Before I hit the stage there's a moment; the calm before the storm. I never know when I'll ever go back on. We've been invited, rejected, accepted and neglected. Sometimes I ask myself why I'm doing this. Admittedly, I'm a very quite person so why do I stand on platforms and stages reciting phrases constructed to provoke thought and action; to gain a rapport and understanding of unity and camaraderie?
When I write, I evaluate my so-called skill. I experiment with my talent, focusing on what I like to call sudoku flow. I try to listen to the beat whilst thinking of the words next to perfect that I can project in unique rhythms in hopes to gain the audience's attention. Sometimes I succeed. Other times not. But I am always trying. That's all I can promise because that's all that is certain.
Like in any presentation, there is a period where you anticipate the future. You go over your rehearsals, think about what you'll say, how you'll move, etc etc etc. Me - I blank out. I clear my head. I can't remember the last time I was actually nervous. Some may see that as a positive, but I see that as a negative; a cancer that eats away at my performance; a dynamic lost in the annexes of my being. Its as if there's hardly any fight to me. Sometimes I'll feel myself recessing back into a laid back form, unconcerned with captivating the audience and relying on the words to guarantee respect.
I know better than that. The package must be complete and even then there is a bit of luck that determines one's notary and consignment. Before the stage I am ready. I am calm.
Its time to get anxious.
Yulster
Mic check 1, 2
