The True Power of Balls Out Risk and Monumentally Fucking Up
I was thinking about the botched horror of the Fyre Festival the other day. This lead me to thinking about the Chicago Fire Festival, created by Red Moon Theatre, where the City spent a whole freaking truckload of money and, on the night of the event, no one could get anything lit on fire.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?