the most wonderful and dangerous capacity the human soul possesses, is the faculty of free-will. there is nothing more creative, and destructive, than the whims of humanity.

i'm a flake, i'll be the first to admit it, sometimes i even wonder off in the middle of conversations, lost in a day dream. its not the most effective title to have in a career where networking is key, but somehow I can almost always make it to rehearsals on time, and ready to work. i can't really say the same for any type of social call. i prefer to be late, and quiet at social gatherings/parties/etc. A very animated wallflower. and i won't hesitate to call off hanging out with someone for any excuse either they or i may have. the worst part is i have no problem with it. neither do most of the people i work with, but then, we're all equally as busy. Everyone understands. Well not everyone.
which brings me to the point of this rant, that the intended audience will probably never read:

A person not meeting your standards, is your fault, not theirs.
and it is not an excuse to behave negatively towards someone.


"Criticism is rarely constructive, observations are invaluable."

Things I do really well:

Theatre
Art
Mask
Cooking (Not Baking)
Playing Music/Listening to Music
Playing Instruments
Reading/Writing
Making Love
Hugging and Kissing
Anything that involves my hands.

Things I do proficiently/at an acceptable level:

Assess and Manage time (my own)
Keep my apartment reasonably clean.
Accept Compliments.
Make new friends.
Trying new things.
Hosting a Variety Show.
Auditioning.

Things I need to improve upon:

Ability to take Criticism.
Ability to overlook people's intentions.
Letting go of the past.
Ignoring preconceptions/assumptions.
Maintain an Open mind.
The ability to distinguish between an insult and a really bad joke.

Things I find totally unacceptable:

Being told what/who I am.
Advice from people who have not attempted the same things I have.
Craigslist Rants/Raves Section (otherwise known as the ignorance and blatant racism section)
Racism.
Religious Prejudice.
Holocaust Jokes.


Reasons I can Smile at any time after a few deep breaths:

I have a soulmate  (in the truest most pure sense of the word)
I have friends who will stand by me.
I now know which friends won't.
The sun is still there, and the Earth is still turning.
Somewhere two people are falling in love at any moment.
There will be a tomorrow, and only i can make it better than today.
Because throughout history, people have always been looking at their past, looking forward to their future, and complaining about the present.


I love everyone, everything.

YNOT


PS:  I don't want to be in Love with someone who can only say they care about me, but then behaves totally oppositely.  I won't make this mistake again.  Nor will I carry it with me anymore.  From here on out, the past is nigh,  the future is unwritten, and every moment is a beautiful new discovery.

the same thing that stands between us, is what stands between me and everyone.
a gamble.
we make gambles, play the house, raise the stakes, go on faith...
sometimes we make, sometimes we brake.
the bank.
it pumps acid, backwards through your veins.
for months.
then you start to realize the important things.
the people you really can't live without.
then you have to find out,
if they can't live without you.

so many feelings.
so very confusing.

I'm in love.
with the harmony
that I want.

http://sophiemadeleine.bandcamp.com/track/not-worth-the-pieces


there's no room in a broken heart for anyone.  i'm not being mean, or hot and cold.  i want so terribly that which i cannot have.
i'd buy it at the cost of my soul.  but instead i'll just move on.

There's a place on your neck that I covet
over which there are wars won and lost.
And the smile on your face how I love it.
Oh I treasure almost everything you've got.

But that's not nearly enough
to bargain with my love.
No they're not worth the pieces of
my broken heart.

There's a place in my head where you wander
and there are clouded scenes of the past.
I must say these are dreams I am fond of
since our present is so sorry in contrast.

But that's not nearly enough
to bargain with my love.
No they're not worth the pieces of
my broken heart.

So please don't ask to stay.
No please don't ask to stay.

'Cause you're not nearly enough
to bargain with my love.
No you're not worth the pieces of
my broken heart.

Setting: police interrogation room, man sits handcuffed to chair, he stares into what must be a two-way mirror.   There is a door behind him, heavy and steel.  The sound of a latch, the door opens and a detective walks in.  He stands behind the man.

