"...penetrated a black hole...and skittered out the other end."

I was going to do a Post Abbie Fest post mortem. The fest is over, but not dead, so why bother trying to dissect it like a carcass? I just don't have the energy. I don't really want to try to sum it up. (Here comes the Sum UP!) Suffice to say, there were moments of sublimity, moments of ridiculousness, moments of satisfaction and moments of disappointment.

As one of those who experienced the fest stone cold sober, I must say there's nothing like a late night debauch with a bunch of creative people jazzed up on too little sleep, too much alchohol, and enough sexual tension to power Three Mile Island.

The Hypocrites' Bald Soprano was exquisite, one of the best, most perfectly rendered pieces I've ever seen. Another show, which I know nothing about, was a monologue by a bike messenger that reaffirmed my belief in the power of art. It was a riveting piece, a little gem that came from nowhere. One actor, one monologue can blow your world to smithereens.

My own efforts with my theater group and my rock band, were kind of like playing chinese checkers in a land of chess boards. I don't know what it is, sometimes I think I'm talking another language. Where I see clarity, someone else sees obscurity. It has always been so. In pursuit of some kind of perfection we always fall short, sometimes way short. It is our human condition.

A line I spoke this morning in a phone conversation with a business collegue in a totally different context, kind of shines a light on where I am this morning: "I want to live in reality. I think it's the best bet." But then again, here's how real our reality really is...