Your emails.
I read them.
They were clogging my inbox.
I feel guilty, as though I read something of someones that I shouldn't have.
How can it be that I was you, just years ago? You complained, you whined, as young girls often do, crying out for attention in the worst of ways. You're everything that annoys me. The words are not even mine. I don't remember them. And yet, I know them. They are the words of everyone else.
Cuz.
Lol.
Kewl.
Ur.
Like.
They're not even words. They were your attempts to fit in. To be, to sound, like everyone else. And for that, poor darling, I'll never know who you really were. Years later, I'm all I know of you. I cannot say who your real friends were. I cannot say how you dressed, what you liked, how you talked. You've left me with words. The words of everyone else.
I'm disappointed in you, poor darling. I wish I could say you were better than this. But you where just like everyone else, weren't you? Struggling to fit in. Don't bother, dear child, for I know you. It never happens. But you'll find yourself soon enough.
-You
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
breathing theatre
the air sits heavy, undisturbed, pregnant with a thick, sleeping energy
as the door pulls open, the air spills out, pouring and washing over the same
walking through the isles, i can feel it beginning to move around me, my fingers drifting in the ripples behind me
as i climb onstage, the air whispers to me secrets of the past, as though it still holds all the music and pain that has been thrown into it
it harbors secrets from the audience, the booth, the lights, the world above the catwalk
i breathe deeply, taking in the familiar essence in silence
the bell, the shocking shrillness pierces the surrounding deepness
running down the isles, i feel myself slipping from the drafty fingers
the door falls behind me, sealing off the world i know
and with another deep breath, i cast myself off into uncertainty
as the door pulls open, the air spills out, pouring and washing over the same
walking through the isles, i can feel it beginning to move around me, my fingers drifting in the ripples behind me
as i climb onstage, the air whispers to me secrets of the past, as though it still holds all the music and pain that has been thrown into it
it harbors secrets from the audience, the booth, the lights, the world above the catwalk
i breathe deeply, taking in the familiar essence in silence
the bell, the shocking shrillness pierces the surrounding deepness
running down the isles, i feel myself slipping from the drafty fingers
the door falls behind me, sealing off the world i know
and with another deep breath, i cast myself off into uncertainty
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Thigh Fact
A recent Danish study shows that people with thighs less than 24 inches around face a higher risk of heart disease and premature death, even if their BMI is normal. Not only do model-skinny thighs mean less muscle mass (which means the body is less able to regulate insulin levels), but some scientists hypothesize that thigh fat acts as a "metabolic sink", flushing the blood of harmful triglycerides (which raise your risk of cardiovascular ills). -O Magazine
Obedience
"Obedience is as basic an element in the structure of social like as one can point to. Some system of authority is a requirement of all communal living, and it is only man dwelling in isolation who is forced to respond, through defiance or submission, to the commands of others. Obedience, as a determinant of behavior, is of particular relevance to our time." -Stanley Milgram, Obedience to Authority
And so begins Milgram's report on his experiments on our obedience to authority. Stanley Milgram, a psychology professor at Yale University, became deeply interested in the Holocaust, writing, "Gas chambers were built, death camps were guarded, daily quotas of corpses were produced with the same efficiency of the manufacture of appliances. these inhumane policies may have originated in the mind of a single person, but they could only have been carried out on a massive scale if a very large number of people obeyed orders" -Obedience to Authority. And so, in order to answer his own questions, he created a series of experiments, the first of which in July of 1961.
The experiment itself consisted of an experimenter (E), the test subject, who believed he was playing the teacher (T), an actor playing the role of
the learner (L), and a generator with switches, starting at 15 volts, and increasing by 15 to 450 volts, accompanied by labels, warning from "slight shock" to "DANGER: severe shock". The "experimenter" was dressed in a white lab coat, representing the authority. The study claimed to be one on memory, and the "teacher" was instructed to read word choices to the "learner". If a wrong answer was given, a shock was administered, and for each wrong answer, the voltage increased by 15. The "learner" was in a different room, but could still be heard by the "teacher". Initially, the learner answers correctly, until he begins to give increasingly incorrect answers.
At around 75 volts, the teacher begins to hear whimpers and sounds from the learner. At 150 volts, the learner begins banging on the wall and screaming for the experiment to stop. Soon after follows pleads that he has a heart condition, that he's going to die. From 300 volts onward, the learner refused to answer anymore, and what is heard can only be described as an agonized scream. Throughout this, the experimenter continues to encourage the teacher. If the teacher refused, hes ordered to continue. If he continues to refuse, the experiment is halted.
