Blog #14: Tour Diary 11.10.24

Howdy folks, hope y'all have been well. I know it's only been five days since my last tour diary, but it feels like it's been weeks for me. One airplane flight will often screw up my whole system for days, sometimes weeks. I'm awful frightened by flying, so I need to pill myself to the gills just to muscle through. My only method of dodging the "mean reds" six miles above the planet is the psychiatric equivalent of a lights-out gun-butt to the back of the head: The Valium Nerve Pinch. Even after hopefully drifting back into grateful consciousness on the tail end of the trip, I'm still mighty destabilized. Brain's on the fritz, gut biome's gone through a mass extinction, nasal passageways have been dried out something fierce, and my lips through my trachea down to my lungs are chapped from the chilled faux-pressure air on the vessel, which I feel can be best described as "sharp and gray."

That's not to mention the strange scattering that happens to the disparate parts of the inside of your head when you live out of a suitcase, and that's not to mention the fact that I haven't even had a chance to move into my own RV. It's time for the fourth show and we still have few things in the way of basic daily necessities on here. It's been a mad dash from point A to B to Z since landing. On top of that, I've been mucking about with my medication, and going from hanging on by a thread to strung out is a frayed yarn too personal to spin any further. But I'm here, ain't I? Glad to be as well. Honored, frankly. Thanks for the invite, Jack.

I had some ugly nerves going into the first show. Considering in part the aforementioned context, plus the fact that I hadn't done my show in about a week and a half, and the concern that word getting out about the Tapeworms show would confuse audiences about what to expect. They were largely assuaged by how it turned out. Aside from disappointment at a particularly hurtful heckle from the front row, it went off without a hitch. None worth speaking of anyway. It was hardly my greatest performance to date, but it was encouraging. But the election was hanging over me spiritually, which had an effect on how I felt about some of the material, and that depressed me badly enough where even a visit to the space needle couldn't stop me from being a lugubrious hangdog with enough energy-vampire gravity to drain even a total barn-burner of a night.

The second night was in the same location, which in tandem with the intimacy of the 100-cap room and use of privacy pouches allowed me some grace to use the events particularly experimentally with less risk. The Q&A was particularly fun and engaging, and the folks who attended were particularly friendly. Fewer goofy questions and more genuine interest in my work, which had me on cloud ten and a half or eleven, and cheered me up up and away. I found myself feeling just fine by the time I took the stage and boy howdy did I take it, and I did not give it back for over two hours. At the beginning of the set, there was a fella in the front row of this tiny room who refused to stop carrying on full-volume conversations, despite his dates clear disinterest in participating in such a bizarre thing. I may have gone a little too hard on him, saying I couldn't wait for "only slightly less greasy Chris D'Elia" and "Post-wegovy Ethan Kleine" to leave before telling the back row they were now the front row because I wanted to get away from the lunatic. He was then, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, escorted from the room.

My first successful kick-out! What a thrill. A cheap, mean thrill, but I'll take it with pride. To hell with it, taking no guff. If we can get a piece of work out of the way, we'll do it. Consider that an official statement - muck with my show, let the door hit you in the ass and chomp curb in the alley - Hello, Seattle!

I found out he was the plus-one of a guest-lister later on. Not to worry, though, everyone was in agreement that he'd do best to kick rocks.

I was told by my crew it was one of my best performances to date. The following night in Spokane (last night) that sentiment was repeated. That perhaps the show in Spokane was the one - the one to consider for the official full-length concert film. That was a real treat - y'all were a fabulous audience. That string of shows has me feeling much better about the following very intimidating fact:

Tonight's show at the Aladdin Theater in Portland Oregon will be the largest show I have ever played.

It is a 600-capacity venue, and it's sold out. And the whole inside of my face is still bone-dry, my voice is still right on the cusp of cracking ever other second, my brain is still adjusting to the time zone difference, and I am still despite my recent victories feeling rather salmonesque in my endeavors. But I'm more rehearsed than ever before, I've made textual amendments that better reflect my intentions, and I've learned so darn much about how the show works and how my body works on stage that I think I couldn't possibly be more ready. So bring it on, riff-raff street-rat theater, show me the diamond in that rough and I'll show you a good time that rips and snorts in equal measure.

By the by, be ready for a Patreon reboot soon. Slightly different tiers and benefits. It's gonna be better. Loads of videos, higher production value on them too, plus a more consistently active William. Stay tuned for that, it'll be happening at the end of the year.

Other thoughts? Hm.

Still recovering mentally from reading Breakfast at Tiffany's. Few better uses of letters and spaces have been found as far as I'm concerned. Not for people who can't handle particularly foul language - racial slurs and the like - or people who have met too many Holly Golightlies and can't take one more manic pixie dream girl. But if you're interested in a story about trauma that is currently devalued for its decidedly old-fashioned ways but somehow more of a tooth-kick than most unpoetic and performatively "unflinching" modern cracks at the subject, you might find yourself as charmed as I was. And I don't mean charmed in the usual sense. Charmed might not even be the right word. It's too bittersweet to be a charm, but a curse isn't more accurate. And yes, Audrey Hepburn was a treasure and fox, but I haven't seen the movie. Don't let the Mickey Rooney thing ruin the book that buffoonery was based on, there's a reason Capote's a legend, and it's not just his compelling personal story.

Hey, a thought: If you think I'm not practicing experimenting with my voice with these blog posts then by Christ on a bagel must I sound like a loon.

Also about halfway through Everywhere at the End of Time at the moment. Not a book (I need a book, I only packed the one) but a record. Do I recommend it? Not sure. Is it interesting? Quite certain. If you like experimental, ambient, noise music, this one's a six-hour representation of progressing dementia and it's frankly haunting at least in its concept and general vibe. If you don't like experimental, ambient, noise music, it's still a six-hour representation of progressing dementia and frankly haunting at least in its concept and general vibe.

Anyway, back to whatever the hell I was doing before this.

Much love,

-ww