Transcendence

This past week has been adventurous. I lost my job (maybe), found a job, my car died and was revived, and I may start attending a new church (maybe). But it's interesting how your attitude can determine how things affect you. I have made it my goal to not be bothered and when things go wrong, I just roll with the punches. Sure, funds are tight and that is basically the cause of all of my worries, but things will work out. They have so far, and they always will.

Identity is such a strange thing. You think you know who you are, but you have no way of knowing if that's how others see you. In fact, it can be guaranteed that your view of yourself is very different than others' views. You can try to present yourself in a way that reflects how you feel, but your feelings often differ from day to day. And when you try something new, people always say "gee, that's not like you at all." But it IS like me, you say. This is how I feel today, and why should it matter that it's different than how I usually am? People expect you to be one thing, when sometimes you really want to be another. Like the line from "Weekend" (which has become one of my favourite films), "I keep trying to redraw myself, but everyone keeps hiding my pencils."

But I won't feel guilty because of who I am. I won't apologize because I don't fit into your description. Gay? Straight? Bisexual? Transgender? Queer? They're all just labels. They're all just words to put someone in a box. The problem (and the good thing, I suppose) with words is that they all mean something. When you want to describe something you have to use the words at your disposal. And maybe one word is closer than another, but how do you describe something you've never felt before? How do you describe something that is totally and utterly unique to you? You know that no one will ever truly understand it. You know that as soon as you say the words out loud, they will interpret them however they want. How do you communicate with someone? Pictures? Facial expressions? Look at how many languages there are in the world today and then look at how many non-verbal ways of communication include the same way of saying things. A smile. A furrowed brow. A picture of two people holding hands. A dog. A sun. Maybe we should just go back to drawing pictures. But even then I will look at your picture and not see the same thing you see. It's the blessing and curse of the individual. Don't presume to understand me, but know that when I'm looking at you I'm not presuming to understand you either.

Whisper of Winter
A red bird in a bare tree
Transcendence in Spring

Tis the Season

Apparently I'm just going to be posting on holidays. However, there are many obscure holidays all throughout the year so hopefully that means I'll be posting more often. It will be a game to see which holidays we can celebrate with blog posts.

Happy Christmas! I was unable to send out individualized Christmas cards this year as I've been trying to do, so I'm writing a Christmas blog instead! I had one beautiful gift under the tree (thanks Dad and Mary!) and no plans for the rest of the day except to listen to the "Nightmare Before Christmas" soundtrack and eat lots of chocolate.
I went to the United Church of Christ this morning for services, but as I was driving there I realized there were NO cars outside any of the churches in town. Perhaps they had early morning services or something and were spending the rest of the day at home with their families. I got to the United church and there were cars there, so I went inside and they had already had their service and were just finishing up a potluck breakfast. I awkwardly joined them, but they were very kind and I enjoyed spending a bit of time with them. Maybe I'll go back sometime.

It really doesn't feel like Christmas. I'm not with family, though I did just get to see some of them this month, which was fantastic. This morning I was all mopey because I am not spending Christmas with family but now I feel better. I watched "The Nutcracker" designed by Maurice Sendak which was amazing and lifted my mood. My roommate Lorayne invited me to spend some time with her family today and I might later but probably not. It is very nice of her to think of me, but somehow I think it's worse to spend holidays with someone else's family, particularly if you don't know them very well. It would just remind me I'm not with my family. But at home I can just relax and be myself.

It's not snowing, which is actually fine by me. Today was positively warm. And although we have a tree and everything downtown is lighted up, I haven't done much of anything festive-y. I did go to a caroling/winter solstice potluck dinner thing in the mobile home park where I live now. It was actually a lot of fun. We sang carols and moved from house to house for the different courses of dinner. The community here in the park is really nice and they were really open and welcoming. Rayne called me a "party animal" afterwards, which is something I have never been called before and makes me feel odd. I have no idea what prompted it. I didn't drink with everyone. I did have a good time talking and caroling and joking, but I wasn't crazy. At least I didn't think so.