Suddenly, at 345 volts, the screams stop. In fact, all sounds from the learner stop. The teacher is only told that silence counts as a wrong answer, and he must continue to electrocute the learner.
Thankfully, the learner being an actor, the screams were prerecorded, and there were no real shocks. The teacher, however, was unaware. Even so, Milgram found that nearly 70% of the teachers obeyed, administering up to 450 volts. In another version, Milgram has the learner in the same room as the teacher, and the learner is electrocuted through touching a shock plate. When he refuses the continue, the teacher is ordered to grab his hand and physically force him to touch the plate. Even more hauntingly, 30% of the teachers still administered the full voltage.
Why is it that they followed what they thought to be authority so blindly? Later interviews revealed that they had taken the blame off of themselves, placing in on the experimenter, claiming it was his fault, that they had been forced. But when it really comes down to it, whose hand flipped the switch?
And so begins Milgram's report on his experiments on our obedience to authority. Stanley Milgram, a psychology professor at Yale University, became deeply interested in the Holocaust, writing, "Gas chambers were built, death camps were guarded, daily quotas of corpses were produced with the same efficiency of the manufacture of appliances. these inhumane policies may have originated in the mind of a single person, but they could only have been carried out on a massive scale if a very large number of people obeyed orders" -Obedience to Authority. And so, in order to answer his own questions, he created a series of experiments, the first of which in July of 1961.
The experiment itself consisted of an experimenter (E), the test subject, who believed he was playing the teacher (T), an actor playing the role of
the learner (L), and a generator with switches, starting at 15 volts, and increasing by 15 to 450 volts, accompanied by labels, warning from "slight shock" to "DANGER: severe shock". The "experimenter" was dressed in a white lab coat, representing the authority. The study claimed to be one on memory, and the "teacher" was instructed to read word choices to the "learner". If a wrong answer was given, a shock was administered, and for each wrong answer, the voltage increased by 15. The "learner" was in a different room, but could still be heard by the "teacher". Initially, the learner answers correctly, until he begins to give increasingly incorrect answers.At around 75 volts, the teacher begins to hear whimpers and sounds from the learner. At 150 volts, the learner begins banging on the wall and screaming for the experiment to stop. Soon after follows pleads that he has a heart condition, that he's going to die. From 300 volts onward, the learner refused to answer anymore, and what is heard can only be described as an agonized scream. Throughout this, the experimenter continues to encourage the teacher. If the teacher refused, hes ordered to continue. If he continues to refuse, the experiment is halted.
Suddenly, at 345 volts, the screams stop. In fact, all sounds from the learner stop. The teacher is only told that silence counts as a wrong answer, and he must continue to electrocute the learner.
Thankfully, the learner being an actor, the screams were prerecorded, and there were no real shocks. The teacher, however, was unaware. Even so, Milgram found that nearly 70% of the teachers obeyed, administering up to 450 volts. In another version, Milgram has the learner in the same room as the teacher, and the learner is electrocuted through touching a shock plate. When he refuses the continue, the teacher is ordered to grab his hand and physically force him to touch the plate. Even more hauntingly, 30% of the teachers still administered the full voltage.
Why is it that they followed what they thought to be authority so blindly? Later interviews revealed that they had taken the blame off of themselves, placing in on the experimenter, claiming it was his fault, that they had been forced. But when it really comes down to it, whose hand flipped the switch?
Monday, March 15, 2010
Full Streaming Dead Dream
full streaming dead dream
drop black wild eye in weed garden
leave moon flower between concrete fish
wander off for leaf harvest
whispering light shivers on ice wall
watch skin sleep on still waters
melt winter dandelion blossom
autumn thunder above
hot mushroom roof
see the purple rust
drop black wild eye in weed garden
leave moon flower between concrete fish
wander off for leaf harvest
whispering light shivers on ice wall
watch skin sleep on still waters
melt winter dandelion blossom
autumn thunder above
hot mushroom roof
see the purple rust
Ninth Grade Meets Poetry
"Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary." -Kahlil Gibran
She sits at the front of the room, unbelieving. The class remains silent. With a sigh, she rubs her temples and repeats herself, "None of you actually read poetry?"
"I do!" I want to scream, "I do!" I want to tear the dog eared anthology from my backpack, with pencil thoughts in the margins, sticky notes pointing to the most intriguing words, and throw it on her desk. I want to gush about Emily Dickinson, to recite and analyze "I'm nobody, who are you?". I want to, but I do not. Instead, I bite down hard, forcing myself into acting out the same blase fatigue as the rest of the class.
Without a response, she sighs again and opens the book in front of her. Her voice fills the room.
