As incredibly high-schoolish as it may seem, this makes me feel like I've lived.

I've kissed someone...

01. [x] on the cheek.

02. [x] on the lips.

03. [x] on their hands.

04. [x] in my room.

05. [x] in their room.

06. [x] in someone elses room

07. [x] a little bit older than me

08. [x] a little bit younger than me.

09. [x] of the opposite sex

10. [x] of the same sex TOTAL=10

11. [x] with brown hair

12. [ ] with black hair

13. [x] with red(dish) hair

14. [ ] with a tongue ring.

15. [x]shorter than me.

16. [ ] with a lip ring.

17. [x] who I truly loved

18. [x] who was drunk

19. [ ] who was high.

20. [x] in the morning. TOTAL=16

21. [x] right after waking up

22. [x] just before bed

23. [x] late at night.

24. [ ] who I had just met.

25. [ ] who I really didn't want to kiss......

26. [x] we were just talking not dating

27. [x] on a bed.

28. [ ] in a graveyard.

29. [x] at school.

30. [x] against a wall/fence/tree TOTAL=23

31. [x] in a hotel

32. [x] at the beach.

33. [x] at a concert.

34. [x] in a pool/water

35. [x] who was just a friend.

36. [x] in the rain/snow.

37. [ ] with a boyfriend/girlfriend

39. [x] in a car/taxi/bus/limo

TOTAL=30

40. [x] in the movies.

41. [x] a bathroom/laundry room/kitchen

42. [x] in the dark

43. [ ] on a roof top

44. [x]under water

45. [x] in the shower

46. [x] while they/you were driving

47. [ ] who was a stranger

48. [ ] more than one person at a time (like in one night)

49. [x] while crying

TOTAL=37

50. [ ] goodbye forever

51. [x] when I was drunk/buzzed

52. [ ] who didn't speak/ or only spoke a lil` english

53. [x] in a hot tub

54. [x] upside down

55. [x] taller than me

56. [x] in the woods

57. [x] infront of other people

58. [x] more kisses in your future?

TOTAL=44/58

Just enough to be experienced but not a slut. I feel great.

Still. Going Forward Backward

Panic pounds the light board.

In a flurry of worry

It swallowed the cues to

Protect them, but lost,

Digested, erased.

-----------------------

The room grows cold

With lights breathing hard

To stay alive, with no

Purpose. All eyes on poor

Tal, her hands shaking

Off the fear that clings - static

Electricity - refusing to loosen its

Grip on her. It squeezes harder

"Mathew?" faint faint, breathe

"help" so small. "Can I panic now?"

"No."

-----------------------

They live! The lights, the lights

Exhale their brilliance, pouring

Radiance on the pastel stage.

They glow, a constellation

Enveloping us all in majesty

And as the colors sway in and out of

Happy focus, a tired shadow lays

Down, worn out from giving

Birth to twins, only one of

Which survived.

Heel, Boy

These shoes pump up

My reaches.

Drinking clouds.

Sucking on the sun,

Like a ring pop, flashing

His azure eyes

Breathe deeper the butterflies

And reveal the sunken

Treasures of Atlantis.

He has no ideas

In his glance, that denote

Understanding. He sure doesn't

Know these shoes, and what

They sure do.

Ladylike now,

With satin skin, in a sail

Billowing.

Avec shoes to rival ruby slippers

That will whisk me away

To a place unlike home.

Twilight Zone

I've gone back into my journals to pull up the things I've written and forgotten to put here:

Before 8/29/07 8:00 am "I have felt so creatively drained since I left the Vineyard. I want to write and photograph things, but there hasn't been anything worth my attention other than the word "angel." Someone in my History class called me an angel yesterday. How nice..."