D: So, a pretty interesting evening so far Mr. Q.

M: (silence)

D:  (kicking the chair) I said its been an interesting evening, hasn’t it?!

M: It most certainly has…

D: Yes, it most certainly has.  I’d not have said anything at all if I weren’t certain.(pause)

M:…and….

D:  Don’t interrupt me.  You’re problem Mr. Q is that…

M: I already told you…my name is…

D: (he’s strikes out at the man)  Shut up!  You’re name is Mr. Q now.  I do not want to know what you think your name is.  You’re problem Mr. Q is as follows…one, you are currently being held by request of the inquisitional police. (he snickers)

M: What do they want with me…?

D:  (chastising) As though anyone ever knows. And two, they are coming to collect you from this precinct right this minute.  And we will hand you over, make no mistake about that, we will hand you over, and smile and pray the door doesn’t hit them on the ass as they exit.  But you can contribute Mr. Q., you can make things easier for everyone, all I need to know is why they are coming for you.

M:  I haven’t the foggiest. Really, and if I did, I don’t really expect that things could improve for you or myself.  I expect that for whatever reason they have decided to collect me, they will find some fault with your beloved ‘precinct,’ and drag one of your men, or even you down with me… Would that accurately summarize what you have come to discuss with me?

D: That would be partially accurate, yes.

M: Then allow me to partially quell your fears; you have my sincerest apologies if they decide to take you in for heresy as well.

D: (nervousness seems to peak through)…Heresy?

M:  (slightly confident) Indeed, I’m told that’s what they bring in most of the ‘unclean,’ for.

D:  I, sir, am not “unclean.”

M: Oh?  And you think that I am…

D: It doesn’t matter one bit what I think, the fact of the matter is that they are coming for you Mr. Q, and you have only a little time left to tell me why.

M:  I don’t know, this is wrong.  I am a good citizen, I pay my taxes, I go to services, I believe in the New Order, I’m on the fucking neighborhood watch!

D:  I’m going to level with you Mr. Q.  People look at me, and they see a detective.  I look at you, and I think I see a good citizen…Sure, that’s surface stuff.  Now, consider for a moment that I, the detective, have been cited for 3 ethics violations this year alone. (pause)  Take into further account that 1 of these violations concerned the mysterious death of a key witness to a capital Heresy case.  Now, explain to me why you are handcuffed to the chair.

M:  I haven’t done anything. I’m a clerk.  All I do, day in and day out is file documents for the Magistrate’s office.

D: What department.

M:  Faith and Morale Affairs.

D: Who is the political officer you work under?

M:  Mahmoud Salim ibn Farouke, of House Nguyen.

D:  House Nguyen?  You work for a very reputable family, sir.

M:  Yes, my family has served them for nearly two generations.

D:  And this is how you repay them?  With Heresy?

M:  I am not a hereti…

D:  Then why are you handcuffed to that chair?

M:  I don’t know!

D:  I think you do know, I think you have every conception of why you are sitting in that chair, handcuffed to cold-fucking-steel.  I think that the answer is crawling out of the back of your mind at this very moment.  You can feel it creeping up behind you, breathing down your neck…

M:  (calmly) You are the Heretic.

D: (moving to strike him again, but he stops) You’re quite a man Mr. Q.

M: Stop calling me that.  I’m on to your charade…I’m a psychoanalyst.

D:  …You said you were a clerk.

M:  You’re not the only one looking for answers, ‘detective.’  I’m a psychoanalyst for House Nguyen, I counsel Father Nguyen on all his family affairs, I sit in on every meeting, I’m his human-fucking-lie detector, and you just spent the last few minutes telling me everything I need to know.  You are weak, Mr. Q.

D: Detective.

M: Detective Q.  (long pause)

D: (conceding)  Quiggly.

M:  Detective Quiggly, you are a sick, sick man.

D: (moving to strike)

M:  But, not entirely without reason.

D: Go on, tell me more about me…

M:  You lied about the ethics violations; there have been more than three.  But you did not lie about the mysterious death, which means you are a capable murderer…I suspect that you thought I would break easily.  You assumed that I was malleable when you saw me in the precinct office earlier…you further assumed that because I was distraught there was bound to be some measure of exploitable guilt on my conscience.

