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Showing posts from February, 2002

a link

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Missing

Missing Feb. 11, 13, 14, 16, 18, 21, 22, 24, 25, 27

Contradictions

critical writing, as it writes, looks at itself... the screens I read and link to are full of contradictions - wonderful contradictions ... posting onto a site is both ceremonial and presentational, both imaginary and representative writing to know what & where lie the opinion ... discovering what needs to be written in the writing, while writing ... one final contradiction is language itself: one behaves as if I am the creater and master of language knowing full well it is language which creates me ... (inspired by Sartre . Sartre on Theate p. 135-153)

She dreamed

... A beautiful village in full celebration, colourful flags whipping in the wind, lots of food & drink, song & dance, laughter & story telling. Friends calling out to me to sing and dance for it is my turn. I sing and dance finishing to much applause and laughter. I go to the gate where my teacher wishes to enter & share in the celebration. He is stopped by a group of guards. He calls out, "Let me in I want to dance, sing and enjoy the revelries with all of you." "You can't enter," they pronounce, "you are dead!" I am shocked. I can't believe it. I am absolutely stunned. I want them to let him in. They refuse. I want to contact him and the guards let me out. I can get out but they won't let him in. There, in front of the gate, sits my teacher singing. The moment he starts singing the whole village turns black & white as if his exquisite lament, expressing his sorrow, evaporates the colours around us and a grey fog descends

Mud-lucious

... outside the window ... sparrows chatter and flit from branch to branch ... teasing each other ... spring? ... what is about the passage of seasons ... mud-lucious in Just- in Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame baloonman whistles far and wee and eddyandbill come running from marbles and piracies and it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful the queer old baloonman whistles far and wee and bettyandisbel come dancing from hop-scotch and jump-rope and it's spring and the goat-footed baloonMan whistles far and wee e. e. cummings (follow link for proper spacing) ... space is so important ... the space between people, the space between words, the space between lines ... relationship ... shape the space around you ... i do this exercise all the time (i rediscovered when working with pre-schoolers): Look for things on the ground, pick one up and carry it for a while & then put it down somewhere, perhaps in a place carefully chosen, perhaps just an

Closing Night

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Scribblings after a dialogue with an actor the day after closing night: the more I gave, the more I had to give, like some endless source not really giving energy but my spirit - light I hold a different colour & can I share what I hold I enter the core of the space which is a creative place a fullness of reaction, a kind of knowledge, opening myself now I must close to live the life again changed and richer for the experience borrowed the gyre graphic from Visible Darkness : (he called it cheesy but I remember a Lou Reed quote: My shit are other peoples diamonds). play with this / replace objective - subjective with audience - actor ... play with more terms: energy /spirit /concentration /presence the creative space physicalization /fullness of reaction ...

metAmorfine

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a delightful 21st Century theatrical adaptation of Ovid's Metamorphoses - metAmorfine - presenting the idea & concept of transformation through the physicalization of water, sex, drugs, music, and the apocalyptic and mundane events of life. . . . from the director Neil Cadger: " . . . Truth is in continuous Transformation."[22.Kundalini, symbol 89. Transformation]" . . . My first concern was to try and find a way to allow the ideas to evolve, while working on things like rhythm and choral speech which obviously have to be done daily. Order and anarchy mingling inextricably. And now, just before the premiere I' m trying to take it further, changing, rearranging, looking for new shapes and frequencies. . . . ." after the show articulating my feelings. . . akin to an intensely interactive google search . . . following seemingly random but intricately woven together facts, images, associative links . . . constructing a linear but deeply textured experience .

Year of the horse

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Year of the Horse ... honouring new year at favourite restaurant . . . 
"Wise men learn more than fools from the wise" (Fortune Cookie). via

metamorfine haunts

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The show metamorfine continues to haunt . . . talking with an actor & finding the language to penetrate the experience returns over & over again to meditations on virtual reality, cyberspace, hypertext . . . how we see, perceive, feel, the space between us towards an understanding of (around/surround/inside/beside/outside) us... Although written almost a decade ago the observations & questions are immediate: Quote:Today's computer communication cuts the physical face out of the combmunication process. Computers stick the windows of the soul behind monitors, headset, and datasuits. Even video conferencing adds only a simulation of face-to-face meetings, only a representation or an appearance of real meeting. The living, nonrepresentable face is the primal source of responsibility, the direct, warm link between private bodies. Without directly meeting others physically, our ethics languishes. Face-to-face communication, the fleshly bond between people, supports a long-ter

found Pinter

... found on a scrap of paper advertising a Pinter play: Though you go to the uttermost parts of the earth and hide yourself in the most obscure lodgings in the least popular of towns, one day there is a possibility that two men will appear. They will be looking for you, and you can not get away. And someone will be looking for them too. There is terror everywhere. - Harold Hobson. Sunday Times May 25, 1958.