"Cat's Pajamas"

8:55 am "So I can't stand it anymore. I have to write something, if anything interesting comes out, Yay! For two days I've stayed in my room when not in class or getting something. I don't feel bored. It iseems like I'm depressed, but I don't feel depressed. I'm just a vegetable. I sit in front of the TV, procrastinating homework and just flopping about. Today I was done with classes at 11 am. I went to lunch, the post office, and came back to the room. Excusing a block of two hours when I went to the scene shop and Walmart, I've been in this room, doing nothing of consequence. At least I made my bed. I just sit and stare either into space or at the TV. Is this a condition? At least I'm not pregnant, as I found out today. It took less than 40 seconds for it to say Not Pregnant. I cried in relief and from all the strange emotions I'm having from NOT having my period. It's incredible how completely blank I feel."

8/29/07 "We have a new puppy, a little yellow lab. She's adorable."

9/4/07 8:45 am "All I want to do is become a monkey. Some busy, excited, loud, uncaring monkey, with no inhibitions. I want to be able to fall about on the ground, jump onto tables and cling to chairs, to digress in a moment. My arms don't need grace, they can fly where they like. Who needs to walk upright? Why do I need to ask questions? Why do I - Why should I - ask why things are the way they are? For God's Sake!!! The things are things. They just are the way they are. Don't question me, because I am all the possibilities, past, present and future. There is no difinitive answer to your questions. you are a monkey. There."

9/4/07 11:45 am "The cups reminded me that we were at a table, sitting down in chairs, eating off of ceramic white plates with silver metal forks. The cups, filled with water, Mountain Dew, Code Red, and Pepsi, ice, dreams, they reminded me that we were human adults, civilized beings that had evolved beyond infancy, beyond puberty. We are real people now."

9/4/07 5:48 pm "This is a fantastic experience. I participate as I like, which is a lot. But no one will call on me, scrutinize me. No one, my peers or superiors, will squint up their eyes and try to peel away my skin, staring into me, watching me. When it's a huge audience, it's not so bad because there are so many. It's disbursed pain, like lying on a bed of nails, their eyes. But on this side of the table, there isnt' even the threat of a pierce, of a glazed eye. I get to watch without being scrutinized for scrutinizing! Who could as for a better job?!?"

An Idea for a Play: -A series of short plays involving two stories being told above and below the table.

-A love-hate relationship: Above: Arguement that leads below to a sexual lust. Below: The beginnings of angry flirting.

-Sadness vs. Happiness

-The feet alone telling a story

-The hands alone telling a story

-The facial expressions alone telling a story

-Could also be the same scene over and over again, but each part of it, the hands, feet and faces, make up the different sides to the story.

9/6/07 "Oh jeez, make my eyelids fall and sleep crust them over. How I long for the letter 'Z'.

The film just comes in snatches, followed by jerks of the head and a quick intake of breath.

I'm Awake! I'm Awake!

Where amd I? Every time I blink, I can't recall where I am. My inner ear is spinning, my weight is weightlessness. I'm falling.

A sudden loss of consiousness, so sweet, so soft. Yes, please!

My cannonball, let it fall, and

BANG, send me off, flying through myself.

I do not mind drool, my foolish face

Contorted in a smushed pillow,

Hammocking a mesh of hair, and sweet unhindered dreams.

Exuberant joy Yes, please!

The best of thoughts, come rapidly, they're brilliant!

I can rule the world, now knowing what I know. Peace is Possible! Energy-enhancing haircuts! Duct tape buildings! Vocalized watches and clocks!

WAKE UP!!!

They go, smashing. I try to hold on. I try to keep them going, but they break each one. Their glory gone, their glow gone.

My head leaps up, screaming Why?

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no NO!!!!!

I'm trapped in a gerbil ball. Clear, but thick, plastic, just like everyone else.

9/10/07 "Terre Haute, the same as ever. Rose-Hullman, as ridiculous and yet as beautiful as ever. At 10:45 pm, the flowering 15-ft. fountain expels ripples that race across the lake, just feather touching the reflections of the lamps around. And Pow-Wowing on a dock, floating in the middle of an upside-down world, is my love and his two best friends. Right now they're ruining the beauty of the evening by chanting, pretending to vomit, and asking an inane question. "Does a blowjob count as sex? Yes or No?"

