Pascal (Part 2)

When I crouched between the PA stand and the projector, knees knackered, to peer through the iron bars of the balcony, down at the wailing of the man below, the glare of his teeth, hullabaloo all abound, and a purpling grin of furious sorrow and mirth, it occurred to me I hadn’t spent months planning and arranging an event for any reason more corporal than to see Pascal, and for one or two people to share the chance that I was lucky enough to have had. That is, a moment where your notion of a person, or group of people, stands before you, and stands clearly as a preconception. Where your prejudices become real and visible to you. And equally real and visible, the fact that they must be addressed, and rejected, or else you’ll join them in a make-believe land of fear and snide insinuation.
A moment for a group of people to have a party, in the act of asking what’s a madman.

Thankyou everyone, for all you did the other night. I hope you enjoyed it a fraction of how I did.


Pascal at Limefield