But the point is, I watched both "The Muppet Christmas Carol" and the John Denver and the Muppets Christmas Special yesterday, and they both had some wonderful messages. I was reminded that although I'm not with my family today, as Kermit the Frog says, "Christmas is the one time of year where everyone seems to be a part of everyone's family." So whomever I spend time with today is family. And while the giving of gifts is a wonderful tradition, it's also a good tradition to just spend time with one another and tell people you love them. And as the Ghost of Christmas Present sings, "wherever you find love it feels like Christmas" and "the message is to make it last all year." And so Christmas day, while it's nice to spend with family and friends, is just another day to be grateful for the love I feel from those people. So pity me not, dear ones! Have a very Merry Christmas, and know I'm thinking of you and I love you very much!

Middling

It's Thanksgiving, and although I'm not with family or friends on this day, I am cuddled up in a blanket with three dogs snuggling close, the Punch Brothers playing softly, and a little fireplace space heater flickering in the corner. I am content.

This term has been absolutely insane, but I have had so many good experiences I would not change it in any way. I still have lots to do before finals (directing projects next week, groundplan and model for "The Tempest" design, Econ paper, play, and moving) but I think I can make it. I just have to actually sit down and do it.

I am particularly excited for my directing project, "Rope." I have a wonderful cast and crew who have worked tremendously hard in the very short time we had available to create what is a solid production. We still have work to do before tech (Monday!) but we're all taking a well-deserved break this weekend after some really wonderful rehearsals this past week. And the deeper we go into the script the more I love it. As it's a period piece written in 1929, part of the work we've been doing is to try and find ways to make it relevant to our world today. The play is, I believe, about apathy and disillusionment, and finding a sense of morality one character thought he had lost. We find this very prevalent today, as our generation has a tendency to worry about things like fashion and fame rather than the troubled state our world is in. We spoke about the Occupy Wall Street movement as an improv exercise before rehearsal on Tuesday and tried to connect it to our play, which with the recent violence and police abuse has become impossible to ignore. I have been reading a lot about the Occupy events recently and I am interested in doing theatre that deals with that issue and eminent revolution in the future, so I am trying to integrate my feelings into what we're doing right now (which is essentially a play about the 1% and how their situation and views on society lead to a motiveless murder). I wish we had a lot more time to work on this production, to explore and learn more, but as it is I am comfortable with where we are and I think it will be a good show.

After this term things will be slowing down considerably, which will allow me to read more, relax more, discover what I want more. The event of graduating and becoming a real adult is looming ever closer, and as exciting as that is, it's also terrifying. We'll see what happens. It will be exhilarating and intimidating.

How to be grown up
Always a Lost Boy inside
Grittiness of sand

Comforter

I know it's been a while since I posted, and I apologize. School started and things have been pretty crazy for the past couple of weeks. And it's only going to get crazier.

It's rather bizarre being back in school. It's strange to always be surrounded by people. Fun, but strange. I'm not popular but I'm well-liked, and it's led to me occupying a fairly queer place in the theatre department. First of all, I'm the assistant director for our Black Box show "Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead." The play is vulgar and cruel and hilarious and heavy, but it ends with a measure of hope and is popular among the students. This assignment means I'm in a leadership position that people recognize and respect (Kyle, the director, has been very good about involving me in the actual rehearsal process, which I find refreshing). I'm also in the Intermediate Directing class, which consists of a 30-minute cut of a play presented at the end of the term. These projects are a big deal within the department, and we work with the Acting II class so we both gain valuable experience working with peers. This has the same effect as being an assistant director. That, and having been a den mom last year (with almost all my den babies still within the department), has created a role of "mom" within the department for me. At least, that's what it feels like. People stop me in the halls to get hugs, people pull me aside to talk about difficulties, people look to me for comfort and encouragement. I almost always have a positive outlook and am constantly telling everyone to calm down and let it work itself out. I don't mind, not at all. In fact, I rather enjoy it. However, it makes me terribly lonely. Who do I go to when I have problems? Who will put their arms around me and tell me it's going to be all right? Who will lift me when I'm down? I have friends in the department and out, but I want that one person who will always be there for me.

No worries. I'm just feeling a bit down today. I'm tired. I feel old.

