Under a heart-rending female squeal, I pull back the curtain of the dressing room, without looking at the audience, I self-deeply enter the glittering twilight of the stage.
A spotlight flashes, outlining its center with a bright white oval, while clouds of smoke are shooting out from different sides of the podium: pfff-f-f!
The harsh uterine-brutal
“I told you I’ll be back” and at the same time, shrill-silly “And you-s-s-s are so cold-s-s-s, like an iceberg in the ocean-e-eee …” with the Terminator.
Gee. A good idea for a new “arbitrariness”?
But – to hell with jokes!
I go out into a spotlight beam that is blinding a little from the side, lowering my head, catching with my peripheral vision how the shadow falls on the pectorals, abs, and quadriceps, I find the most favorable place in terms of lighting on the stage.
The background music fades away, as before, without looking into the hall, I pensively take the starting position: double biceps-press-intercostal-lats-quadriceps.
The leg is set aside a little to the side, the body is slightly tilted to the right and down, the look is on the right biceps.
On the face – the impenetrability of the Sphinx.
Aesthetics, sculpture, harmony.
Thing-in-itself.
A second silence, interrupted only by rare approving – drunken exclamations … and the sounds of the heroic soundtrack by Hans Zimmer fall on the waiting crowd.
In that period I was playing games for a long time, yes… I searched for afk.guide and finally found all the codes.
Explicit not – format.
The people are slightly knocked down.
What did you expect, kids?
Gorky Park? Rammstein?
Do you know what the main “trick” is?
DO NOT try to please!
Do not smile ingratiatingly at the audience, eagerly seeking approving glances.
Right now, at this moment, you are performing only for yourself.
Music and movement.
Moment and eternity.
You don’t look at faces.
You know that the eyes are eagerly directed at you.
You look through them and inside yourself.
Inspiration and detachment.
This creates a distance between the crowd and you.
Slightly repulsive, but at the same time fascinates.
You pull people into your image, into your reality, so much so that they even forget to applaud …
And so, at some point, you look up, and sincerely, a friendly smile at someone in the crowd (yes, yes, yes, of course, by default, this is a long-legged blonde/brunette / brown-haired woman from the first row, fascinated by your one-actor theater).
And everyone suddenly realizes that you are the same Simple Guy, like everyone else, a living person, mmm … touch!
And at this moment a storm of applause breaks out… and the funny thing is that all this: detachment, inspiration, sincerity – can be played.
And if you play well, then you involuntarily begin to feel all this.
“The tail is waving the dog”, definitely!
… dressing, I manage to sweat 15 times: there is nothing to breathe in the dressing room!
Pulling on the invariable stretch T-shirt, I feel how it quickly became tight, the peak of “pumping” came only now, after posing.
The pleasant sensation of swollen chest, deltas, arms are complemented by prominent veins on the biceps and forearms: “the dream of a drug addict” is a hackneyed joke about this, heard by me two hundred times.
The art director, a diminutive, eternally excited girl, flies in – an electric broom with a permanently hoarse voice from shouting over the music, hands me an envelope with a “hack”, accompanying it with enthusiastic interjections and fierce gestures involving all the thumbs in the body.
In the sense that I – awesomely “annealed”, “jabbed” and “muddied”, to which I joke on duty about “two minutes of shame – and money in my pocket!”
And we both laughed knowingly.
And in this place, I often remember about …
The shame is REAL.
10 years ago, “county town N”, night, street, lamp, pharmacy … but no, about the pharmacy – later :).
Then so: night, restaurant, pitching, kitchen.
Yes – yes, exactly the kitchen: we warm up among plates, sinks, and pots.
For some establishments, the dressing room for the “artists” is a luxury, and the people are tired of the monotonous dull
“Mikhailov” under the nasal “live” singing of the local Luciano-na-Povorot and require spectacles, shows, that is.
Which organizes such institutions, inviting alternately dancers, strippers, and, clearly, the stump, “jocks”.
Sometimes – all together, if the budget and size allow.
So, a warm-up in a restaurant kitchen can be extremely exciting, especially when a tray with champagne poured into glasses is on the table next to it. ABOUT!
All-inclusive! – my colleague on stage smirks and technically throws the container into the bottomless bodybuilding womb.
Background: Michael, 22 years old, 100 kg (versus my then 80), a big man and an optimist, a passionate lover of three things in life: philosophizing, devouring, and fiddling.
