white van black haired man no teeth grin in the driver's seat a chore mop up blood buckets clang on the highway track sharp inhale where we lose the threads two men side by side block the wind while one lights a smoke small child four years kid aches for mom screams deep incision muscles crawl, running catch my breath
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she watches bedroom window
half her life staring white clouds mimic fogged glass one day sickness won't hold her here turn to the view sparkling pond lilacs on fire chortling jays ants swarm kidnap writhing wasp turn back to door blue washes her face mist up conversations let's eat oranges and daffodils forever sleeping on trains, leaning on elbows a teasing poke a blinking eye at his bedside lost maybe he could sense me those last words bed massive swallowing this frail thing there heavy cells eating his brain i read from paper hospice left "Love you for... Thank you for... Forgive you... Forgive me..." went down the list shy wanted to share sage thoughts grey mustache, quiet breath tears starting up felt false wanted to go big to make my voice clear whether he heard me or not A Micro-Play (responding to COVID-19) #1MPFSaw an opportunity to write and submit a 150 word micro-play responding to current events on Facebook. It's due today at 5pm (EST, I imagine) so coming right up, but you can learn more about that HERE if you want to write/send something fast. Here's the original version, a little longer than what I cut down to send them. I hope everyone is staying safe, healthy and managing okay during this wild time. Much love and goodness to you all. Inside an apartment. ZOE and CAM, any age/race/gender, together in front of their laptops. They’re sort of talking to each other but sort of to themselves.
CAM: It’s the uncertainty more than anything, all the unknowns. ZOE: I know. CAM: How long this will go on, when we can go back to normal… ZOE: I think I’m such an introvert but then this happens and I realize how everything we do depends on being in a room with people. And you, we’ve both lost shows, but all your gigs, your income… CAM: Maybe I’ll play music again but maybe not live? ZOE: I still have a job, but the stress of moving all my classes online is… CAM: Maybe we'll live on Zoom all our lives... ZOE: And what if the internet breaks? CAM: And you’re adjunct so there’s no security. ZOE: There’s no security for anybody. CAM: You’re right…there’s no…anything... Cam gets lost, falls into skin and starts to float away, out of the chair/floor. ZOE: Cam! Don’t float away! CAM: Can’t help it... Zoe reaches up and pulls Cam down with big might, keeping Cam grounded. CAM: Whoa. Thanks Zoe. ZOE: Anytime. Cam struggles to stay on the floor and grips onto Zoe. CAM: What do we do? ZOE: Let’s. Look outside. They do. Cam opens a window as Zoe holds them down. ZOE: Look at that squirrel, what’s he burying? CAM: A walnut? ZOE: A chestnut? CAM (like a dirty teenage): Chest-nut. They both laugh. ZOE: Smells fresh. CAM: Like spring. They hold hands, watching outside. They float away, in a different way, a present way, staying here in this moment but up in the clouds too. END OF PLAY a doorway
a fireplace with notes inside the moment panic started a quake in my ribs the salad bar closed the drive ranting up nightly hyperventilating assignments, the project, too much caffeine heavy emotions absorbed from love nobody ever proved that cold hands mean warm heart the chill of rain a scattering tiny violets on the grass in Philadelphia it's 80 degrees bricks in the green room unveiled eons caught in the space between cracks permanent marker on my favorite pants I notice that what I want to post here change cyclically, seasonally, as my interests do. Normally I'd post what we did in my last Drop-In Writing Workshop today, but now I'm feeling more satisfaction letting what takes place during those events happen ephemerally in that room at The Cabin. As I read through my old notebooks more quickly these days, fragments and raw rough writings are how I'd like to spend these pages at this time. I know that could and will likely change again in the future/ I'm getting better at listening to my curiosities as they shift, instead of forcing myself to stay with one format or another because it's what I've been doing previously. the stucco tall, wide, broad like desert heavy, rough, dusty salmon same as Arizona foothills surrounding that strange acreage overwhelmed with lush grass eat those boorish, massive walls mouthfuls at a time chew them up, grinding, smacking swallow inside i'm glass shards, rigid up/down giant pane, expansive sliver coated in spray paint my chest a brittle wall my shoulders, torso on one side the loud mistakes within that secret shames hiding hurt hushed on the other my face stage center sliding glass doors a place to escape carefully down
from rock to rock grab onto boulders hands grip sharpness a long look out the vast Pacific Morro Bay all about tourists we'd fit right in but we're the homeless kind of travelers my partner behind me his white Chevy one-ton all he touches belongs to him like me but right now I belong to the sea the rocks and otters could drift to ocean but I'm hungry don't smell good everything's sticky, ragged Shhh Shh sh the bay opens purring at me I step further down to clean dark blue find somewhere to soak and wrap up in kelp, sand sun dips past horizon tangerine sherbet weather mild fog hugs surf but I'm hungry Nyquil
hit by a flood I don't miss the benzos I used to take swimming through JELLO head sucks in water wavering back and forth head filled with stupid a journey to sea bottom under a log buried I hear a beeping followed by a shimmer someone's alarm it was a car, then music, then magic like a hallucination I was here, then I wasn't snot in my nose I'm not here to impress anyone thank goodness, today I might fail right back under the covers I used to like being sick the drive to your house
and your door creaks i wait for you in the pregnant clouds but no hurry late night skin morning cat far into dream places i sense us together your hand my waist rising in the not too cold when I make our tea leaves fell off maples
i jumped in the damp and grew up into a small dog we looked at the stars who took me across country me the always new girl too many men bought me too many drinks the haunting night called me into its bars and my lungs filled with water, clutching iron he took me away in a van i discovered the weight of my cranium and feared i'd go off a cliff finding the moon, lassoing it, i saw the you glow in its spotlight and pined closer i got off the love train for a while and found my breath stuck in my sternum i stayed too too long in the bathtub i found hope in sweaters we found places speaking to us and spoke back singing i took a lot of classes i fell from security the way i wrote got faster sharper i found relief in mossy woods i felt temperatures rise in my face i looked up and saw you thanks for being t/here |
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$1, $10, $100, whatevs :) Heidi KraayProcess notes on a work in progress (me). This mostly contains raw rough content pulled out of practice notebooks. Occasional posts also invite you into the way I work, with intermittent notes on the hows and whys on the whats I make. Less often you may also find prompts and processes I've brought to workshops, as well as surveys that help me gather material for projects. Similar earlier posts from years ago can be found on: Archives
April 2024
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