Who do we write for? Who do you imagine when you type the words in the glowing white box of your choice?
Maybe it’s a side-effect of my own checkered past in the theatre, but I spend a lot of time wondering about them, out there in the darkness. In all my art [ARTZ tm] there’s a need for the receiver, a tacit covenant with the other end of the line. I cannot transmit into a vacuum, I have to know that someone, somewhere is tuning in – and like many monkey-brains I need immediate verification of that fact. The few times I’ve tried some mediums without that component I’ve felt like my feet are nailed to the floor.
I worked for a radio station for a brief stint, back in college. Even got a few shifts here and there on the microphone – but it made my flesh crawl…
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