9/11/07 8:02 am "I don't even bother to tell myself that I'm not sick, because I'm SO not sick, I don't need to know. My nose is running and I can only sometimes catch it, but it's only in the left nostril. I'm not sick. My head feels similar to a mound of gunpowder, black gunpowder, that's aching so badly to explode that it hurts, and the explosion would actually relieve the pressure. It would feel so incredible. AAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!! That doesn't! God, my brain has become a glacier! Now I need to sleep. No one can understand how important that 10 min. break when I slept was. If I hadn't I would have missed a lot of notes. While I'm still tired, I won't pass out... Oops, I was wrong. Now I'm sick, I'm so tired. My head, my face is in pain, my eyes are unwillingly crossing, my stomach hurts."

6:40 pm "The sun is sitting on my shoulder. My hair, resting wistfully on my right breast is shining a brilliant gold. The curves of my shoulder, breasts and neck are softly contoured in brightness. Sol will soon be kissing my cheek, my nose, my lips. Porcelein skin glows radiant yellow.

7:56 pm "Why am I so obsessed with the word "pickle?" When I have nothing to say or do or write about, the first thing that comes to mind is "Pickles" with an accompanying adjective like "Pink" or "Deconstipated" or something equally ridiculous."

9/17/07 "I want so much to draw this boy's face with charcoal. I'm itching to outline the shape of his han over his mouth. I wouldn't do the form justice if I attempted it in pen or pencil.

My stomach is hungry, but my muffin top is full. I shouldn't starve myself, but it seems like that would be easier."

9/18/07 "'And what do we say, boys and girls?' 'THANK YOU EUGENE!' Eugene was kind enough to donate his/her brain to science, so the 24 of us could wedge our grimy fingers between the lobes, so we could feel the hard-packed cerebral cortex squish just a little, and wiggle the cerubellum independant of the rest. A labotomy with an index finger.

Going to the bathroom blind is the most frightening thing ever. There is a much greater risk of sitting on a wet seat, no toilet paper, and you have to touch everything to find the lever to flush! And then my belt, the most difficult thing. I turn right, run into every wall, even outside I ran into things."

Gum

While driving back to school, I wanted to just pull over and grab a nightguard somewhere with nothing to do but listen to me. I just want some stranger to hug me, with a genuine feeling of human empathy, and to console me just because I'm a human in need. They don't need to understand. They don't need to know me. They just need to feel for me. Because if I go to a friend or my parents or even my boyfriend, they will only go through the motions to make me feel better. They wouldn't feel for me, they'd just try to make me stop feeling bad. I just need a bit of humanity to kiss me on the forehead. God, where are you?

Clingy

Men,

When you think your lady is being too clingy, what it really means is this: At that moment, she needs you a lot more than you need her, so just realize that she's depending on you, and needs to know that you'll be there. Don't brush her off and tell her she's being too clingy, because that will only make her cry and think that she depends on you more than she should. I originally thought that men liked being depended on, liked to be needed, because everyone likes to be needed. But apparently, that doesn't always go the way it should. So, Men, when she wants another kiss, or she needs to walk you to your car and get an extra long, close hug, don't give her an excuse. Give her a bigger kiss than she expects, tip her back in a tango dip, hug her for an extra 10 seconds, and run your fingers through her hair, telling her how special she is to you. That's the way to fix a clingy situation.

With affection,

A concerned girlfriend

P.S.

The way to respond to this post, is also definately not anger. You haven't done anything wrong, it could just be handled better, which would make everyone including you happier.

Flying Sardines

The other day

We rocked the shores of Squibnocket.

The rocky beach made us jump and jerk as we walked.

Bent at the waist, eyes intently down

Searching.

K, J and Vivian, a triple-decker sandwich

All begging for shells.

Rocks, pebbles, stones

Of all races, creeds, colors and cultures.

Broken, beautiful shells hide

Beneath them

Between them

Washed up onto them.

The rocks house broken hearted crabs, garbage, shells, and

SARDINES

Flipping, Flopping

Gaping, Gasping

Struggling, Striving

For nothing less than life.

Feeble tails fanning the waterless, heartless air.

Begs for a mermaid to attend,

To put his seat back in the upright position.

