Futuristic Remorse

I have lapsed as a Yearbook historian, y’all. I forgot (or rather, to state the crime in full measure, pretended to forget) to reflect on the Futurist performance art dinner I went to a week ago as part of the Capitol Fringe Festival.

All attendees to this eccentric event got to wear special robes, be treated like numnuts, and experience everything from vegetable-scented air to Magic Food, which was mysterious white pellets that could alternately taste horrible, adequate, or palatable. In other words, it was a beyond blogworthy experience, but I just didn’t even know where to start when I tried writing about it. At first I beat myself up about it. But instead of feeling beat up, I actually felt upbeat.

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