The ghetto of art

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July 23, 2015 by vinylburns

Hello monkeys,

  
I was recently approached by an agent of entertainment and commerce, a reputable collection of lawyers and typists who know their way around the entertainment game. 
They’d caught wind of a slippery performance opportunity they suggested I consider. 
The offer was grotesque. 
They requested applicants with an abundance of talent, originality, creativity, passion, professionalism, a horse, 2 weeks of rehearsal time, top quality equipment, a small staff of technicians and a computer guy (as their email was playing up and they could use a hand with it). 
I obviously posess a wealth of all of these, as well as having a couple of espresso machines and a kite factory in Panama so I applied. 
They were overjoyed to hear of my interest but immediately scrambling to apologise for the undeniably laughable entertainment budget. 
Nevertheless they invited me downtown for a power meeting where we would verbally beat brows and swing prices back and forth before deciding on a compromise neither of us felt good about and which would ultimately produce more bad blood than happy juju. 

For the record, bad juju is not what you want to seed within any kind of creative soul. They have a LOT of free time and very little in the way of dignity, so there’s really no line in the sand in so far as the assumed laws of combat and emotional vengeance are concerned. They’ll fuss your boat right to the seabed. 

In any case. I took the gig, of course. 

I’m a doer and a goer and a bringer of the positive fanang dangdan. Whatever that is, for you. 
Now, because city infrastructure and secretarial administration takes time… so much time… I wasn’t even asked to invoice until eight months after the event. 

It was two months before I received the parking infringement for parking in their lawyer’s favourite spot, while I was performing. 

And five months before I’d elected to donate my $25 fee to the local art group who wander the city painting recursive swoops on the empty pavements of the bland and stagnant metropolis. (It’s not really vandalism. It comes right off after a couple of market events and a good rainstorm)
In closing, I simply remind myself that I’m honoured to be invited to apply to receive $25 for a damp showcase of my life’s work, under the sacharine glow of Thai Friday’s and Cuban nights. 

The prestige of playing upon this freshly painted $30,000 stage coach transit route. 
Yellow under foot. 
And at heart. 
Scalloped, and awful. Absolutely. 
VB

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Dr Vinyl Burns

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My Management: Kiwi Comedy Ltd.

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