K gasps

J bends

I watch

One of their hands

I don't remember which

Reaches and gently scoops up the quivering, slick fish and

Chucks it underhand back to the sea.

But more, more amongst our foreign shores wash

UP on sand to strand themselves.

We diligently oblige.

From one moment, swimming,

Then flopping, gasping, striving

Dying

To Flying.

Stuff - 8/15/07

I stepped on a screw.

It got stuck in my shoe.

The first thing a child recognizes is its mother's legs. No matter whether it's just their mother, or a whole sea of people, that child will know it's mother by her legs. She knows the grip around her mother's thigh. He can tell by the smell of her laundry detergent and the texture of the pants she wears. Just the width, stature, musculature and familiarity of the legs give her away.

Breeze - 8/14/07 3:00 PM

It's calm at the Yard right now. As impossible as it sounds, everyone is relaxed and not working. Wendy is napping, J & K are relaxing together, the Bush Women are grocery shopping or resting, KC, Nicole & Lise are chilling on the office porch, the girls are postering Edgartown, and I am sitting on a counch under the tent, writing. It's cool and lightly breezy, like the day has no agenda. The sky is a light white blue, and the sun is dappling the trees, making them glow in the afternoon cocktail hour. The red and white checkered tablecloths wave in the gentle wind, and everything is photogenic, but too relaxd to be photographed. The mood is happy, bery different than the past few days. Everything was compressed yesterday, everyone on a tight mission. No one looked up, or stopped to notice the lanterns or the grass. Today, everyone has noticed. Everything has taken a moment to breathe: us, the buildings, the trees, the tent, this couch, this paper. I can notice the colors of things again. My watch is a bright bluish teal, and the sliver is shiny. The candle on the table really looks "peach," edible and succulent peach. The candle on the other table is a real lime color, pretentious and jazzy green. This couch is made up of three different browns and two different greens and a lovely soft white. Even the white of the chairs is a real white. Life is simple now.

Chocolates

K says "chocolates" in a consistantly beautiful way. It sounds foreign and exciting when she says it. She pronounces the 'a' like in "latte," and both 'o's, instead of just the first one. She sounds mildly Jamaican in that she's anunciating, accentuating all the syllables. It's soothing to the ear. "Chocolates." I thought I'd get used to hearing it said that way, but every time she says "chocolates" it's new.

Evolution and inspiration

Thursday night, the Chilmark Writing Workshop... On Stage. I didn't expect a thing of them, except to read some poems and clap for each other. But the stories they read were incredible and extraordinarily well-written on all types of subjects, but all with the main theme of invitation. One was about a prom, another was about a dying mother, one was about their mother not being there, one was about a restaurant scene, and one was about revenge. They made me remember why I wrote, and how much I enjoyed writing.

Today I had a fit, since I'd lost my pad of plain white paper, and I needed to find it. It's been lost for a few days now, but today I really really wanted it. So I searched high and low, looking everywhere, asking everyone, snooping around the other houses, moving other people's things to find it. There were sheets of its paper in various places, like clues on a children's detective show. Some were in one person's handwriting, and others were posted on the bulletin board. I tried to find the last sheets I'd written, so I'd know when I lat had it, and so I could date the unknown pages from someone else's writing. They were a cold trail, since I didn't know whose they were or when they had been written on. It drove me crazy. I'd find a new page and feel closer, but just that much farther away from finding the pad. I didn't get the damn thing back until Nicole brought it to me, after having made a grocery list on it the other day... And the ultimate irony was, that I wanted to write this whole affair down as a comedy sketch, but the only thing I would write it on was that very same pad of paper that I couldn't for the life of me find.

And with that pad is my favorite pen, that I cringe at when other people use. I had to buy two more, just so they'd be around and I'd always have one. They are now essential to my survival as a creative being.

Tonight, a dog was around the theater, that belongs to one of the writers in the Chilmark Workshop. It's 15 years old, and only has three legs. The fourth had been amputated years and years earlier, but apparently she used to lick it for comfort, to soothe herself. But now that the leg is gone, she licks and naws at her hind leg, limping more and more. She's now turning into a 2 1/2 legged dog. When I said that out loud, the first thing that came to my head was that she was willfully evolving. She is progressing to two legs, a two legged dog. She's becoming human.

