#michaelsebastian

This past week I moved a boulder.

After countless empty aggro loud London boxes, I had a warm embodied abode to entrance. 

Messages upon messages. Self-deprecating, self aggrandising self-promotion. Cancellation after cancellation after cancellation. Living to poke - Poke. Screen of Laptop. Screen of iPad. Screen of iPhone. Share. Like. Comment. Nudge. Trawling through forums. Forms. Scorn. Opportunities. Great opportunities. Going out, gigs, tireless shallow introductions. I'm a musician. It's kind of a mix between Jazz, Rock, Electro and Hip-hop. You should come. I think YOU'll really enjoy it. Anxiety. Pay-to-play. Pay to watch. Losing money. How the fuck am I gonna make money. Take money from friends. Alone Alone Alone. Rehearsal. Alone. Travel. Alone. Soundcheck Alone.

Then.

9:10 PM - 33 People of whom I - I alone - have encouraged, stream through the battered wooden door of the battered Camden Venue above the battered Camden Pub.

Friends - Are these friends? I now have friends in the city?

Music - My music, have these people come here for my music? To hear my pyjama craft?

The room is full, sweaty, energised and I am elevated to somewhere else. The groove flows like water and we all drink from the same cup.

My balls get bigger and I take all the risks. I am winning.

After repeatedly punching a wall for 6 months, I have broken through. For half an hour or the rest of my life, I know not.

What I do know is though. I can. I can do this. Yes. I really can. It's real. There's an energy there.