Saturday, October 25, 2014

the crucible of sound

You know why I love writing more than any other artistic outlet? Because no matter how loud, psychotic, abrasive, soft, quiet, intrusive, excited, surprised, or pensive my writing choice, the pen or pencil I'm using doesn't distract anyone or add its own feedback or cancel things I write unless I authorize the distraction or addition. It doesn't tell me I'm writing too much. It doesn't tell me it can't write on the line, but needs to write sideways, or needs to write diagonally. It doesn't write exclamation points when I want it to write periods, even though what I write might seem like it needs an exclamation point. And when people read what I write, they don't say, "Wow, that was really good, but the pen you wrote it with was distracting." I know this seems seems arduous, but I am very jealous of bad microphones. It's latched onto me. It demands its own spotlight. It distracts the audience from what I'm trying to do as an actor, and has the audacity to take what I've been working on for months and say "I'm in control now. You need to change. You're too loud. You're too this. You're too that. You're just not on my level." And as if it hasn't caused me enough grief, at the end of the night after the show, I have to rip those little pieces of tape off my body. I'm persuaded that a bad microphone might be the most arrogant living being in art. I have no respect for things that leech onto us and tell us we're just not good enough, then suck up dry until the very end. I prefer when my pen does it's job for me. And when it runs out of in, I toss it and get a new one. Because, at the end of the day, it's not the ink that's important, it's what's produced.

Today is your day

An odd conversation tonight
A full room
All of us in our 20s
And one who brought her
Grandmother who is visiting.
She's 75. Maybe it was the Prosecco
That inspired my interruption.
She was so joyous to be joining
Our soirée and drinking.
She looked around.

"Can you believe this? I'm two
generations older than everyone here."

"I've finally gotten so old that —
even though I'm old — I can start going
to young parties again because they
Listen and Enjoy the wisdom of
The Company."

After too much to drink, I interrupted her
as she began to speak...

"Back in my day..." she began
"Stop that," I jolted in. "That
wasn't your day ... Today is your day."

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Where the sky meets the sea

Just like the old ones.
I'm back to this slate
Numb from the free novocaine
Thanks, doc.
The mountains are blissful
It's like they're smoking
as the mist and clouds and fog
rise from nature's stacks.
That fog. It was the only reprieve in
South Carolina. There is much of it in
California -- the newest play life has taken.
But that fog still exists.
Leaving everything glistening.
Somehow fog and cool nights
and a mist of rain
brings me back to 2008 or '09.
I don't know why.
But there was magic then.
Have I lost the magic?
Am I numb to it now?
I refuse to believe it was temporary.
And I know it wasn't all for naught.
I know the magic, the inspiration is still
circulating through my veins. Just like
the first prose or set of musings.
Maybe all it takes it a little fog to set the mood.
It's sad how clear things are when there's fog.
And it smells so good; so fresh and vibrant.
The vapor of life. The ether of inspiration.
My home is a million miles away.
A church.
A newspaper.
A smoky bar.
A marquee.
The marquee. Dazzling.
The days grow shorter.
My return? Painfully far from imminent.
But breathlessly eminent.

It's Monterey. It's famous.
And as I look at it from this hill
I don't see Monterey.
The view of the ocean and the beach
strikes a heavy chord
and a blessed memory
stored away.
A platoon of sailors running around.
An image of an island.
Reminding me of that painted backdrop.
That image.
"Where the sky meets the sea.
"Here am I, your special island."

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Carousel at Lincoln Center

You can spend the next 2 and 1/2 hours doing anything.
Mine as well spending it elevating and aspiring to new inspiration.



Watch Rodgers & Hammerstein's Carousel on PBS. See more from pbs.

Friday, April 19, 2013

The generation of inspiration



We are the generation of inspiration.
We are the creation of dedication.
We are the makers of what's greatest.
We are the cats at 3 a.m. that keep the moonlight safe.
We are the thunderstorms.
We are the believers that know it won't end this way.
We are the believers that know it won't end.
We are the aging who will never grow old.
We are the views of the sky when that most stars are visible.
We are the meteor showers of modernity.
We are the surprise of history.
We are the excitement in activity.
We are the juxtapose of God's love.
We are the chances worth taking.
We are the shooting stars the come at the right time.
We are the respected of the future.
We are the needle spinning the vinyl.
We are the moustache above the smile.
We are the ink pouring from the fountain.
We are the season of what's better than existence.
We are the indelible ones.
We are the junctures of method.
We are the fourth day of the week.
We are the awakening during a tragic time in the Land of Liberty.
We are the empowerment of hope.
We are the other words for art.

Friday, April 5, 2013