Monday night horror

If I hadn't had a vodka and Fresca in my hand and 5 other people in the room, I would not have been able to handle the B rated horror movie I just saw as well as I did. I'm still thinking that every extraneous sound I hear is the ghostly monster, but I'm too tipsy to react. I'm just afraid. So I'm typing this up and listening to music so I won't hear the bats outside and scream. I miss Jay, because if he'd been here, I wouldn't have had to have any other reenforcement. But the other 5 managed to keep my mind from accepting that any of it was frightening by laughing at the B-rated acting and obvious outcomes and betting on who would die next. K's dad was in it, as the cop, so that's why we were watching it in the first place. It hasn't even been released, so we got a sneek preview, of what will undoubtedly bomb and immediately be put on the back shelf. But I'll tell you what, I don't want to see yellow eyes again for a very long time.

Harbor Mist

Yesterday afternoon, when I went up to The Hole (sound booth) for the Log of the Skipper's Wife tech rehearsal, I didn't expect anything from the day. The play was dull and all the songs sounded alike, and this was the first time they'd ever rehearsed the whole thing all together. There was also no reason for me to be there, since there wasn't any external sound, no CD's or sound effects, just their piano, violin player and singer. But I walked up to the booth to turn everything on just in case, and on the sound board lay a bundle of white tissue paper and a pink note. The note read, "Vivian, For all the work you've done. Liz" And in the bundle was a blue, sea shell votive candle holder with a blue "Harbor Mist" votive inside. It smells heavenly. Then Liz came in and said, "Because you've truly lit up my life."

I think I'll go buy her a CD of some sort, since she's lights and I'm sound, she gave me light, and I'll give her sound! Ha, what teamwork. I love it when a plan comes together. ::puff puff::

Talent

I am a creature, beast, animal of numerous but tiny talented triumphs. I can dance a little, sing a bit, play the slightest smigeon of piano, write moderately, photograph and video allright, sculpt reasonably well, paint and draw OK, act acceptably, cook decently, drink socially, run lights and sound abley, make clothes it my life depends on it, see, hear, taste, feel, and express just fine, my teeth are straight and I walk upright. I find myself extremely adequate.

Hair

When I leave my hair down, I'm a fox. My long, thick, full hair balances out the rest of me. I instantly turn heads. I've written before about people smiling at me, and now I realize that my hair was left down. As much as I would love to chop off all of my hair just to feel the breeeze, I would lose the bearing that so many people perceive as maturity and age. So instead of decapitating my most capturing feature, I think I'll keep it intact.

A Theatrical God

I've seen God in so many things: nature, school, people, animals, the vastness of space, sunsets. But I never found anything mystical in theater. I've seen, heard and felt beauty, joy, sadness, but never God. Theater is something that appears entirely man-made. It's a completely human element to our society. Each element of theater in itself seems majestic in a Godly way, but when we piece them together, it seems forced by the hand of man.

I had to search for God today.

I sat on an uncomfortable stool in a tight, hot, sticky sound booth, trying desperately to make the system stop making that horrible thudding, popping sound every time a CD ended or I paused. For hours I'd been sitting there, sweating waterfalls. Nothing worked to make the popping go away. Other than that a CD would read "Error" until I took it out and put it back in again, and then Liz was dealing with the light board next to me, mumbling incoherently about cues and dimmers. It was tense and angry and heated to work in the sound booth, so I stumbled down the three curved steps with glow-in-the-dark tape on them into the theater so I could breathe. I thudded down onto the nearest bright red chair, staring blankly into the deep black space of the stage.

I wanted God to be there, to help. And I couldn't find Him. There was nothing that indicated "God, look here" with a neon arrow next to it. There wasn't an opening in the ceiling with a beam of light, or a big beautiful moth to come land on my knee, or even Josie to come in and smile at me when I needed her most. There was nothing Godly in there; it was all human - hot, sticky, sweaty, and blubberingly human.