D:  You were crying.

M:  Weeping, I was weeping.

D:  Ha.

M:  Uncuff me.

D: I’m sorry?

M:  Remove my restraints.

D: (removing the cuffs) Its not like you have much time left anyway.

M:  Thank you…now; you want me to be taken in for Heresy so you can come out smelling clean.  But you had to convince me that I could possibly be viewed as a Heretic.  You needed me to acknowledge the possibility that I might possibly be a Heretic…but you did not know that Father Nguyen died today.

D: What?

M: Shut up.  You’ve been so wrapped up in whatever it is you did to get the Inquisition’s attention that you’ve not seen a single news report or periodical today.  Father Nguyen was murdered in his bedroom, execution style.  Somebody broke in and placed a black plastic bag over his head (Detective begins to look very nervous), then they dragged him into the master bath, and drilled a 1 and a quarter inch hole through his head with a portable drill.

D: Shit…

M:  What?

D:  That’s chief Aquilla’s M.O., He used to pull that shit all the time in Uruguay during the missionary wars.  They gave him a medal for our savior’s sake….he….oh my savior…he….

M:  That’s right, he’s a damned Heretic.  Got to be.  He’s a heretic, and we’re both humped.  He used you to bait me, probably counting the fact that a psychoanalyst for a House as prestigious as Nguyen would be able to outwit you. But he also counted on my grief to cloud my…our judgment.  My grief, and your eagerness to have those violations wiped from your record.  Oh my dear Detective Quiggly, we are both going to be eaten alive by the inquisition.

D: (long pause) What is your name?

M:  Hammond Merrick.

D:  It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Merrick.

M:  Doctor Merrick.

D:  My condolences on your recent loss, Mr. Merrick.

M:  How very thoughtful of you, Detective Quiggly, very thoughtful indeed.

D:  May I inquire as to our options?

M:  You may.

D:  Savior be praised.

M:  You have your sidearm?

D:  I do.

M:  Please load your sidearm with two rounds of ammunition.  I trust you have no qualms with performing the honors?

D:  (loading the weapon) You know, Doctor Merrick, I really don’t think I possess the…

M:  I was certain of that before I even spoke.  I wouldn’t have said anything at all if I weren’t certain.

D: (handing the gun to the man) Admirable.

D:  Flattery will get you everywhere.  How do you think I was able to find you, Detective Quiggly?  How do you think I was able to plan all of this?  How do you think…oh never mind.  ( he shoots the detective in the chest.

(there is a knock at the door)

M:  (slumping to the floor)  I’ll bet you didn’t count on them actually coming…

D: (long pause, as the knocking becomes more fearsome.  “inquisitors, open up.” Is heard from behind the door.) …No Detective Quiggly, as a matter of fact, I did not.  ( he puts the gun to his own head)

M: I really meant it, it was a pleasure to meet you Doctor Merrick.

D: The pleasure was all mine.

(Blackout).

 

Things are.....rocky.  I feel like a big ship on the ocean, that's found a place without any wind.  It's as though I'm the anxious captain, waiting for the wind to pick my sails back up.
Every, single time that it feels like the wind is about to blow.  It sputters out.

There's so much to tell. SERBIA,
Serbia could quite possibly have shifted my whole being.  Now that I've had some time to put this journey into perspective with my other journeys...
Such as Mask acting in the Netherlands, and Traveling through Hawaii, Mexico, and Britain. I've come to a few conclusions.  For the sake of brevity here comes a list......

1.  It is important that I go to Israel, no matter my dislike for the actions of the Israeli gov't or the Hamas.

2.  People in other countries are as smart as, or even smarter than you.  Just because someone is not speaking the same language does not mean that...
   a. They can't undestand english at all...
   b. They can't understand what your saying without ridiculous hand motions.
   c.  it would be polite to play a joke on them.