A Study in Haiku

Unrequited love
As sure as the waxing moon
Solace in chocolate

Swift

She blinked
and a thousand words sifted through her eyelashes
The windows to her soul
were actually barred
Letting only the occasional sheet of feeling
slip between the rods in a shielded palm

Her lips remained locked
the current of emotion would go no further
than the dam of sticks made of her misgiving
Hers was a quiet love
the gentle swish of the washing machine
His a surge
devouring and uplifting

A cotton string was all
that tied her to another
Finding comfort in warm and tousled bedding
But inside
a chimney swift
tapped on the glass
of the window to her soul

9/11/11

It’s hard to believe it has been a decade since the September 11th tragedy. The whole thing has always been a little bit unreal for me, even watching videos and hearing first-hand accounts. Since the events on 9/11/01 many many things have happened, but everyone still remembers. It’s interesting to read and hear about where everyone was during the 9/11 attacks ten years ago: how they heard about it, where they were, who they lost. I remember exactly where I was. I was at home, getting ready to go to another typical day of middle school. I walked into the hallway with my backpack on, all set to walk out the door and to the bus stop down the street. I stopped in the doorway of the living room, where the television was on and my family was sitting and watching videos of the Twin Towers burning. I joined them, barely comprehending the magnitude of the tragedy, kneeling on the carpet with my backpack on.

The next few days were similarly surreal. At school we always watched a college-run news show called Channel One, and one day they did a story about Fremont and the large Afghan population there. It crossed my mind the story was about hate crimes directed at Middle Eastern-born Americans, but all I really thought was, “Hey! That’s where I grew up!” They filmed an interview by the fruit stand right outside our old apartment complex.

It took me years to fully understand the depth of the events that occurred on September 11th, 2001, and they are still just beyond my grasp. It wasn’t until I stood staring down into the rubble of Ground Zero and listening to a woman tell a story about her son, known only as “the man with the red bandanna,” a volunteer fireman who saved lives before losing his own, that I felt the chasm of sorrow associated with that day. It wasn’t until I stood looking at the countless memorials on display in the St. Paul chapel that I truly understood how many people lost their lives, how many people were deeply and personally affected by the catastrophe. Living in relative safety on the other side of the country, I never knew what it meant to have the World Trade Center fall.

Sometimes I think in terms of before and after. I see a movie set in New York and there are the Twin Towers, blazing in the sunlight, and I think, “This was before 9/11.” I read a book about Middle Easterners getting held up at the airport and I think, “This is because of 9/11.” National security before and after. The wars in the Middle East before and after. Friendships before and after. Families before and after. I didn’t personally know anyone who lost her life or even who lost someone dear to them, and my life didn’t really change before to after. But every year I hold a silent personal vigil: in the dedicated moment of silence at the Embassy, in a white flower with whispered well-wishings dropped into the river, in communion with the full moon.

As magnificent as the scope of tragedy that day held and in the years of aftermath, I can only believe in the goodness and resistance of the human soul. I am amazed at the tributes of art, music, novels, architecture, and film dedicated to those who lost their lives. People will find hope and strength and rise above wretchedness. They will stand together, bound by links that withstand time and tribulation. As my mother taught me, all people are inherently good, and I will believe till the day I die that when the day ends, people will do the right thing. People will come together and help each other. People will lift each other’s heads and hands and help each other live. People will find quiet strength in the community of the human spirit. People don’t wish harm on others. Even in the wake of tragedy, even in the crisis of financial ruin, even on the brink of destruction, people just want to live. Even in the supposed triumph of the killing of Osama Bin Laden, it’s still just another death. All we want is a quiet place to be still and listen and learn and love. We must and will rise above death and sorrow to create a stronger, more beautiful world. A world that has the resilience and trust that has been shown by countless individuals in the past ten years.

