Out and about at the Fringe

Beard never considered himself very well versed. Yet once he got acquainted with the spoken word and comedy circles he felt like all those inner desires from long forgotten times had come back. After all he did want to be a an actor as a young-ling …

For years he showed up religiously at the comedy mics of his home town. One must admit that the beginning of his comedy path was shrouded in drink and cigarette smoke, but then again – no great story ever begun with the glass of water. Unless of course its the story of waster itself!

Beard new that his fractured psyche would use his humor just as it had before – to hide the traumas lying deep beneath the surface. So he turned to self deprecation and humiliation of ones achievements as a way of attracting the attention of the crowds. It took him a while to understand that he has something more meaningful to say than just self demolishing critique of himself.

After many an attempts to be seen at his own village he took step further. He decided he was going to apply to Fringe. An artistic festival known for it’s grandeur and possibilities hidden deep under the surface.

Beard was not shocked that it took money. everything in this life does. Even if they are not open about the prices beforehand one eventually has to pay – whatever the action or circumstance. Beard was willing to pay. Deep inside he knew that it was only thing keeping him afloat – only thin that still gave him some kind of meaning in this gods forsaken wasteland of the world.

Beard had been to the festival before. He had had and inkling of an idea what it was like. But this time he was an “artist”, a “performer”, a cog in the machine not just mere mortal struggling to find spots being left out dry by the mighty and meaningful of this world. It didn’t bother him if there where no spots for him. They had to earned and it meant that he has to put in even more work.

This time he had skin in the game. He had undertaken a risky venture – bring two shows and hope at least one of them pans out. He knew his material was raw and on the verge of memories rather than true uncanny standup. But he also knew that there was no better place to test ones skills than Fringe.

Every beginning is tough. Every beginning is edgy. Every beginning is sacrifice.

What he wasn’t truly ready for was the grueling pressure of insecurity and fears that came when he closed his eyes. He didn’t expect the crowds to rush at his gig – though it would have been nice … But he wasn’t ready to battle so much self-doubt and fear that he will fail so miserably that all the work he had done to overcome his last dark trip would become meaningless.

He was happy having an audience to begin with. Each person who showed up to listen to him had a special place in his broken heart. And if there would come a day where they didn’t he would think it a blessing he was still among the living and try to count his lucky stars, if he had any that is …

Out there on the fringe it was challenging and spectacularly multi-versed. Beard felt strangely at home knowing that he had an opportunity to challenge himself against the widest array of entertainers there could ever exist. And even if he burned, he would burn as bright as the highest funeral fire of Valhalla.