Good Vibrations 12/31/2012

A buzzing anticipation.
A held breath.
Still, waiting,
butterflies and fears.

It hits in an instant,
     flows through the space;
the place, the sound, a smiling face.

And you let if flow through
     as something new.
At best you rest 'til it possesses you.

To the beat, through the heat
    my body is talking.
Let it show that I know
    that the music is rocking.
So discreet, I'm complete
    to the drum beat I'm flocking
and when I feel kinda low
    you know where I go.

And the doubts go away
     when the bass starts to play.
You can't go astray when you live for today.

I'm on top of the world
     as a curl unfurls.
As I twirl I am sure I'm the right kind of girl.


To the beat, through the heat
    my body is talking.
Let it show that I know
    that the music is rocking.
So discreet, I'm complete
    to the drum beat I'm flocking
and when I feel kinda low
    you know where I go.

I feel a hundred eyes watching
     the step that I led.
With the moves that I'm launching
     they can't turn their heads.

And all I really need
    Is the sound to surge through.
I concede that I bleed to the musical tune.

Road Trippin'. 12/27/2012

Three restless souls searching for solace,
embarked together to escape the abyss.
A goal without a destination;
a peace without need of elation.
They journeyed forth from place to place;
Endeavoring to pause all time and space.
The sun was still bright, no spot seemed right
so they ventured on, unafraid of the night.
At last they drove to the top of the hill
where the wind seemed calm, and the waves stood still.
Here, the three could freely breathe
with the wide-open sky and never-ending sea.
Concatenated by this, together they grinned,
watching the dew-covered grass quiver in the wind. 
Swift Twilight crept in and took the sky
and all three wanderers turned their eye
from one, to two, to a thousand stars.
They surrendered their fears and cleared their scars.
From this place of peace and beauty unmatched,
They could leave but could never be detached. 

The Stage. 10/13/2012

       The stage is such a sacred place, one of the most beautiful places in the world.  An empty stage carries the ghost of it's past and future on ever square foot.  The silence of an empty stage is the most comforting and inviting silence I've ever known.  The stillness is charged with an invisible energy that comes from the stories that have already been told and the stories that haven't been created yet.  
       The stage is all-inclusive.  An immediate interaction, conversation between the audience and the actors.  The audience immediately becomes part of the story, because all of the energy is shared.  We feed off of each other and carry each other through each new adventure. 

Complete 4/16/2012

There's nothing in the world like a good hug.
Two bodies coming together to fill the missing pieces,
Knowing that in that moment, that's all you have,
       and all you need.
There's an unspoken energy that can only be felt.
An implied vow of support and encouragement.
A joy, a gratefulness,
       of being at the right place at the right time.

Stories. 12/19/2012

           It's so bizarre to think about, to actually think about.  We've all heard it, it's been in movies, literature.  We've all even experienced it ourselves.  But to actually think of it, it's bizarre, and so very random; the people who come into our lives and alter our stories.
           Every single person we interact with changes our story, our personal narrative.  It doesn't matter how subtle, the effect is still there, the impression.  Not buying it? Well, let's try this visually.  Imagine that every single person walked around with blank books and pens, constantly writing out their life stories, moment to moment.  Any interaction with anyone else would obviously result in a change in the narrative.  Sitting side by side, you write a word, phrase, sentence, page that will find its way into both of your books.  The intention/perspective might differ but it's still always a collective effort.  
           In this regard, (as in most regards) quality is not equal to quantity.  You can spend chapters of your life writing with someone whose writing does nothing to push you forward.  Yet, you can write a sentence with someone that provides a spark for the emergence of a completely different style. Then there are the editors, if you will.  The family, close friends, who don't seem to ever truly exit the story, partly because they built the foundation.  Their job is to provide that extra lift whenever you run out of ideas.  
            The greatest thing about this process is that it's constantly changing, growing, developing, every instant.  And we never know who will come through the door and write with us.  Once they're there we can't say how long they'll stay, or what they'll leave us with.  All we can do is enjoy their company while we can, thrive and flourish with our new vessel of creativity.  Whether the story they leave us with is happy or sad is beside the point, it's new, and it has changed ours.  
            Even now, for the last three minutes or so, you and I have been sitting side to side, metaphorically.  So I would genuinely like to thank you for allowing me to write a part of your story with you.  

Chaos. 12/4/2012

Jumble, Jumble, Jingle, Jangle, Up, Down. Slow down! Jeez, Hurry Up! You're going too fast! Life's not going to wait for you.  You think you're so special. Ping! Oh, someone wants you. Ring, Ring! Could you get that? Buzz. Was that you? No? Oh, hang on, someone texted me.  Can I call you back? What's the name of the author of that book? Oh wait, I have a phone I can just look it up. Just give me a sec. There it is. What? Oh, i forgot again.  That's pretty sad right? As long as technology doesn't fail us we should be alright. Plug in the GPS and we're set.  Oh ask Syrie, she knows everything.  Yelp, I don't know what we'd do without you.  Buzz Buzz.  Ringgggg. Ping!...white noise...everywhere.

Tame The Jolts.
Take The Breath.
Chaos is the natural order of things.
But we can't let our things order our chaos. 

Blood (Monologue Version) 12/3/2012

(Actor may be sitting with a pen and a lot of paper, writing to release thoughts)

        I wish I didn’t know better.  Life would be so much easier.  I know too much, think too much.  I think my sense receptors are outta wack.  There’s so much to take in that it’s impossible to keep your sanity here.  I feel like we’re all walking through this thick fog; reaching out ahead of us with the hope of making contact.  We keep yelling at each other but the moisture clogs our ears to the point of deafness. 

       No one else seems to see this.  Or maybe they do but they can’t define it like I can, cause that’s scary yea? I mean it takes away any possible reason for living, hell it even questions our very existence.  But let’s not get too existential at the moment, ‘cause that never ends well.  I don’t wanna be the downer all the time so when I feel like this I spend a lot of my time alone. I go through the motions, continue to stray, drift, do what I can to feel…to feel-(actor gets a paper cut from one of the sheets of paper and reacts appropriately, then chuckles).    

       Blood. I love the color. It fascinates me.  How can something so subtle be so rich? It represents life, portrays passion.  It streams through my body like the tributaries of the Amazon.  It dances through my veins to an inaudible beat.  The steady pulse keeps me alive.  It keeps my thoughts flowing and my hand moving across the page.  But sometimes it feels trapped.  Sometimes it feels suffocated.  It tears at my brain, pounds against my skull begging for release.  And me? There are times when I want to comply.  Grant the wish.  An escape.  A release, freedom.  Sometimes I long to see it flow.  Trickle out from my arteries to drip onto the floor.  I love the color.  The sight of it surging out from underneath my skin, soaking the pages, drowning my world in its deep red paint; reminds me that I exist.