the audience, and they all have their own reasons if they want them. All any poet needs is the ability to expose himself. He dare not but that would be a performance indeed. 

He decides he would like to be thrown off stage someday, he has never been thrown off stage before, and any person who reads poetry should be thrown off stage. He should be thrown off stage... for something, but something with a slight bit more modicum of respectability than shattering a whiskey glass... perhaps a real exposure performance... considering some of his family members are still alive he reconsiders. Youtube is a cruel mistress indeed.

His drink is gone. In the silence... and even more so in the noise, all he wants is another drink. He isn’t a poet, he really is just drunk and acting the part. Perhaps, instead of exposure he could utter some basic profanities instead. Would that be enough to get thrown off stage at a poetry reading? Maybe the audience has ideas? 

[Wait for Ideas]

Well. Anyway. Even if he were to get thrown off stage he would only make it as far as the bar. And if he were thrown out of the bar, well then, it is a cruel world that won’t let a man drink, even after he has politely refrained from blatently exposing himself publicly. There are laws of course forbidding such things as poetry and exposure on stage, or at least regulating it, he suspects. There are laws! 

Someone screams from the crowd. ["Yeah, There are laws!"] Yes, this is a spectator involved performance and the man approves. He waits for more performers to take the stage. Perhaps this whole experiment will end drunken and disorderly and the entire place will throw its own self off the stage, out of the bar, onto the street. He decides it is better to walk off stage and have another whisky.