Audience is incident --

The audience and absence of audience are both incidental and therefore tests to the "actor" who must remember that he is alive and obliged to accept incident. In a society of audience, he is the only one charged with remembering this. His task becomes increasingly sacred and powerful as it becomes more rare; the degree of mortal danger he's in increases with the pace of his profitability. To compromise himself for something so petty as the confluence of factors which produce any certain audience, especially allowing for the prevalence of the mere voyeur, the worker relieving his tension, and the dissociated aesthete, is to show his underlying cards. He has not accepted death and still in his heart hopes to cheat it, riding beautifully on the upturned hands of a loving audience, displacing all other memories of uncertainty. To forget the audience, to fail to respond to its presence at all, is to show other underlying cards: he has not accepted death and still in his heart hopes to cheat it. He rides, even beautifully, on his escape from the compromised circumstance, paying heed only to what surrounds him and not what he is; he pledges his loyalty to whatever takes him away from death's approach.