3.  Traveling with your lover will improve your relationship.
     'nuff said  :)

4. Destitution is not a sign of weakness.
  a. Gyspy's and their like have shown me that everywhere I've been.

5.  There is evil in this world that cannot be seen, it exists in minds, media, thought, and reasonings...Only warriors of Light can stand against this evil.  And that's what every artist is.  A warrior of light.

SERBIA taught me that...
Serbian crumble cheese is the most pungent, invasive and re-occurring horror of the Balkans.

I can dance. one two three one two three.

I can exceed my own expectations.

I can speak any language with enough practice.

my last year in Acting studio actually does make sense, in retrospect.

We are warriors of light.

A language dies every two weeks.

The Serbian People are beautiful, passionate, and often very angry.
   a. "stupid american stupid american stupid american!"

Gypsy musicians are better than Jimmy Hendrix.
  a.  Scadalia Street Musician:  "You know 'dis Jimmy Hendrix?"  We all nod yes..."Bah, Jimmy Hendrix!! I am world champion!"...musician than retrieves a plate off the table and performs a mind melting solo on his 5 string guitar using the plate as a slide.

High Fructose Corn Syrup is the semen of the White man on the face of America.
  a. dripping like some sad porn video cover.
  b.  there is also a red white and blue dildo in America's Ass.

The Human Body is an absolutely remarkable piece of machinery.

I LEARNED IN ENGLAND....

That Frankie Armstrong is a genius, and a very strong woman.  She was capable of taking a disadvantage like blindness and circumventing it to continue a fantastic career as a voice and speech teacher, and a deviser of the Archetypes system.

The Archetypes live within all of us, and I can summon them at command.  I can give them varying levels of control of both my body and mind, and thus my voice.

I can sing a pretty mean falsetto.
BAM!

The huntress journey taught me that the white hot anger of all women, when it is fanned into a flame, can neither be reasoned nor bargained with.  never underestimate a lady.

The benevolent leader showed me peace for the first time.

The child taught me how to meditate.  For nearly 20 minutes I attained a weird state of mind.  I was constantly observing, and totally engrossed with benign curiousness, the world world took on greater depth, and more vivid colors, everything slotted and made sense without having to be pondered over.  My eyes were open, but so was everything else.

World Folk Music should be studied preserved and enjoyed, there is boundless wisdom, great fun, and new understandings of world culture to be had.

Imagination is the most important part.

You absolutely do not have to work at the edge of exhaustion to produce perfect results.  When at total calm, and after warming up softly, otherwise wasted energy can be preserved for the craft.

Limiting parameters forces creativity.

Love manifests in all sorts of wonderful ways.
djabitsah djabitsah djabitsah

A castle is a magnificent place to live.

Someone has definitely placed their measured places before you.  No matter where you are.  With serenity, you can touch these people.

Ghosts are a state of fear in the mind of people who are not willing to come to terms with their own mortality.

Spirits are a state of awe in the mind of people who routinely question their mortality and state of being.

that's it for now.

Do you ever feel like two people living out of the same body?

I once so a man with no shoes, no shirt, no thoughts.
he had all the girls.


i play banjo.


play is the exultation of the possible.


work can be the same as play.


i want someone else warming my bed with me.


i can't read music, and know no theory.

sometimes i smoke pot with my friends.

i get drunk alot, with my friends.


more women have kissed me in the last month, then in the last year and a half.


i'm caught between a rock, and several hard places.



sometimes it's a shock to me, which direction is up.

and then i remember the work i'm doing, the hard work.  the art. 
artistic integrity.

i'm an artist?

a few thoughts:

1.  lying is preferable to being honest because sometimes the truth is not what needs to be said.
2.  unrequited love is the most terrible thing in the world. on both sides.
3.  never express your longing on the third date, wait till later.
4.  age is no way to gauge maturity.
5.  have answers, not questions.
6.  feel what you feel, then move on.
7.  discoveries happen every second, cherish them.
8.  your friends will be there.  no matter what.
9.  rehearsal is for play, and play is the exultation of the possible.
10.  love what you do, love your art.  healthy artists, make healthy art.  unhealthy artists make crap.

