Feed your head -- unscrambling the 70s (working title)
an excerpt

10.000 eyes are staring at me, almost only at me, I feel that I am the center of this vast gigantic bowl of noise, this huge blend of noise which comes from all parts and corners of the venue. The music forms an undefinable mixture with all the chatting, shouting and cheering. As the music fades at the end of every song, the non-melodic noises rise and bring across the appreciation of what I am doing, or at least it gives me the feeling that I am appreciated, I am understood in a way, I am accepted; I am giving something to them and getting something back.
10.000 eyes of which I am unable to recognize colours and expressions, motionless or either following my movements from one side of the stage to the other, almost all in beautiful unison or at least in my imagination. Invisible bonds are formed between these thousands of eyes and my body and its various forms of expression, either acoustically or visually, which they are able to perceive, either in detail, because they are standing in the pit, close to the stage or they are among the masses who did not make it that far and are standing rather far away in one of the last rows. I am unable to make out the last rows, even flamboyant colours are disappearing in the mass, as if they were not there.
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