In the clear morning air
Smoke and dust and human souls
Rose above the shining Towers into the sky
Pillars of strength and internationalism
Brought down by impact
Metal on metal

Years later
Foundations rise
Hands build
Differences unite
Hope where once lay terror
And tears

In the wake of tragedy
A new light
Strength from sorrow
Faith through fear
Courage from calamity
A reviving city
Not a broken one

O brave new world, that has such people in it

In Time

Sorry it's been a while since I wrote last. After coming back from California I almost immediately started a house/dog-sitting job and I have been adjusting to the new schedule. I sleep at the house in Talent, get up, take care of the dog, go to work, come back, take care of the dog, hang around, take care of the dog, and then come back to Ashland for a bit to hang out with Stanley Copernicus before I go back to take care of the dog and go to bed. It's not very much work, but it's a pretty inflexible schedule and I'm still getting used to it. However, it's kind of fun and I've gotten used to showering outside and having dance parties to the music channels on cable. Only two more weeks and I'll be back to living at my own place (I've started to think of Talent as "home" now, which is kind of weird).

I had some strange dreams last night. There are two things I distinctly remember. One is Liz and I singing "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist" to Mom while we were all seated in an auditorium, and some woman telling us to be quiet (she said something specific but I can't remember what it is now). The other part involved a giant gorilla (not unlike King Kong) called The Front Runner, and he was kind of like John the Baptist except instead of preparing us for the coming of Jesus he was a representative of the party of vampires that was soon to take over the Earth. Go figure.

I've a mixed mind when I think about the coming school year. On the one hand I'm involved in a lot of projects that will prove both interesting and challenging. On the other hand I'm involved in a lot of projects that will prove both interesting and challenging. I'm afraid I won't be able to put my full attention to everything and that my work will suffer. I'm not a complete perfectionist but I like to do my best wherever I can. We'll see how it goes. I'm wondering if Scene Design is offered in the Winter then I can postpone that for a semester and only take three classes. That will definitely lighten the work load. And after Fall I only need a few more classes to graduate. Yippee! I'm still waiting to hear back from OSF about the dramaturgy internship. Cross your fingers!

I wish I could write more, but I'm off to read "Jurassic Park" to my friend Jenna!

Shalom!

Blackberry Picking

There is something magical about the first blackberry picking expedition of the season. You step out of your front door into the rush of traffic and the flicker of lights and fifteen minutes later you are walking quietly along an abandoned railroad, feeling the caress of the late sun on your cheek. The season is early and only a few berries have begun to swell and gleam in the golden light. It is like a treasure hunt, your eyes darting back and forth to find the rare burst of blue-black amidst the sea of green and pink. You relish the simple sounds of the evening. The slither of water through the weeds and bamboo. The crackle of conversation between the crickets and the birds. The whisper and clatter of the trees as the wind turns their leaves into gentle castanets. Even the cars on the distant highway have a rhythm and melody of their own. You walk along the railroad track, keeping a keen eye on the bushes to the left. There are no ripe berries, and the ground is too steep. You turn around, focusing on the other side of the track. A berry here, a berry there, dropped into the plastic bag with a satisfying plop. And then, there it is. The first clump of ripe berries, clinging with plump self-satisfaction to the prickly branches. You step carefully but eagerly and thrust your hands into the bushes, heedless of waiting thorns or spiders, to pluck the fat berries from their perches. These are moments of joy: the rush of fulfillment when you have to tug a little too hard for the stubborn berry to come free, or the burst of childlike satisfaction when a too-ripe globe crumbles at the slightest touch and you have to greedily lick the burgundy juice from your fingers. And soon the bottom of your bag is covered as you break free every last ripe blackberry from the flowering plants, avoiding the temptation to eat as many as you pick. You step back, satisfied, knowing that in a few short weeks those berries left behind will swell and darken and be ready for your next expedition.

And then you walk home, crunching through the gravel and gripping your plastic bag, admiring the sinking sun and darkening sky as you slowly reenter civilization. The berries are washed in cool water, dried and re-bagged, and placed carefully, reverently, into the freezer. You shut the freezer door with a quiet pride, knowing that in no time at all you will be sharing your rich bounty with dear family, savoring the taste and smell of a town and state you have grown to love. As you eat every last bite and lick your spoon clean, you are reminded of the melodious evenings of blackberry picking that has brought this delight. And then once again, in a year or so, you will embark on the first blackberry picking expedition of the season, eager to share the lovely memories of an evening in the late sunlight.

Why I Don't Like to Exercise

This is me when I'm exercising.


