Good-bye!
The night before last I had a dream about Mark E. Smith. A kind of spoken word event in the auditorium of a university. One of those rooms typical of such institutions from the 1970s. White painted brick walls, concrete, a floor of granite slabs. It had not been very crowded. Maybe 40 people. Mark E. Smith had been reading and reciting texts. He stood in the middle of the room and the audience leaned against the white walls. He had on the black leather jacket he always wore in public in recent years. With it a white shirt. From a table in the background, a young guy with various small synthesizers contributed short snippets of sound. The enthusiasm of the audience was limited. Many had obviously expected something else, something that would be more like The Fall. In the end, therefore, there was only polite applause.
The small crowd briskly strove towards the exit. Mark E. Smith was still standing in the middle of the room, watching the crowd leave, when a young guy asked him what it was like to still be in the business at that age. If he was not tired. For a moment Smith fixed the questioner with a piercing gaze. Those who were not yet outside paused. All expected an escalation. But then Smith grinned, "I've lived my life. The way I wanted to. What about you?" He looked at the young guy for another moment, turned and disappeared down a long hallway that led out the back of the room. I looked behind him and noticed how slender and fragile he looked from behind.
Then I woke up. With tears in my eyes.