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That said, he proceeded to introduce me for the
next ten minutes as I stood in the wings with my
one lousy page of notes clutched in my remaining
handNames went past like floats in a paradeA
few, like Edward Hopper and Salvador Dal?, I knew
Others, like Yves Tanguy and Kay Sage, I didn't
Each unknown name made me feel more of an impostor
The fear I felt was no longer mental; it clamped a
deep and stinking hold in my bowelsI felt like I
needed to pass gas, but I was afraid I might load
my pants insteadAnd that wasn't the worstEvery
word I had prepared had gone out of my mind except
for the very first line, which was hideously
appropriate: My name is Edgar Freemantle, and I
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have no idea how I wound up hereIt was supposed
to elicit a chuckleIt wouldn't, I knew balenciaga the day bag that now,
but at least it was true
While Dario droned on - Joan Mir? this, Breton's
Surrealist Manifesto that - a terrified excontractor
stood with his pathetic page of notes
clutched in his cold fistMy tongue was a dead
slug that might croak but would speak no coherent
word, not to two hundred art mavens, many of whom
held advanced degrees, some of whom were
motherfucking professorsWorst of all was my
brainIt was a dry socket waiting to be filled
with pointless, flailing anger: the words might
not come, but the rage was always on tap
"Enough!" Dario cried cheerily, striking fresh
terror into my pounding heart and sending a cramp
rolling through my miserable basement regions -
terror above, barely held-in shit belowWhat a
lovely combination"It has been fifteen cartier santos 100 chronograph years
since the Scoto added a new artist to its crowded
spring calendar, and we have never introduced one
in whom there has been greater interestI think
the slides you are about to see and the talk you
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are about to hear will explain our interest and
excitement
He paused dramaticallyI felt a poison dew of
sweat spring out on my brow and wiped it offThe
arm that I lifted seemed to weigh fifty pounds
"Ladies and gentlemen, MrEdgar Freemantle,
lately of Minneapolis-StPaul, now of Duma KeyIt sounded like an artillery
barrage going offI commanded myself to run away
I commanded myself to faintLike a
man in a dream - but not a good one - I walked
onstageEverything seemed to be happening slowly
I saw that every seat was taken but no seat was
taken because they were on their fake cartier roadster feet, they were
giving me a standing OHigh above me, on the
domed ceiling, angels flew in airy disregard of
the earthly matters below, and how I wished I was
one of themDario stood beside the podium, hand
outstretchedIt was the wrong one; in his own
nervousness he had extended his right, and so my
return handshake was awkward and bass-ackwardsMy
notes were crumpled briefly between our palms,
then toreLook what you did, you asshole, I
thought - and for one terrible moment I was afraid
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I'd said it aloud for the mike to pick up and
broadcast all over the roomI was aware of how
bright the spotlight was as Dario left me there on
my lonely perchI was aware of the microphone on
its flexible chrome rod, and thinking it looked
like a cobra rising out of a colored prada fairy bag snake-charmer's
basketI was aware of bright points of light
shining on that chrome, and on the rim of the
water glass, and on the neck of the Evian bottle
next to the water glassI was aware that the
applause was starting to taper off; some of the
people were resuming their seatsSoon an
expectant silence would replace the applauseThey
would wait for me to beginOnly I had nothing to
sayEven my opening line had left my headThey
would wait and the silence would stretch out
There would be a few nervous coughs, and then the
murmuring would startBecause they were assholes
Just a bunch of lookie-loo assholes with rubber
necksAnd if I managed anything, it would be an
angry torrent of words that would sound like the
outburst of a man suffering from Tourette's
I'd just call for the first omega watches for sale sl |