Ask me again tomorrow.

Last night I got the opportunity to experience Penny Arcade in the flesh.

Performance Art is a tricky business. Because the line between emotionally touching with sharp social commentary and utter pointless tosh is fine. Also incredibly subjective. Still it is one of those venues in which you get truly shaken up. When it’s right it hits your core in a way that few other things do, because there are no shields. There is nothing that separates you from the art, there is nothing disjointed or dissociative about it. All of it becomes this ridiculous puddle of right now, then and tomorrow. Lines are not destroyed but can be momentarily made foggy, blurry and maybe you even begin to question their existence or legitimacy. Most of the time it does so with such a speed that you do not even have time to blink.

Penny Arcade brought exactly those things. The kind of perfect performer with whom you do not agree completely, whom makes you uncomfortable because you know they will make you feel and think, the kind of performer who speaks truth. A truth. With conviction. Not a preacher, but a talker. Suggestions disguised as statements, the most dangerous kind because they inevitably will eat their way through your cerebral cortex. A contagion of the thought.

She was the kind of performer who made falling asleep difficult, because you’re not finished even if she left the stage. Even if it was hours since you left the venue. You’re not finished.

The wandering philosopher who slaps you around a little, who tells you that you are not even worth calling ridiculous until you wake up. Living art through symbiosis of action and reaction. Social and emotional relevance in a marriage with a sick grin on its face.

The best part with all of it is that it doesn’t make you feel one thing, but that  it makes you feel torn. There is a certain delicious rawness to feeling anything this multifaceted in a world bent on resembling porridge. In a way that undecided confusion peels away a lot of self-doubt and maybe it even leaves you with a little less self-loathing. Because maybe the you of it all isn’t particularly important in the long run, or at all. So none of those feelings starting with self- can ever carry more worth than an unfinished pun.

Or maybe you could ask me again tomorrow and I’ll have an entirely different answer for you.

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~ by Ape on April 14, 2013.

2 Responses to “Ask me again tomorrow.”

  1. Thanks for the introduction! I’ve not heard of her, and she sounds really interesting.

    • She’s the kind of performer who makes you want to explore the genre. No matter what you end up feeling towards her content.

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