Afterlife – a response to This Is How We Die by Christopher Brett Bailey

I think this is it

I think this is how we die

This is how

we

die in a thousand impossible scenarios and a million possible ones/in the audience of a theatre/Christopher Brett Bailey sat on the stage behind a desk under a spotlight/the microphone millimetres away from his teeth as he spits the words through the speakers/as he predicts the future for the rest of the world/as he condemns and enunciates so every click/tut/swallow comes through like gun/gun/gun/gunfire

Spalding Gray/Hunter S Thompson/the great American road trip/the deformed American dream/British dream/the story is the after effect of every/drug/at/the/same/time/it’s Matt Johnson/it’s ridiculous and funny and terrifying and a bit like what getting hit by a train would be like I imagine if the train was made of lyrics and star gazing and gravity defiant hair and then

it

slows

and

you

drift

and

my ears are in tune to the light in his eyes, to the music in his words, to the way that the audience is breathing with him, in, out, and I am aware of the space, of the lights changing, transforming the stage, of the words drifting on the shore of the collective consciousness of the audience, and this couldn’t possibly be

how

we

die in a thousand impossible scenarios and a million possible ones/we’re back again/here we go/faster/faster/and he’s threatening the audience with a gun/with an erection/with the fate of all mankind/and we’re picking up the pace now/snapshots flickering/we’re at a gas station/we’re at a dinner table/we’re in a stadium/a gameshow/under the lights/we’re picking up the pace now/his breathing/becoming/ragged/this is sex/no/this is fucking/he’s fucking us/he’s fucking with us/the audience/this is fucked up

and maybe this is how we die.

Blinded.

Deafened.

Exhausted.

Alive.

So very fucking alive.

See this show. Just do it. Check out Christopher Brett Bailey here.

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