Sandman's Journal

My songs and poetry are at their best when performed around campfires, so tonight I'm ordering a fake campfire as a stage prop for my long winter tour. I'm hoping to add the primal and hypnotic ambience that real fire evokes. The inebriated will become somber and reverent as they watch the colors and effects of the long-life Halogen lamps that shine through moving white fabric, simulating flames with natural shadows and highlights. The homeless will look through tavern windows and feel a solidarity with the thin troubadour on stage. They might enter to admire the high-speed, powerful fan that quietly blows the fabric upward. Police officers will feel uneasy about the poetic implications of this artificial fire, not to mention the gathering crowd of drunks and drifters who've become entranced by the strange poet's shadowy tales. It will be simulated anarchy; a faux post-apocalyptic gathering of hooligans and heretics. And it will be legal. Bwuh-ha-ha-ha. Happy Friday the 13th.