I’ve seen sweat, despair, and disgust give way to eight-minutes of complete euphoria. I’ve seen men come alive for three-to-five, depending on the crowd. I’ve seen grown men crushed beneath the critical heel of an ignorant, arrogant audience, and seen them lifted to highs yet undefined.
And, I’ve been this man.
Jumping and gyrating, hoping a spark from your personality will ignite onto the apathetic-at-best spectators.
Performance art at its best,
It makes full adults scream, and reel, and cry.
Stand-up comedy, you bitch-whore devil-mistress.
“Why can’t I master you?” We all scream in an agonized unison.
The highs are EPIC.
The lows, though… Oh, God, the lows.
I thought I had met depression on a biblical level – and then I began my love affair with Comedy.
Rejected by a whole room? Oh, yeah.
Rejected by fellow comedians? Both Male and Female alike.
Rejected by long-standing friends and family? Certainly.
Rejected by prospective partners, as inevitably, life creates art? Definitely.
There’s nothing like the shame, the pain, the solitary burden of holding the mic, and being told to say something amusing. Clever on command: Go. The failure is more than anyone should really have to bear.
But, oh. God. The highs...
It’s a steep price you pay when you chase a dream.
I still wonder if we’re begging for understanding or forgiveness.
I’ll never not do this. I couldn’t give her up. Comedy, you devil-queen, I think I love you...
I'm Jane Malone.