And then later, as I went to close the window blacks so we could run our cue-to-cue, I saw light dribbling onto a few measly spiderwebs. There amongst the dust and residue of old socks, on that old window sill, I found God. He was just smiling coyly at me, whispering that I was able. I was able to find inspiration, strength and my own ability in something tiny. I photographed it as my own proof to myself.

This evening, when I jinxed myself and the whole production by merely thinking that everything would run smoothly and perfectly, the disc again read "Error," so I ejected it as fast as I could and shoved it back in, and the wrong music came on. It was the other piece that came out instead. One CD had stuck to the bottom of the correct CD. I hurridly ejected it again whispering "Oh shit oh shit! It won't play it won't play!" By now our dancer had come on and begun her dance, the lights had come on with no music and she'd gone off... twice. Once when it read Error, and the second time when the wrong music alltogether came on. So now, with our third go-around, the music was all ready, then the light board wouldn't read the proper cues. So instead of a blackout we needed for the end of the 7th dance, we got the bright green cue from the 4th dance. And Liz, being the brilliant light designer that she is, manually made light changes for the rest of the show, as I sat sobbing silently in the next seat.

God somehow made it back there, in that tiny 2'x4' sound booth, by telling me to "breathe" with Liz's voice. That was the only thing that held me together. That and Katey our stage manager coming into the booth from all the way behind the building, in the dressing room to rub my back and say that it wasn't my fault, but the heat's. I couldn't do anything about it, so I shouldn't worry about it. And everything worked out OK. Somehow, God only knows, God made it to our opening performance.

We're singing...

It's opening night... It's Opening Niiiiiiight!

It's Wendy Tuacher's latest show. Will it flop or will it go?

The interns are hectic, we're all in a haze.

I'm telling Wendy that I want a raise!

Gotta stay hydrated, or we'll all die

This is the most hectic day of our lives.

Gotta get chocolates, flowers and ice

This is a crapshoot, so just throw the dice

Let's get this show on the road.

Outdoors

I just returned home from an excursion to Menemsha. I took my book (Charlie Chaplin's autobiography... he's 8 and still poor right now) and my camera to the beach. I took some beautiful photos of the sunset, which I will post up on this blurb later. And when I was waiting for the sunset to increase in color, I read my book. I believe I looked very picturesque, a girl in a black and green skirt, sitting with legs folded to the side and a book balanced on my thigh, with a camera standing poised to photograph a miracle. Baby miracles came and went, but the big top show comes tomorrow. So I went and bought a Twist, vanilla and chocolate swirl ice cream, in a line with unnumbered small children, and came home.

I showered outside, with only one fence as a barrier to the outside world. I felt exposed and exhilarated. It seemed so exotic and oriental to me. The yellow light from my bedroom flittered from a paper lantern onto the slim, sparse tree just next to me on the other side of the fence. The glinting tree was my foreign bonsai shrubbery. And I felt like a beautiful geisha, washing my hair with expensive oils in a bamboo waterfall.

Oak Bluffs Observations

A black man crossing the street looked directly at me, held his arm out in front of him and waved his fingers at me, with a huge grin on his face. I don't know if he knew me, or just felt like saying hello, or mistook me for someone else, but he reached out and said hello to me. Twice in three days, complete strangers smiled hello at me, and twice I've been completely elated by the small act. I'm going to initiate smiling in people now, by smiling.

What The Yard looks like

Liz

Liz is the Future, calling to me, and telling me to change. She's 60 years old, and in so many ways like me. She mumbles in rants, expecting people to hear her. She has an odd sense of humor because she always sounds serious, so you have to be tuned in to tell whether she's joking or not. And she often sounds like she's angry when she really isn't, she just says things sternly. She proclaims the horrors of things that mean a lot to her, even though it isn't a crisis to anyone else. And she mentions things that are of no interest to anyone, she just points them out. She's a tekkie, like me, and a brilliant light designer. But the thing that she has mastered that I haven't yet is temper. Whenever I begin to get frustrated or angry, she just says that a temper won't solve anything.

