rinue | Nightescape

Something I've noticed about artists is their general knack for finding each other. Take a thousand strangers, stick them in a room together, and within two hours the actors and musicians will have formed a clique. One could ascribe this to mere theatricality -- the signals sent off by clothes and mannerism, the flourishes of speech that scream "I am a writer," and the odd sense of humor that comes with creativity. One could argue that it's more like a soul bond -- similar personalities screaming across the ether.

One could say pheremones. One could say arrogance. One could say vocab, gesture, and audience.

One could say sleep schedule, a common level of alertness. People feel uncomfortable when someone's more awake then them, as though they're behind the game; likewise, they're irked when someone's more sleepy -- it's laziness. Artists, for whatever reason, tend to be night owls.

I've never really understood that, although I certainly am whenever given the chance. It could be the intimacy of darkness, or the mystery of the city that no one sees. It could be convenience. It could be that it's cheaper.

It could be that we're all insomiacs haunted by inner demons or muses that won't quit.

Probably not.

In any case, I've been spending most nights hanging out with Chad and Ciro, coming in at three or five in the morning and crashing 'til noon. It's a life of long talks, art museums, Mamet films, and poetry open mics, (at which we are among the best, of course). . . I've missed it. It sounds pretentious as hell, but I've missed it.

Although it's wreaking havoc on my biology, it's good to be back.