Some conclusions i've come to through my studio work, the reading i've been doing, and some other projects:

it's easy to be clever, it's difficult to be creative.
the more obstacles you have, the more creative you will be.

do only what it is you are doing, and nothing else.  everything else is noise, and no one will understand what you are trying to express.

attempt to fail, so that you can learn to succeed.

don't try to do good, just be.

never say "ok,"  "ok" is an acknowledgment of the mediocre.  and you are exceptional.   (i hate the word "ok")

there is wisdom in foolish people's mistakes.

it's best to assume you know nothing about someone, because like you they are always changing.  maybe they did you wrong in the past, but who are they now?  (it's true some people never change)  this way, they will always surprise you.

play is the exultation of the possible.

compassion and empathy are worth more than anything material. 

awareness can be anywhere, you just have to place it.

status is the basis for almost every conversation.  (as much as i hate to admit it)

you have to leave your doorstep for answers.

learn to read the subtleties of people's bodies.  you will know when they are lying, when they don't really know an answer, when they like you, or hate you.  this is my favorite thing about my studies.  i can read strangers like a book now, and place their origins by dialect.  This is also what i hate about my studies.  there are nasty people out there.  there really are.  and it is sad when you realize that some of them are your friends.

So i just booked my hotel accomodations, and i will be homeless for about  2-3 days in europe, sleeping in airports, or possibly bus stations.  I haven't been paying much attention to what I write in here, so stop me if this gets repetitive, but...

Danny brought to my attention that I am taking the same route that the 101st Airborne took on it's way into the European campaign.  I guess, aside from the fact that they took a boat, but I looked and yeah, except for the lack of a stop in France, Heathrow, to Stenstad, to Einhoven, to Arnhem.  There's a bridge in Arnhem that they defended, and I suppose capped off their over 100% mortality rate.

Anyway,
  I'm staying in a hotel/pension in the center of Arnhem called the Hotel Parkzicht.  Hopefully i will have intermittent moments of internet, but seeing as how I'll be in workshop all day everyday, i'll be tired as hell, and i think there's a 6 hour time difference, or somewhere around there.
I'm leaving in a week, and I still feel like i'm not at all prepared.
I need to step up the workout and yoga, and start getting up earlier again.  I was getting up at around 7 each morning, to do oxyrhythms and yoga, but have since become lazier, and fattier, and drunkier.
Now i'm lucky if i fall asleep before 3 or 4 am, and wake up around.  OMG what a waste.

I'm, i'm feeling really weird. and yeah, for once i do want to talk about it.
the problem is, i don't think i have anyone I can talk to about it.

I was told this feeling I have all the time now.  in my chest, it's like, it's like heartbreak, you know? when you feel it and it's tight, and hard, and hurts, but it's also bursting with love, like a butterflies in the chest sort of thing, it also feels like surprise or terror, like the cheap scares at a movie, or getting on a rollercoaster.  The problem is, it's all of these things, and none at the same time.
It's like a pain, a feeling that wants to be an emotion, but then it tries to go like 70 different directions.
someone told me this is a sign of an anxiety attack.
i don't know, i don't feel anxious, not really.  Sometimes i feel sad, or lonely, or even a little hurt, but not anxious, not anymore, not for a long time.
all my close friends keep telling me to go to counseling, but I just don't roll like that.

I'm leaving so soon, and have no place to stay when i get there...gasp!
i'll figure something out.

couchsurf possibly?

i need to go get movement clothes too.  It sucks because we are required to wear all black, which i understand and all, but it's hot, and I would like to get some actual comfortably pants.  The problem is, i'm so strapped for cash that i can't afford to get blacks for class, and seperate movement clothes for the trip.  walmart, here i come.
or maybe costco?  they have some clothes.
i've been living off ramen, trying curb the financial burn.
i bought beer the other day with quarters.
the lady laughed at me, and the dude behind me asked for a nickel.

i'm interested in the demographic over there (europe, that strange magical alien place).   Should i sew a canadian flag to my bag, to avoid being outright hated?
or should i wear a cowboy hat and relish in the ackward attention?
or should i sew a mexican flag to my bag to avoid being suspected of anything ever, but run the risk of being asked to help a nederlander put in some sheet-rock?

in other news i'm really vexed.
quite vexed.
i feel like i'm really putting my heart at risk sometime,
and i don't know why i'm just sucking up the pain, and being relentless,
i used to have a concrete answer for that, just like i have a concrete dream,
but i seem to have lost the answer somewhere, the reason that i am letting my world rule me, rather than ruling it myself.

