Taken at People of Letters
Proof that Neil Gaiman is God or possibly Gozer.
And Kim Boekbinder is at the very least Zuul.
A few nights ago I attended a wonderful event here at SXSW. It was called People of Letters, a travelling letter writing brigade from Australia. The panel of letter writers was impressive, from my writing guru Neil Gaiman and his wife Amanda Palmer to my newest, beautiful friend Kim Boekbinder. There were many interesting folks in-between. The theme of the letters was for each panel member to write a letter to the artistic endeavor that they wish they had created. The letters were amazing, some right on the theme and others an abstract interpretation of the theme. Every single participant read a letter that somehow resonated with my personal experience in a profound way, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. I was moved, amused, tortured, and uplifted all at once. As such, I have decided to write my own letter that is sort of an amalgamation of the themes that the panelists chose. (The letter will be a separate post because of reasons, many reasons.) It isn’t exactly an artistic endeavor, but it is the thing that inspired me to rebel and eventually create my own artistic life.
Neil Gaiman, as stated on many occasions on this blog, is my invisible writing mentor, my guru. He is now no longer invisible in my world. Although, I did not regale him with how much I am inspired by him when given the chance to mingle with him in the Green Room after the show. I did eat melted chocolate out of his pocket and discuss the awkwardness of Englishmen and orgies. Specifically orgies instigated via twitter. So in essence, I was able to reveal my strange imagination habits without making an ass of myself. (I can only assume he did not think I was an ass.) I even refrained from telling him that he was the very first person I followed when I joined twitter all those years ago. I was cool, almost as if in shock or face to face with Yeti. In actuality, I was just really tired. But Neil did not need to know that inside I was a total meltdown of exhaustion and writing guru overload bordering on Beatles fan fainting. I do think I mentioned bees and tea, probably incoherently. So he may have suspected that I was seeing him as a possible undercover Yeti.
He asked me to take pictures of him and friends with his phone. I did because I’m a dutiful minion. I’m sure I made terrible jokes all night, because that’s what I do. I make awful jokes when I’m nervous. Thankfully, my vagina did not get mentioned. As that is another nervous habit, mentioning my vagina when things are going too well and I need to prove to the world that I am a completely without social grace.
And by the end of the night I was fighting off giant ceiling bees with my new friend Neil. Ok, my new acquaintance, Neil fucking Gaiman.
P.s. We tweeted the next day. Short little tweets of love. Fine, short little tweets of Neil tolerating a strange little woman who promised to start a band called Neil Gaiman’s Pocket Chocolate. Did I mention that his melted pocket chocolate was delicious? It was.
P.s.s. In case I forgot to mention it, Neil Gaiman is the nicest, most lovely man on the planet. I’ll take on any arch nemesis for him. Including giant ceiling bees. All inference to Doctor Who’s giant Agatha Christie wasps is completely coincidental. And awesome.
No, I did not take a picture with him. Because of that tired, seeing Yeti thing, I forgot I had a camera with me.
To be continued with a letter to my record player and shit…
Filed under: Absurdity Is The Only Reality, Artistically Inclined, The Life And Times Of Fuzzy Lizzard Tagged: Amanda Palmer, Amy's life, Austin TX, chocolate, enlightenment, food, Good news I didn't mention my vagina once during this whole blog post, inspiration, Kim Boekbinder, life, manifesting my dreams through art, me, meeting your idols and eating their melted chocolate, my vagina get's into the weirdest conversations, neil gaiman, Neil Gaiman's Pocket Chocolate, orgies, People of Letters, Self Discovery, sxsw, writing