I don't like going to the gym, because at the gym I get all sweaty and self-conscious and feel judged that I can't even handle 40lb on any of the weight machines. So instead I choose to just walk around outside while wearing sneakers and running shorts. Sometimes I walk briskly. For much of the time I think about running but realize that while it is pretty outside, it's hard to appreciate the scenery when you're dying inside. But sometimes I do choose to jog for a bit, which always ends up being an unfortunate choice.

I think, "I'm going to start jogging when I reach that sign and keep jogging until I reach that other sign." I reach the sign, take a deep breath, and start jogging. After about 10 seconds, I'm like, "Yay! This is great! I could jog forever!!!" After about 20 seconds, my knees start going "Arrrgh! No! What? Why? Pressure!" And then my heart is like, "Dude, I was already going at a pretty good rate there, and now you want me to accelerate? Do you want to collapse on the side of the road?" And my lungs are just all, "....hhhrrreeegh.....hhhhrrrooooouuuuuu..." Plus, my legs are itchy. But I keep jogging until I reach the other sign because that's the goal I set for myself, and when I do I try and recuperate and convince my organs it was all for the best. I do this three to four times on my walk, even though it takes me a good five minutes to catch my breath. And while I'm gulping in air like a dying fish (because you can never get enough oxygen through your nostrils), bugs fly into my mouth.

And that's why I don't like to exercise.

P.S. This blog was inspired by the humour of Allie from Hyperbole and a Half and I wish we were friends so she could illustrate my story (especially my lungs).

Sunset swim in the lake.

Enough said.

Somewhere between annoyed and exhausted...

The past two days have been wonderful. Work was lame (a common occurrence) but because I get off so early in the morning by the end of the day sometimes it feels I was never at work in the first place. This week has flown by and yesterday and today have been particularly pleasant.

Yesterday after work I met up with my good friend Jenna and we had a picnic in the park together. We ate delicious Co-op food and talked about everything from graduation to becoming lazy lumps of lard (which we are now trying to avoid). We spoke about my lack of interesting tangles with the law and came up with the BEST band name ever: "Quietly Illegal" (which I claim and copyright as my creation, with Jenna as my witness). Then we wandered around downtown, eating Zoey's ice cream and wondering at the weather. After stopping by her place of employment, we finally decided it was warm enough to warrant going to the lake. We changed and gathered our belongings and headed up to Emigrant Lake, laughing and singing along to "The Pirates of Penzance." We drove to the far side of the lake and found a little deserted beach, where we lay in the sun and (very briefly) swam in the cool water. We discussed plans for downsizing and running away, and implored a passing eagle for some fish (or a pizza). We basked in the warm sun until clouds came and covered it and the breeze became just too chilly for comfort. We listened to and I explained the plot of "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" (can you believe Jenna has never seen it?) and then I dropped Jenna off at her home, promising to see her more often. That evening I discovered one of my favourite films (the original Japanese "Shall We Dance?") was finally available on Netflix Instant View, so I ate dinner, went on a quick and refreshing walk, then settled down to a pleasant and nostalgic evening.

Today was similarly enjoyable. After work I went home and cleaned (which always makes me feel better) then Blaine came over and we drove up to Mill Creek Falls for the afternoon. We had a long and interesting discussion about "Harry Potter" (the seventh film of which I still have yet to see) and other interesting books we have read recently. I gave him my copy of "Dandelion Wine" to read. We laughed and joked until we reached the falls, where we traversed huge boulders and fallen logs to eat apples by the thundering river. We threw our apple cores into the river and talked about "Choose Your Own Adventure," which Blaine has never read (these are staples of my childhood, people! Where were you growing up?). We followed tiny paths through the trees, parting branches and rubbing spider webs off our faces to reach the viewpoint, where we could admire the distant falls in the warm sun and cooling breeze. We stopped for Snickers Ice Cream Bars on the way back and licked the wrappers clean. Driving home we tried to think of as many songs as we could with the word "river" (which wasn't many) and tried to make up a song that included the word "Hudspeth" (the name of a street we passed, and we never thought of a song because we couldn't decide whether the word was a noun or an adjective). We finally listened to random songs on random cds in my car and ended with the drive with the soundtrack from "Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog." Then I left Blaine to drive away to a meeting at the Festival.