Teatro Punto
is a theater troupe from italy, spain, and the netherlands.  currently located in Arnhem, Netherlands.
on Aug. 7th,  I depart from Dulles, to Heathrow, London.  From London i'm taking a plane to Einhoven, and from Einhoven, a train to Arnhem, which is only 1 hour by tram from Amsterdam.
I'll be studying Mask Acting with internationally well known artists, until the 23rd of August.
I made it, i'm following my dream.
now the hard part,
tickets bought, bag to be packed, sweat to lose.

my head might fucking esxplode.

So i woke up really early this morning to try and watch the sunrise.
one of those things that happens everyday, and is spectacular.
but we never look.
I'm kind of sad for everyone who slept through it.  I'll remember it for you.  Maybe it'll spur you to look too.  Maybe I'm being foolish.  I'm trying to look harder, at everything, but in doing so, am being forced to confront some unpleasant stuff.  reaaallly unpleasant stuff.

what good is it too be aware? if you don't do anything.
what good is love?  if you don't do anything about it,
what good is life?  if you don't pay attention to it.

I'm a little startled with myself.  Sometimes it still feels like my heart can't sit still.  Like it's in freefall.  I don't know what that feeling is.  I couldn't put words on it.  I've had it more and more often.  Sometimes strong enough to stop me in mid-sentence.  dumbfounded.
i felt it last while I was watching a documentary.  The documentary was about quantum physics, which it seems to me, is the made-up math for philosophy.  Anyway, I couldn't begin to identify, where I noticed the feeling or when, but it was there. 

the rest of the day?  loong.  It had some high HIGHS, and very LOW lows. 

So it has been quite a year.
quite.
qu~ite.
Here at vcu, the bfa theatre performance program has undergone some changes. at the end of 'sophomore' year,(2nd year) you have to pass a julieart(sp?)-style assesment. It was monumental, we worked all semester, training and preparing scenes, and getting ready for whatever movement, voice, or emotive exercises would be thrown at us during the 'juries.' My partner, Angelica DeJesus (remember this name) was one of the top female actors in our class. We performed a scene from Jose Rivera's School of the America. The scene took place on the day of che guevara's execution. I played Felix Ramos, the soldier who captured guevara, and under whose protection he was executed. She played Julia Cortes, a school-marm and the daughter of la higuera's recently deceased mayor. She has come at the behest of the villagers, the children and her own political views to see che. Felix, first interprets her as a threat, and denies her access to the school, the two circle each other, and grapple often, as Julia makes fruitless attempts to run past Felix. Julia finally pleads her case, she can provide Felix with much-needed information if he lets her in. Now comes the part we added. At the end of the scene the notes said that Felix should search Julia, and enjoy it a bit too much. We were standing there, in the performance space, at the end of our 45 minute assesment, the very end of the scene. Felix tells Julia, "My men and I will be outside at all times, do not touch the prisoner, spread your arms and legs, please. I said spread your fucking arms and legs, please!" He whips her around facing him, her back to the audience. He searches her, pawing at her chest, lingering far too long, then a momentary fleeting tension between them, something in her eyes maybe? He grabs her between the legs, ruthlessly, and nearly lifts her off her feet in doing so. The room is totally silent after the gasps and cries and yelling. Julia asks "did you find what you were looking for in there?". Felix replies, "(go) inside. and don't you ever fucking mock me again, bitch," grabbing her by the hair and pulling her back after motioning inside. He throws her into the school room cell with che.
this is what i live for.
we both passed and are still in the bfa program. i found out last week.
alot of my friends were cut from the performance bfa program, 15-17 of 70 or so (i still haven't heard from), and moved to the ba program.
some of them i consider to be better actors then myself.

