Help a Brother Out?

I know, I know. Shameless self-promotion.
But here's the deal:
I helped start this company three years ago, and it's been one of the most exciting and rewarding projects I've ever been involved with. And I'd like to see it continue on after Elisa and I move to Alabama this June.
And in order for that to happen, the Company needs some wheels. If you want to help out by donating or re-posting this link to your blog or facebook page, that would be so, so kind:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/grassroots/grassroots-shakespeare-summer-tour-2012
We're off to a nice start, but we need all the help we can get, and every dollar helps.
Thank you!

Never Swim Alone/The Dumb Waiter = Success!

And a notable mention in the UVU review!

A period-piece for the dot-com generation:

She Stoops to Conquer! at UVU opens in three weeks.
Get your tickets now. Seriously. We've got a short run and you don't want to miss this show.

trying to say more with less

1-Our fictions are only as interesting as the possible truths behind them.

2-"The strength of the character's wants equals the strength of the play." (Frank Hauser)

3-First, there's the loss of naivete. Of realizing that so many hopes and and perceptions were so different from reality. Realizing your parents are flawed human beings too. That the person you'll marry won't be everything and more, but also human and imperfect. That no matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to always be happy and have everything you want all the time.
And then you move on. And realize that you don't really need those things. That life is glorious even with all it's imperfections and disappointments amidst the occasional triumph.
Things become even better then.
This is gratitude: realizing the true value of things without comparing them endlessly to the mint-condition gold standard ideal. Loving in spite of imperfection

4-There's never enough time. And that's ok.

Helen's Harp

'Ten o'clock at night?' she exclaimed.
It had long since gotten dark.
'I see lights over there, and a darkness over there. And when you stand between me and the light, I can almost see your shadow'
Her eyes were silver and unseeing, catching the glint of the chandelier above. She sat in her silk white night gown and a whiter terry robe untied loosely round her waist. Her frizzy hair was a grey halo flaming off her scalp, and when she looked at me, she looked both far beyond and yet no farther than the insides of her eyes.
I handed her the autoharp, and she became the vision of a perfect fiery seraphim waiting on the edges of this world.
Her blind fingers touched the air gingerly, looking for the keys as she softly strummed away. The notes were distant and tinny.
'It has such a gentle sound'
and sometimes when she closed her eyes, I couldn't tell if she was sleeping or not.
'I keep them closed so much now' she said. 'I can't see with them open anyway, and it helps with the dryness'. She had lived her entire life in a desert.
But as she told us stories of travels and family, childhood and motherhood, her eyes would dart back and forth, scan the horizon--visions of a distant life sprang up on the canvas of her inner eye.
She was strumming so softly we could barely hear, but the notes were perfect until we put the harp away.

Offerings

Every night, after everyone has gone to sleep, I am still awake. I am a hunter and I hunt alone.
I slip quietly out the back door and the night is dark and cool and filled with the throbbing sounds of chanting crickets.
I slink out into the shadows and keep my head low.
It's there in the blackest blackness that I wait and listen.
Cars off in the distance.
Neighbors watching tv next door.
And then...a faint rustling in the leaves. A scampering through the grass and a brief flash of beady eyes.
My gently curving spring-loaded spine uncoils as I fly forward, grasping palms extended as I leave the ground.
Contact. Claws sink silently.
I've got it in my hands, then by the neck in my teeth. It stops twitching after a few shakes, and I saunter back to the porch.
I'll leave it, fully intact, on the doormat.
A thank you.
A "you feed me, I'll feed you" gesture.
But I know it still will be there in the morning. My gifts are never good enough.
A bigger one will come out in the morning, I'll slink inside the door, pretending not to watch for her reaction. But really, I'll be spying through the corner of my pale slit eyes as the long-maned one twists and stretches her mouth and closes the door in a huff.
It still will be there in the morning and I'll pretend to be aloof.
So now I'll sulk off into the night again to wait and watch and pounce and prey until I get a second for myself.
My gifts are always good enough for me.

Look and Listen

'Audience' comes from the latin verb 'audiere' meaning 'to hear'.
Also from latin is 'spectat', meaning 'to look', which gave rise to 'spectators'.

Re-Emergence

It's high time things started being said around here. Again.
De-Hiatus commencing.

--Hiatus--

The author is gone to the UK for a month.
And no, he probably won't be telling you anything about it here, because he'll be out there living it.