I don't want to end up 60, heavy, alone with my dog, stern and mumbling, sometimes interesting but oftentimes not. I don't want to sound angry half of the time, and I don't want to lose my sense of humor. I love Liz, but she is a sign, "Look Out"

Hutker presentation

At the party last night, I witnessed this Oh so cute display of adorableness.
And I also realized how Extremely cool these dancers are, and so creative.
And when I saw this, all I could think was, "She's Brave."
Here's the view from the Booth.

And here's a glimpse of what the performance pieces looked like:

Warrior 2 pose (in Yoga)
Balance is key
SHE CAN FLY!!!
Stretch
Teamwork

Miracles do happen

I pulled off a minor miracle tonight. The run-through was at 5:30, and the performance was at 7. Everything that could go wrong with sound, went wrong. And while we were dealing with sound, I missed the light cues. God was sticking his damn big thumb in the light socket or something just to get a giggle. But thankfully at showtime, everything went perfectly.

The sound cues were perfect, the lighting was perfect, the actors were flawless, everyone was thrilled and surprised by the quality... Perfect. And then at the party afterwards, Wendy sang my praises to all the important people, and Linda introduced me as the "All-Purpose Intern." I felt celebrated, and rightly so. I'm mostly proud of myself because I didn't cry, even under all of the stress and the pressure from all the actors and especially Wendy. I didn't cry. So at the party I drank champagne, ate lamb chops and biscuit/steak/horseradish things that were delicious, and got Chilmark Chocolates in the Hutker Architecture Associates (the people we were doing this for/with) Goody Bags. :D All around, a remarkable evening.

It is incredibly prophetic, that old saying - and I never believed it was true until tonight - "Bad dress, Good run."

Garbage

Stink. Old cardboard. Rotted food and paper. Feces. Squishy muck. Things animals don't eat. Things animals won't touch anymore. Piles of it. Sat out for two years. 2 YEARS! Chucked outside to decay in Time's crushing, dissolving grip.

Sand

The other day, I was thrilled to build a sand castle. I dumped and thumped that sand into Castle Macbeth. There stood the wood of the walls. The fat rock mocked the pitiful size and disfigured shape of the turrets. Two crab legs beg to be flags. The battlements had vents where sand had fallen out.

I haven't built a sand castle in years. A beautiful, very photographic, metal pail with rocketships on it was being sloshed around on the rocks. So I rescued it and put it to use, creating something imaginative. And then, just as I'd finished putting water and seaweed (moat monsters) in the deep little moat around the castle, a small blonde haired/blue eyed child came up and blurted, "Is that yours?" To which I replied, "No, I found it. Did you lose one just like it?" "Yeah." "Here you go." "Thanks." So all is now right in the world.

Eva

I sit with a sore head, looking numbingly out of the window at the lovely passing clouds, that just don't seem that lovely with a headache. Similarly, the light bouncing off of the leaves outside would appear magical at any other time. But my temples at the moment feel dull. I look to my right, and through the mesh window screen I notice the faded yellow and gray shingles in rows, along the wall of the theatre. Very New England, thank you very much. And through the window next to it, one can observe the beauty of the studio. The dancers are there.

Long, thin and beautiful. They are completely engaged in every part of themselves. They are aware of every bit of them. They move like fluid animals; with passion, but with more beauty and elegance. They are balanced and poised, but in no way like aristocratic statues. They flow; carry rhythm; prance; fly; hypnotize. They dance.

We carry a rigidness in our bodies, that accumulates with time. We carry a norm. The norm is that we do not jump and tumble and spring into prophetic motion as we walk down the street. We are discouraged from acting differently than others; walking with expression; hell, we get odd looks for walking backwards! And since we don't express ourselves through our bodies, our muscles become useless, soft. We go tender, like expensive steak.

But they, oh, they can move in ways that others can't! They can move from the floor to a 4-foot leap in the air with their feet lifting even with their shoulders. Oh I would feel exhilarated to be a dancer. Her. Her name, is Eva.