rePost metAmorfine

a delightful 21st Century theatrical adaptation of Ovid's Metamorphoses - metAmorfine - presenting the idea & concept of transformation through the physicalization of water, sex, drugs, music, and the apocolyptic and mundane events of life. . . . from the director Neil Cadger: " . . . Truth is in continuous Transformation."[22.Kundalini, symbol 89. Transformation]" . . . My first concern was to try and find a way to allow the ideas to evolve, while working on things like rhythm and choral speech which obviously have to be done daily. Order and anarchy mingling inextricably. And now, just before the premiere I' m trying to take it further, changing, rearranging, looking for new shapes and frequencies. . . . ." after the show articulating my feelings. . . akin to an intensely interactive google search . . . following seemingly random but intricately woven together facts, images, associative links . . . constructing a linear but deeply textured experience

open image

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Still from slideshow found at AI with the following caption: Crimes of Hate, Conspiracy of Silence: as part of its Campaign Against Torture, Amnesty International focused on human rights violations based on sexual identity. When we are open to an image, the image strikes us, moves us as an other, pulling us toward it while we draw it near. ( Janus Head 3.2/ Editorial - The Image)

bend time

During the whirlwind of the daily, mundane world wind I pause to wonder at the line between flexibility and chaos. Dreams last night of friends and colleagues from a decade ago (politely catching up with our present day lives) wouldn't free me into the wakeful day. The night dreams more vivid than any day event. So I 'bend' the time of wakefulness into the time of lucid dream. Enjoying the enmeshing. The last stanza of According to Pythagoras . . . The fundamental interconnectedness of all things Is incredible enough, but did you know that Hyenas change sex? The female mounted by a male Just minutes before becomes a male herself. Then There's the chameleon that feeds off wind and air And takes the colour of whatever it's standing on. Air transforms lynxes' urine into stones and hardens Coral, that softly swaying underwater plant. I could go on and on with these scientific facts. If it wasn't so late I'd tell you a whole lot more. ( Michael Longley ) &quo

It matters?

The omnipresent nagging questions at the edge of every post & publish: Why blog? Why blogrolling? What is mine? It matters? From one : But why blog at all, really? Why does anyone do it? To post these tiny fragments of a life, or links to sites that would probably be found anyway...all these variations of design and content, to what ultimate purpose? Sometimes I think it's a reaction to the tendency in modern life to stifle the unconventional, to muzzle the crowd so that only the mainstream and majority opinions are heard . . . Another: meg is still thinking Conclusion #1: This site is about me. Don't forget the crucial "about". It's a little word, but it makes a big difference. I am not my website. Conclusion #2: I love the internet. I love the medium and the possibilities and the potential and the people. Conclusion #3: Writing will always be my first love. Conclusion #4: I need to reconcile the things I love in order to be happy. Conclusion #5: If you are

a dream not read

The Talmud says: "A dream which is not interpreted is like a letter not read." found myself Reading: Snow. Snow white. Sometimes during the winter, my fantasies weren't much different than my reality. I'd see a raven or I'd dream a raven . . . And each evoked the same aloneness, the same gaping separateness. I'd seen an Indian boy a mile out on the lake, walking towards me, a boy with a red toque and a fur parka, perfectly placed in the light between the sky and the world, walking across the lake, across a bight white desert. His legs would move but he never seemed to get any closer . . . or further away. Mary Kwandibens told me - that was before she stopped talking to me - that winter was a time of holding on, that the soul went underground to lie like a woman long and straight upon a bed of ice, to sleep and be restored, to rise up new and refreshed in the spring like a young girl. But that makes winter seem like a time of peace and it wasn't. It was a

Prometheus&Nijinski

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Creating characters of image & giving them voice: Prometheus dancing with light: as a child camping he placed the ends of sticks into the fire waving them about creating ember patterns in the darkness now driving on a west coast trail at night (raining, of course) he named himself firefly the firefly just as years before at the birth of his son he decided on: Prometheus ___________________________________________________ creating characters of image & giving them voice: Nijinski dancing with nijinski: she loved nijinski her lover once remarked she moved like nijinski when they had fondly parted ways she rarely thought on him but was obsessed with nijinsky at first she bumped into him unexpectedly at the antique store during her visit to Amsterdam at the tram stop on her way to the backery then she arranged to meet him at the library next she started seeing him in the apartment reflected on the surfaces around her on the blank screen of her broken TV in the bathroom mirror fina