The Lanyard by Billy Collins
http://www.billy-collins.com/2005/06/the_lanyard.html
I found myself lost in the beautiful language, in the paradox of "ricocheting slowly off the blue walls" and the comparison of the gift of life to the gift of the lanyard. We were asked to analyze it, to find a meaning. After a long pause, a girl in the back row offered an answer, "It means like, we can't ever pay back our parents, you know?" A silence ensued, and when nothing else was given, it was taken.
"We can't ever pay back our parents?" That's the only meaning she found in The Lanyard? Not only is that directly stated in the poem, its described as a "worn truth"! The meaning of The Lanyard, dear reader, is not directly stated in it. No, the meaning rests in the final lines, the confusion and guilt with which he admits that at the time, he was "as sure as a boy could be/ that this useless, worthless thing [he] wove/ out of boredom would be enough to make [he and his mother] even". In frustration, I resign to saying that the Ninth Graders know not, for whatever be the meaning, it remains locked inside the words, like Frost's snowy woods or Cumming's grasshopper.
She sits at the front of the room, unbelieving. The class remains silent. With a sigh, she rubs her temples and repeats herself, "None of you actually read poetry?"
"I do!" I want to scream, "I do!" I want to tear the dog eared anthology from my backpack, with pencil thoughts in the margins, sticky notes pointing to the most intriguing words, and throw it on her desk. I want to gush about Emily Dickinson, to recite and analyze "I'm nobody, who are you?". I want to, but I do not. Instead, I bite down hard, forcing myself into acting out the same blase fatigue as the rest of the class.
Without a response, she sighs again and opens the book in front of her. Her voice fills the room.
The Lanyard by Billy Collins
http://www.billy-collins.com/2005/06/the_lanyard.html
I found myself lost in the beautiful language, in the paradox of "ricocheting slowly off the blue walls" and the comparison of the gift of life to the gift of the lanyard. We were asked to analyze it, to find a meaning. After a long pause, a girl in the back row offered an answer, "It means like, we can't ever pay back our parents, you know?" A silence ensued, and when nothing else was given, it was taken.
"We can't ever pay back our parents?" That's the only meaning she found in The Lanyard? Not only is that directly stated in the poem, its described as a "worn truth"! The meaning of The Lanyard, dear reader, is not directly stated in it. No, the meaning rests in the final lines, the confusion and guilt with which he admits that at the time, he was "as sure as a boy could be/ that this useless, worthless thing [he] wove/ out of boredom would be enough to make [he and his mother] even". In frustration, I resign to saying that the Ninth Graders know not, for whatever be the meaning, it remains locked inside the words, like Frost's snowy woods or Cumming's grasshopper.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Secrets
I can't hear her, and I can barely see her in the dim auditorium, but the fury in her eyes is clear to me even across the room. I'm almost glad I can't hear the words she's mouthing. I'm not sure I'd want to. It shouldn't be this way, but I guess I deserve it, in a twisted sort of way. I turn my head to face the ceiling, where the walls stretch out into a metal web of acoustic architecture. The tears well up in my eyes, until they spill over, caressing my cheeks, leaving gentle streaks across my face.
I told her secret.
No, I admitted the truth of her secret to those who already knew.
I told her secret.
I told her secret to protect her.
I told her secret.
I told her secret to her best friends.
I told her secret.
She should have been the one to tell.
Even since she decided to leave the high school, things changed. There were promises. Pinkie promises. We promised not to grow apart. We promised not to replace our friends.
We've been replaced. We are no longer.
Later in rehearsal, I stumble over to another. A friend. Without speaking, the tears start again and I lean my head on his shoulder. He steps away. He steps away and stares at me as I stumble and fall. He walks away. And I'm alone.
I told her secret.
No, I admitted the truth of her secret to those who already knew.
I told her secret.
I told her secret to protect her.
I told her secret.
I told her secret to her best friends.
I told her secret.
She should have been the one to tell.
Even since she decided to leave the high school, things changed. There were promises. Pinkie promises. We promised not to grow apart. We promised not to replace our friends.
We've been replaced. We are no longer.
Later in rehearsal, I stumble over to another. A friend. Without speaking, the tears start again and I lean my head on his shoulder. He steps away. He steps away and stares at me as I stumble and fall. He walks away. And I'm alone.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Blindness
The air is warm with laughter, and the floor littered with clothes and makeup. Sprawled throughout the room, we trade jokes, secrets, and stories, paying no mind to the threats of the clock and impending separation. The room is so clearly a reflection of its owner, the youngest of us, and certainly the one with the biggest heart. Her arms are always open, and her innocence creates for her an incorruptible hope. Freckles dot her face, and her beauty carries with it an infectious charm of happiness. If I know but one person who can light up a room, it's her. Knickknacks line the shelves, a bonsai tree sits on her nightstand, a remote control car under her bed. Colorful books in every corner, a closet brimming with eccentric socks. The wall is layered under posters, mainly animals, and a picture or two of her family or friends.
