pay attention to how skin lays over bones

laugh at jokes

let the desert sand tension
that's accumulated
into rhino's tough hide

dissolve
to feathery gossamer
what animal am I now?

dream more
daydream
night dream

look people in the eye
when we talk
listen with whole body

there is time for planning

and there is time for presence

do all literary images

taste like paper?

chuck out those bones

those compost roots

make garbage sandwiches

out of banana peels

when i
woke up
i felt
barbaric
this epic spring
journey's been
homeric
submarine swimming
to the bottom
of the
ocean
how bout I
nap for a
while with
calypso

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

March 23, 2016

Panic does not accelerate productivity.
Slowing down helps me see with more attention and sustained focus.
There is great creative power in waiting and in doing nothing.
Wandering opens up as many ideas as spaciousness.
Taking a long time on a project can help me go big with it.

I can still pump out material, generate new work and experiment
with several improvised pieces a day.
The process is becoming about the long haul.
How I sustain, how I balance out the creative, the professional, the personal.

We handle grief in innumerable ways.
The ways I handle grief over time changes.

Opening up, taking down walls and allowing for vulnerability
makes way for connection.
It's uncomfortable to be vulnerable.
The discomfort zone is where learning happens, where magic happens.

I can only sit for so long without upsetting my body and brain
for the rest of the day.
I need to move and find new positions for myself
in order to engage holistic learning, teaching and making.

I am a total maniac.
I know how to make massive quantity, how to write a lot and create a ton,
and that is an exquisite practice to have under my belt,
but now my challenge is learning to do less
and in that way do better.

I have a mountain of experience under me
and when I don't recognize that,
I stand tiptoe on top of that peak,
unbalanced, about to fall to bottom.

I am privileged in many ways. Marginalized in a few.
I can walk into a room recognizing the areas
in which I am privileged
and use those to help lift up
the marginalized in the room.

Instead of listening for contention or to interrupt,
listen for understanding.
Pay attention to a room --
Does someone need to step forward?
Does someone need to step back?

Reflection is as important as planning and acting.
When questions drive the work,
the work creates more questions.
We can explore deeper to make those questions better all the time.

At the roots of everyone's work are a few core questions.
Finding out what drives us means asking
what enrages, inspires, makes us curious, brings us joy, makes us laugh
and then tapping into those answers.

Generating material is only the first part --
then comes reworking, redrafting, feedback, queering, showing, rewiring...
All the parts that play with the work take the longest.
That final 5 percent it takes to finish a work really does take 95 percent of the time.

A play that taps into shared perversity is more compelling
than one that investigates psychological motivations.

Asking where am I? each moment
can bring deeper awareness and presence
and is an easy way to slip back into a conscious mind frame
when the spinning option steals my breath.

Finding ONE thing, one focus at every given moment
leads to greater groundedness in the work.

Art matters.

I know what I'm doing.
I'm on the path to creating a lifelong process that works well for me.

Great art has roots and reach.

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

Saw 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

​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