On being a fan, the Moon and Transatlantic S-Bahn

It’s 2PM in Quebec city and still a part of me is fully aware that it’s 8PM in Munich. It’s not even been 10 days since I’m back to Real Life, with family, friends, projects, shows…

Real Life? It was so easy before January 22nd. There was Internet Life and Real Life. Internet Life has been a huge part of me for more than 10 years : Internet friendships developping under the flag of a common passion for some work of fiction. And then this TV show, and then the cinematography of this or that actress, and then this band… It was so much easier being a fan of something completely intangible, written down and final? You can grasp it, make it your own, talk about it and write about it and it doesn’t affect anyone in any way.

And then I became a fan of people and it fucked everything up : the fictionnal identity doesn’t exist anymore. You can try to create a vessel of fiction about « real people » but it only works for some time and on a very superficial level. It’s cute to make photoshop edits of people over tea varieties or crustaceans (don’t ask) when it’s between friends and the purpose of it is to push something between yourselves. What is the most absurd or mind-breaking thing you can create that still has depth and value? It’s an interesting question. What happens when your chosen media to answer this question happens to be real people though? When the photos you choose as canvas are from photographers that actually take the time to see how their art is used and confront you about it? Suddenly the Internet Life is not just about the Internet Life anymore. It affects real lives. When I dug into the Munich Scene it was about these Real Lives from the start. The multi-faceted talent. The behind-the-scenes work. The outtakes. The connections.  Still, even then, when this blog began to have some outreach, it was STILL an overwhelming sense of reality hitting me in the face. Because it was still the Internet. It was still about being a fan. On the Internet, you don’t get to meet the people you are fan of. It’s like trying to reach the Moon. It’s the sense of longing for the unreachable that keeps you hooked and that fuels the « fan fire ».

So. What happens when you reach the Moon? When you get to bathe in its light and dig your hands in its ground and breathe its dust? You want to absorb as much of it as possible. You can’t get enough of it. Of course, you are incredibly lucky that it’s as perfect as you guessed it was. But then, you are always so lucky. Real Life has always been incredibly good to you. And at some point you don’t want to go back to Earth because it’s so perfect up there. You imagine Real Life up there.You can easily see it happening. It clicks. It fits. You wouldn’t be an alien up there. But you go back to Earth. Even days later you are still dizzy from the experience and the traces of it linger in your body and you see and hear ghosts all the time…

And then you realize that you don’t see it from afar anymore. The Moon dissapeared from the sky and transformed itself in another Earth and a part of you is there. There is no Internet Life and Real Life anymore : there’s Real Life and Real Life. Planet Montreal versus Planet Munich, and you are part of both worlds. You meet new people as if you were still at Favorit Bar. You always have two clocks in your head, 6 hours apart. You know what gig is where, tonight, in two different cities. You are two different someones and still the same person. The tragedy is that you also feel like you have a family in both universes too, and sadly, your happiness may very well resides with both, now.

So yeah, how to cope with all of this? The easy answer would be Music. Music keeps the ghosts from fading away, for sure. But it doesn’t cauterizes the wound at all.

What if there were bridges between both universes though?

What if Munich-Montreal was something that could happen for real?

What if, sporadically, Real Life and Real Life became one? That would be very nice.

That, or a very fast S-Bahn from Berri-UQAM to Sendlinger Tor.