Shane Koyczan‘s back in town for a few days. He left a message on my answering machine while I was sitting across from him at the Brickhouse earlier tonight/this morning to tell me “how awesome it is to hang out with you.” It’s a warmth, his presence attached to me like a persistent cradle of comfort. For years now, I am his Atlantis, he my Poet, we the Royalty reigning over poor timing. Personal mythology, bound books and declarations from famous stages. He’s playing London at the end of November, then the Orpheum.
It’s good to see him.
Apparently he’s here for the Writer’s festival, so you people who do not have work during the days, you should go see him.
The only evening show he has is on Thursday and I’m uncertain how invited I can be to that. See, he and his girlfriend had The Talk. You know, the One where my Name’s been Mentioned. I’m pretty damned likely to go anyway, to be honest, before I go over to Luciano’s to stay up sewing, just because that’s the sort of person I am, but no matter my itinerary, if you live in Vancouver, take this golden chance to see him perform. He jokes about being the Shane Koyczan, it’s true, but there’s a reason he was on a panel with Solomon Rushdie and Margaret Atwood.
He’s excellent, better, and best.