Live On Stage

I'm disintegrating on stage - it's like a burlesque of my soul, right from the opener.

"Hey - found a wallet with $300. If it's yours, ask the manager. But he will need you to show ID." They laugh, I laugh - but each time, mine's fainter. And they're starting to see it. You do shows for years, you know quiet because they didn't get it from quiet because you didn't _sell_ it.

_Jen. You laughed, Jen._

I'm not emceeing roasts. If I can't do it for real, I'm out. *All* the way out.

It's a prop gag. One of those belly workout belts, a sound meter and a circuit board. And a cord that plugs into the stage outlet.

I put it on, go out. Each second with no laugh, it ups a bit. I got a minute of room in a ten-minute set. If I can't fill ten minutes, I'm dead out there anyway.

When I can't go on, they'll stop laughing. Then it goes all the way. It's a killer closer.

Goddamn. Even when I think in bits, I can't laugh. Her last breath was the last laugh on me. From me. My eyes can't smile, and it's just *killing* me.