I had something of an epiphany, it's actually been more like a slow realization over the course of my training, thus far. And that is, we do, what we want to do. That's what it boils down to, everything. want. i used to believe, for instance, in the wildly warped view of love that is instilled on us by the media, and books, and fairytales. the love that magically finds you. the magical attraction that has you and your 17 year old fiance together. This is not love. think about your parents, or an older couple, they've been together forever whoever they are. why? because they wanted to. similiar goals, attraction; physical or otherwise, play only a small role. Ultimately there's just the drive. the want. the action.
one of my classmates said,

"We as actors, have the best jobs, we are experiencing the best education possible, we have every opportunity to explore the very limits of ourselves, and our humanity. We as actors, are celebrating in life every time we work. We are embodying, becoming events that speak to other humans, we are relating and communicating with all 5 senses in the theatre. We are the ultimate fans of life. So much so that we focus all of our training, on looking alive."

maybe not all of our training, but yeah.  I want this. i want it.  i love it.
this summer i'm participating in two movement workshops.
1. is being organized by a grad-student who is preparing their thesis, and will use our work to create a course for next semester.  It's every tuesday and thursday at 730am, for about 2 hours.  On satuday and sunday we meet at 10, and work for 2-3 hours.
2. The other is a class, a dance class.  dancing.  hmm.  It's contact improv, a strange sort of body communication between two or more dancers, each one's weight is fully supported by the other, and all bodies are in contact at at least one point, the contact shifts as the dancers work.  It is exhilirating, rolling around on the floor hot breath and a heartbeat thumping in your ears, moving through space, riding on your partner's momentum.  It's every day but friday, from 6 to 9pm.  I am stoked.

That stormy morning ⁄
felt like a dream ⁄
he told me then ⁄
of what he'd seen ⁄
⁄ A child a man ⁄ in times gone bad ⁄
faces of stone ⁄ lined hard and sad ⁄
⁄ One Sunday day ⁄
they all came home ⁄
all that they had ⁄
was burned and gone ⁄
⁄ The timber men ⁄ their pistols gleamed ⁄ a lifetime lost ⁄ on Palastine ⁄
⁄ He made a stand ⁄ he would not run ⁄ he dropped the hoe ⁄ and picked up the gun ⁄
⁄ And then one night ⁄
he disappeared ⁄ it fed the worst ⁄ of all their fears ⁄
⁄ They found him quiet ⁄ high in a tree ⁄ he flew away ⁄ from Palastine ⁄
⁄ Then came the day ⁄
they moved away ⁄
more gunmen came ⁄
they could not stay ⁄
⁄ To Glen St. Mary ⁄
to Olustee ⁄
but we still dream ⁄ of Palastine.

Dear Journal,

I won't feel any better about this when i'm done writing it, so i don't really know what you good youa are to me anymore. It's like falling of the same cloud we all did a couple of years ago. exactly the same, and i don't want it to be. i don't want to bury someone who had so much... muchness. I don't understand. I really don't, i wouldn't know where to begin even if i did. I know i said i'd come home today, and i am trying, but i don't know how easy it's going to be to drive up. I already hate home because all there is, are memories. and they hurt just as bad. i hate going home, i love everyone and miss everyone, but i hate going. i've fallen off my cloud, and now id like nothing more to lay here until it's done raining.

My heart goes out to the deuce. I'm here for you. And i will be there soon, i promise.

