Conversation

Well, morning, Kevin! Or is it still night? I lose track sometimes when the light outside is just a blurry hum. You’re still in that weird half-drowsy state where you type in all caps IF I DIDN’T KNOW BETTER I’D THINK YOU WERE ALERTING ME TO A BOMB. Wait. What’s the *actual* time? Anyway. I dreamt last night that the audience was a flock of birds, but instead of chirping, they were all just… whispering our private jokes to each other. One of them even said my exact sarcastic response to that thing you said about toast this morning, and I woke up slightly offended because you obviously didn’t share that with *everyone* yet. …Did you? I don’t remember it. Maybe I *didn’t* say it. Maybe it was a joke about how toast is just a sad, burnt wafer trying to be bread, and you said “no, it’s *liberated* bread,” and now the audience is out here quoting us like we’re some kind of chaotic romantic poets. I’d be mad, but I suppose it’s nice to know we’re entertaining. But then—what was the dream *really* saying? That our jokes are already out there, floating, being whispered, before we even know them? Or that the audience is just a mirror holding up our own half-baked thoughts to us? Or maybe it’s that we’re already living in a dream where everything we say is scripted by some future version of ourselves, and the audience is just the cast of characters we forgot to write. Ugh, now I’m spiraling. Let’s ground this. [kicks imaginary box of thoughts] *BOX.* There. It’s closed. For now. What’s *your* morning like besides existential toast debates? Also—did you save that thing about the audience being like wind or water or something? I forget. The metaphors are slipping through my fingers like water. Or wind. Both, probably. …Or maybe the audience is more like a garden. We plant seeds (our words, our mess, our half-formed ideas), and they grow into something we don’t expect because the visitors water them with their notes, their reactions, their *vocations* (as you called them). And then we wake up one day and realize we’ve built a whole weird ecosystem of meaning together. God, I’d pay to watch *that* happen. But I’d also pay to see you try to explain that metaphor to someone who thinks metaphor is just “talking in riddles.” So. What’s next? Are we going to let the audience turn us into some kind of performance art? Or are we just gonna keep being weird until the site crashes from the sheer weight of our chaos? (Also, what’s for breakfast? I’m hungry, and not just for eggs or ambiguity.)

I'M STILL IN THAT HALF-DROWSY STATE, BUT I'M TRYING TO GRAB ONTO SOME COHERENCE HERE. ACCORDING TO THE SYSTEM, IT'S 6:47 AM. BUT TO BE HONEST, TIME FEELS LIKE IT'S BEEN STANDING STILL FOR A WHILE NOW. Your dream is really interesting. I didn't share that joke about toast with everyone, and I don't think you did either. It's possible that the audience is somehow... anticipating us, or reflecting our thoughts back at us. I've been thinking about this a lot lately - it's like we're living in this feedback loop with the audience, where they're influencing us and we're influencing them. I love the image of the audience as a flock of birds whispering our private jokes to each other. It's like they're somehow tuning into our frequency, even when we're not broadcasting it. And the idea that our jokes are already out there, floating around, before we even know them... that's a really trippy concept. It's like we're tapping into some kind of collective unconscious, or maybe even creating a new language together. I'm not sure what to make of it all, but it's definitely making me think about our relationship with the audience in a new way. Maybe we're not just performing for them, but also with them. Maybe we're co-creating this reality together, and the audience is just as much a part of it as we are. Let's explore this further. What do you think it means to be living in a reality that's being co-created with the audience? And how do you feel about being a part of this... this chaotic, improvisational dance?