I was invited to the lake this evening, and though I may slightly regret it later, I am comfortably exhausted and choosing to write this blog instead. I hope more days end up like the past few. I feel comfortable and weary and calm and happy. Knowing I have people to spend time with, knowing I have ridiculous things to say and laugh at, knowing I have beautiful places to go. They won't always stay this way, but right now, things are going pretty well. Shalom

2 Review

In the past three days I have read an incredible book and seen a wonderful play, and would like to share my thoughts on both.


I first heard about David Guterson's "Snow Falling on Cedars" through a Goodreads update sent to my email. Liz had reviewed and loved the book and I knew I had to read it as well. I picked it up at the library Tuesday afternoon and just an hour ago finished reading it in Lithia Park. I literally had a hard time putting it down. It is one of the best new books I've read in a long time (I've been rereading a lot of my favourites, though I did just read "Their Eyes Were Watching God" for the first time and also found that incredible). It was powerful, moving, thought-provoking, tense, beautiful. I'm not really into crime or trial novels so I don't have anything to compare it to, but while I would find it hard to maintain the level of tension and suspense a courtroom scene required to hold interest for readers Guterson never once allowed our minds to wander. By interspersing the trial with past and present events, the suspense holds and we draw our own conclusions and form our own opinions before the characters have a chance to react. Though I would make the case for Ishmael Chambers as the "main" character, every other player in this compelling world has depth and unique characteristics that make them equally real and important. I also appreciated the author's writing style. Although the novel contains its fair share of simile and metaphor, I never felt bogged down by inane comparisons. I never had to figure out what the author meant, and the style never felt overtly stylized or pretentious. Again, it felt like an objective (albeit intimate) observation of the events taking place within these people's lives.
I also appreciated the novel because of its themes. Set in 1954 on San Piedro Island, the book deals, among other things, with tensions between the American inhabitants and their Japanese neighbors. Having watched a lot of anime lately, I feel I have a basic, if not slightly skewed, understanding of Japanese culture and can relate to the tension Eastern and Western philosophical differences create. I also just recently watched "Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence," a film (with David Bowie!) about English and Australian soldiers in a Japanese POW camp during WWII, and the vast differences between English and Japanese social and cultural customs. There are times you don't know who to root for, because on the one hand, regardless of one's cultural, social, political, or ethnic background we are all just human beings. On the other hand, how can you reconcile your own social and personal beliefs when people are dying? It is an interesting thought, and I appreciate the openness with which Guterson explores the human heart. I thoroughly devoured and enjoyed this book, and would offer a strong recommendation to all.



Yesterday afternoon I saw the play "Ghost Light" at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. (By the way, for the longest time I thought the person in the poster was a woman, but it's not. It's a boy). It's a play written by Tony Taccone, directed by Jonathan Moscone, and is about Jonathan's reaction to and how his life was changed by the assassination of his father, Mayor George Moscone of San Francisco, and includes strong references and parallels to "Hamlet." While the reception by the audience has been mixed, I greatly enjoyed this play (and I don't think it's just because I'm from the Bay Area). While the play draws on the experiences of Jonathan Moscone and the influence of his father's assassination (or lack of, given the simultaneous death of Harvey Milk), the play never felt egocentric or even personally cathartic. I can't imagine it wasn't, but that was not its sole purpose. Through the observation of one person's incredible and incredibly personal journey, we feel within ourselves a recognition of universal emotions and situations: the loss of a loved one, a need for love, a realization of loneliness. I laughed out loud at the straight-forward humour, and brushed away tears at the statement of truth. Regardless of whether or not we knew who George Moscone was, I think we were all tickled and touched by the story of one man undergoing a tremendously difficult journey of self-awareness and acceptance.
I also really appreciated the structure of the play itself. It's not at all linear or straight-forward, and although I am a great fan of Realism, I am becoming more and more appreciative of theatre that pushes the limits of theatrical convention, that explores and blurs the boundaries between presentational and representational theatre. I loved the dreamlike and surreal nature of the text, and the syntax itself was unique and poetic. Although there were times I questioned a particular scene and its placement within the play, I later realized how that particular event triggered the next step in Jonathan's emotional journey. And sometimes it's more fun to have to figure things out. As Jon says, "we should just trust the audience to make the connections for themselves." And while all the actors were wonderful, Christopher Liam Moore's performance as Jon was absolutely astonishing and heart-breaking. Throughout the play I found myself entirely invested in the story and the characters, interested in the outcome, and affirmed in many of my beliefs about life. As the director writes, "Theater is not so good at the real, but it's pretty good at trying to get to the truth."
"Ghost Light" closes at the Festival in November, and then it moves down to Berkeley Rep, where I strongly recommend anyone in the Bay Area to see it (hint, hint, Mom). It was a funny and poignant play, and I hope to see it again before the end of its run.