tony

I'm back in Nova until the 26th, that's Wednesday for my less chronologically oriented friends. Suffice it to say, I was surprised at how easy it was to come back up here at first. Usually it's a long hard, tear jerking event, that makes me feel as though I might never ever come back.
My parents have finished moving out of the old house on Landgrave, and we've got the 'for sale' sign on the lawn. I snuck in yesterday, convincing myself that it was only because i needed to use the bathroom, and was on the way to pick up Ashley. I walked in, and went straight to my now empty, and forlorn bedroom. I sat down on the floor and thought. Then I went back to the 'closet' where we all used to jam, and I couldn't help myself, I collapsed to the ground and it took me a few moments to close the floodgate of memories. I think that's why I was so apprehensive, and as of last night, so utterly torn apart this christmas. I'm losing that home, where so many things happened. And there are people who filled that space, that will never fill anything again.
Maybe this is the way everyone feels when they move, no matter how far. But something about hearing Jeff and Cherri talk these last two days has torn me between feeling as though I have a hundred open homes, and open arms up here, while stil feeling as though I am completely and utterly alone. loneliness prevails at night.
From the 27th until the 1st we will be in Cabo san Lucas, Baja California Sur, Mexico. On the second we are flying to LAX for a flight to Honolulu. We'll be on the big Island, and then to Maui. Nicole is coming, and I couldn't be more excited or more worried ;). Since we spent thanksgiving together, with her whole family and mine, I feel like this might be the one thing that I've really needed, someone content to let me be myself, and have me love myself. We accept all each others falts, and minor irritations with the same candor and excitement as the qualities we both indisputably love about one another...(this is in no way a critique of any past friendship or relationship, just an explanation of how life has changed irrevocably, and for the better.

In closing things are great, or should be. I've got all I could want. Including Dean's List. 3.750 ya'll!
but at the same time i loathe to think that i am losing things as well. As my grandmother's health becomes more of a realization of finality I find myself slipping, intermittently back and forth from fine, to well....i suppose the best way to put it would be "complicated".

Act 1
Scene 2

(Lights up on the boardwalk, midday. A festival atmosphere dominates the stage. People moving this way and that, a large banner that reads "Ocean City Welcomes the 15th Annual International Festival" hangs mid stage.)
(Arko and Carlos come from stage left, with half eaten ice creams, they move to downstage and take a seat at the division between the street and the beach, they stare off into the sea (audience)...(long beat)

Arko: Did you have a good time?
Carlos: Define good?
Arko: Not miserable.
Carlos: Hmmm...no. (beat) She was pretty.
Arko: ...who?
Carlos: Your new flavor of the week.
Arko: You mean Samantha, she's more than pretty, you'll see that in (looks at watch) about 20 minutes, because she's spending the day with us, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.
Carlos: Just because your whore is spending the day with us doesn't mean I have to be nice to her.
Arko: (slaps carlos, it is disciplinary, but seems like it has been forever since the last time) You listen to me, I've waited, the same as you. She was my wife too you know, we moved all over the country for both our jobs years before I found out about you. We took you in after your mom died, and I'm sorry you only had Cynthia for 5 years, I really am, but she made you her own son, I understand that. I am STILL your father, and this was as much my pain as yours, life goes on, and I will not let the next 30 years of my life be spent waiting for someone who is never coming back, you hear me? Cynthia, is not coming back.
Carlos: Fine then, fuck you. (he stands up, ready to walk away) But you know? If your so certain about her not coming back, then maybe you could tell me why in the hell she left in the first place huh? DAD-e-o?
Were you working on one of those damn whores of yours then? (beat) If she's not coming back, then it's your fault, she'd come back for me. SHE'D COME BACK FOR ME! But not so long as you're around! What the hell did you do to her.
(fists fly, and Arko and Carlos end up rolling back and forth across the sand. Suddenly the shadow of an impossibly large man looms over them, from stage right enters "The Man of Secrets: Referred to, from here on as Jonah" He leans in, as Arko and Carlos stop and untangle themselves, disturbed by this stranger's close proximity.)

Jonah: (reaching down to offer a hand) Please allow me gentleman. (he stands them both up) Good day to you both, I am the Man of Secrets. Mr. and Master Grumman, you may call me Jonah. I must say, I apologize for my tardiness, but let my, in the defense of my own prudence, reveal to you that the currents were quite strong this morrow. (Arko and Carlos exchange glances, as Samantha rounds the corner, she drops a box of salt water taffy all over the ground as she catches sight of the 60 year old man, with long white beard, and 19th century suit, covered in all manner of barnacles, mussels, clams and seaweed, water drips from a leather messenger satchel, stuffed to the brim with salt-water stained envelopes, all the yellow color of witches' nails.) (Blackout)