Recounts may appear at a later date. No guarantees.

no one got the mail today

During the show rumbles overhead.
coming out of the blackbox
purple shifting skies catch yellow distant lights and
flash quiet far-off thunder.

Walking in the front door
coming home that's only sometimes home
wondering if I'll ever come back to myself
My brother plays softly stroking strumming guitar.
Parents' bedroom door open across the hall--no one to wake up inside
The room is empty.

I open the front door, then the back, to let more sky inside my house.
It's brighter at night. Cleaner, the sky.
and walk out onto the driveway  picking up the mail.
Two-thirty am and there's a cricket in the garden, just one. Doing his own thing.
Singing louder than the others--soloist performance. Midnight arias wistful and alone.
Reach inside the dark mail box my fingers find nothing.
Walk back beneath the fruiting trees and smash purple berries underfoot, grinding seeds and juice into
purple stained pavement.

The mail never came today, that's just the kind of day it was.
But the night air after the rain was sweet cedar and rose dew drops, summer honey and sleeping breeze.
(I used to run to the mailbox everyday, heart pounding in my throat, hoping against hope.)

This morning
woke up early to find the front door still wide open
and no one had come home.

Never too late.

For regrets.

Sounds Carry Uphill

And in the midst of a crowd it can be hard to hear yourself think.

A red toy airplane buzzing overhead
Frisbee right behind us.
Soccer. Scene change. And the jets roar by.
Fireworks make me five again. White weeping willows in the sky.

I ran across the field, thinking they were over, only to find myself driving away from the finale.

(It wasn't ever me)

And please don't tell anyone.
You'd never forgive me if you did.

Performing in Front of a Fountain

Golden yellow cream sun sunlight
lights up the backdrop
Backstage we see everything that's happening on.
Shadows of shadows.
Tybalt's death in paper cut-out shadow puppets
Dancing on the wall
and when you look through the slit in the curtain there's a golden glowing stripe on your face
and the fountain is spouting sunfire and sparkling bullion
spilling liquid light
that's soaking over everything.
Lights like this don't fade into the evening--
they just bounce and reflect up and off into the sky forever:
The sun behind the fountain.

There's Nothing Left to Burn

She put her hands gingerly on his back.
They stared up at the stars and all of them were moving like fireflies. Satellites.
Then they realized that the clouds were moving--Chess pieces. Dragons and ducks in the night sky.
Why didn't anything feel? We gave up and sang drinking songs.

I've Always Felt Guilty Doing What I've Loved

"The goals of art are incommensurate (as mathematicians say) with social goals. The goal of the artist is not to solve a question irrefutably, but to force people to love life in all its innumerable, inexhaustible manifestations. If I were told that I could write a novel in which I should set forth the apparently correct attitudes toward all social questions, I would not devote even two hours of work to such a novel, but if I were told that what I shall write will be read in twenty years by the children of today and that they will weep and smile over it and will fall in love with life, I would devote all my life and all my strengths to it."

--Tolstoy

Lost and

1- Wallet: (twice)
incl. Driver's License, Credit Card, Student ID, Frequent Fritter card from Bruges, Picture of You (x2)

2- Keys
(always)

3- Glasses
(sometimes)

4- Direction
(still looking)

Now That We've Broken Up, I No Longer Feel Intimidated by Your Ex

"The poet takes the best things out of his life and puts them into his work. Hence his work is beautiful and his life bad."

--Tolstoy

The End of the Season this Summer

Within the next week I'll have three projects up:
--Grassroots Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet--Actor, Producer
--Noorda Summer Camp: The Secret Life of Girls--Director
--Edinburgh Fringe Fest Preview: Rappaccini's Daughter--Director, Co-Writer

I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to do each of these projects--each one was a totally lucky break and I felt like I had won the lottery when I got each job. Now that the end is in sight for all three, I'm beginning to worry that lightning rarely strikes twice. Famine mentality sets in even while the meal is still on the table.

On 15 Days Gone By

John drank a gallon of barium and I had to float the class twice.
Katie Sue tore her ACL doing the Julie Olsen.
Clark left for London.
Daniel's coming too.
I don't come over for the movies.
Kyle said my show should have been called "Lil Bitches".
That made me mad.
Andrew kissed the pavement. Road rash hickies everywhere. Love hurts.
I never sleep at night.
Anton said I was his favorite.
Jess and Nick are delights.
Porter's doing well.
Scott is full of wisdom (especially with children).
Liz has got a nue gig.
We all wish Daniel was getting paid more.
Deep down inside, I'm a terrible, terrible friend. (most of the time)