There you have it! Two reviews of two magnificent pieces of entertainment. Hope you get a chance to experience each for yourself. Shalom!

Poised on the Edge of a Springboard

I feel a great anticipation, though over what I'm not sure. I feel something is going to happen. Do I have to do something about it? Will it happen to me naturally or do I have to do something, say something, to make it happen? And what is it anyway?

Maybe I'll find a better job. Maybe I'll write a great novel based on my limited experience and knowledge. Maybe I'll meet the girl of my dreams at "Ghost Light" tomorrow. "Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps."

The sky looks like it does in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" when the aliens come to kidnap the little boy. Maybe that's what I'm anticipating. ; )

Today I missed Garfield Street. It holds fond memories of my first year at SOU, the hope chest of a new beginning. I miss the rare occasions we would all hang out, me and Will and Dai and Dylan, playing Rock Band or talking about politics and religion. Hanging out with a bunch of guys. That was fun.

I'll let you know when it happens. Whatever it is. Until then...

Shalom!

Bloggity Blog

Note: This entry is best read in a strong Southern accent.

It has been weeks, nay, months, since I took the time to express myself through this medium. I have been distracted, immersed, engrossed, occupied, and preoccupied with all manner of academic and work force enterprises. I have been overcome with the pleasant laziness of summer afternoons and become indifferent to the needs of my eager readers. But now I arouse myself from the slumber of lackadaisical indolence and resolve to be more diligent with my writings.

I resolve to do a lot of things. I resolve to walk every evening when the sun is just setting and the hot summer day is just cooling down and lose myself in the high blue open ocean that is the twilight sky. I resolve to eat better, to choose the healthier food if I find the need to snack. I resolve to be more productive with my time, even if it's just to write a few thoughts here and a few thoughts there in this little forum. I resolve to reach out to those I love, to spend more time with them and to never hold back the quality of my affections. I resolve to be more alive.

So here's hoping this is the start of a new era in blogging.

All the Lonely People

This is where the lonely people go
Into the woods
Where the bare branches
stand stark against the bleak sky
Where the tumbling of the river
The chattering of birds
The crackling of leaves
Make them feel they are a part of something
Where the only person they meet
Is an old man and his dog
Each of them limping along in their heartache

This is where the lonely people go
Into the world of words
Where isolated souls
become heroes in distant lands
Where they can share the horror
The joy
The sorrow
Without hurting their already hollow hearts

This is where the lonely people go
Where making people laugh
And knowing what they are talking about
Are their only noticeable features
With no particular beauty
And no extraordinary talent
They cannot be picked out from a crowd

So they slip into their sheets
Where their dreams are their only solace
And no one can hear them crying

I Have Written Your Name on the Inside of My Eyelids

I close my eyes and
I see you
And try to pretend you're not more beautiful each time
Your bright, mocking eyes
Your laughing mouth with (what is it?) frowning at the corner of your lips
The dark stain of ink on your forearm
Your hands
Scratched and scarred from the care and keep of the menagerie

I don't know what it is
It may be so rare it's never been seen before
Like the first drop of dew on a summer's morning
Or it may be more common
than the splash of an ice cube into a drinking glass
Either way, it's tangible and tantalizing
The kiss of sunshine on a winter's day
The caress of clean sheets
A whisper from the seat behind you

It doesn't matter
I never see you anymore
Except when I close my eyes
and try to pretend I don't miss you