Perhaps the most interesting part of the room is the animals. At first, they seem to be almost part of the room, but closer, nearly everything is alive. A large tank on the right is filled with sand, currently empty, as its usual inhabitant, a bearded dragon, has fallen asleep on my shoulder. A similar tank contains the opposite, sand is replaced by water, and a rainbow of fish dance inside. Another fish tank, this one with a one-eyed fish, jauntily nicknamed "Bullseye" and another, filled with snails and other little aquatic creatures. Her dog, a sandy colored imp, lies with his head in the lap of another girl, proudly displaying his battle scars from a scuffle weeks before. The newest addition is a wire cage, filled with colorful toys, and a labyrinth of a second floor she's created by hand. A white rat splatted with caramel coloring is her pride and joy, and she giggles as it scampers up her arm. A second, pure white, is sleeping in a sweatshirt pocket of another girl.
From an entanglement of drawers that she alone can navigate, she produces a bag of M&Ms and tears them open, offering handfuls to the rest of us. My eyes go wide, and her name escapes my mouth in a shriek. She spins around, confused. Horrified, I stutter about the notorious and brutal animal testing of Mars Candy and the irony of eating M&Ms with rat on her shoulder. The rest of the girls struggle not to laugh, an outburst from me about animal cruelty and corruption is far from abnormal. To them, this is ridiculous, and why shouldn't it be? M&Ms, the colorful chocolate sensations of our childhood. Mars, creator of Snickers, Twix, Dove, Three Musketeers, Starburst, Skittles. A laptop is found, Mars is googled, and sure enough, I'm right. There's endless records of cruel testing on rats, mice, Guinea pigs, rabbits, monkeys, cats, all ending in death. They still laugh at me. The M&Ms are eaten.
Through the rest of the night I watch her struggle with her vegetarianism, her love of animals and their connection to food, a connection the majority of us fail to make. She hovers for an extra second over the peperoni pizza, inhaling deeply, trying to convince herself its enticing smell is resistible. Later still, while watching a movie, I turn and look at her, her profile lit by the glow of the screen. She's not watching the movie either, instead debating with herself and a handful of candy. She eats them.
Perhaps the most interesting part of the room is the animals. At first, they seem to be almost part of the room, but closer, nearly everything is alive. A large tank on the right is filled with sand, currently empty, as its usual inhabitant, a bearded dragon, has fallen asleep on my shoulder. A similar tank contains the opposite, sand is replaced by water, and a rainbow of fish dance inside. Another fish tank, this one with a one-eyed fish, jauntily nicknamed "Bullseye" and another, filled with snails and other little aquatic creatures. Her dog, a sandy colored imp, lies with his head in the lap of another girl, proudly displaying his battle scars from a scuffle weeks before. The newest addition is a wire cage, filled with colorful toys, and a labyrinth of a second floor she's created by hand. A white rat splatted with caramel coloring is her pride and joy, and she giggles as it scampers up her arm. A second, pure white, is sleeping in a sweatshirt pocket of another girl.
From an entanglement of drawers that she alone can navigate, she produces a bag of M&Ms and tears them open, offering handfuls to the rest of us. My eyes go wide, and her name escapes my mouth in a shriek. She spins around, confused. Horrified, I stutter about the notorious and brutal animal testing of Mars Candy and the irony of eating M&Ms with rat on her shoulder. The rest of the girls struggle not to laugh, an outburst from me about animal cruelty and corruption is far from abnormal. To them, this is ridiculous, and why shouldn't it be? M&Ms, the colorful chocolate sensations of our childhood. Mars, creator of Snickers, Twix, Dove, Three Musketeers, Starburst, Skittles. A laptop is found, Mars is googled, and sure enough, I'm right. There's endless records of cruel testing on rats, mice, Guinea pigs, rabbits, monkeys, cats, all ending in death. They still laugh at me. The M&Ms are eaten.
Through the rest of the night I watch her struggle with her vegetarianism, her love of animals and their connection to food, a connection the majority of us fail to make. She hovers for an extra second over the peperoni pizza, inhaling deeply, trying to convince herself its enticing smell is resistible. Later still, while watching a movie, I turn and look at her, her profile lit by the glow of the screen. She's not watching the movie either, instead debating with herself and a handful of candy. She eats them.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Homesick
In my new show, I only find memories of the old. This cast is awkward, cold, aloof. It's a strange new world, without hugs, no twisted family trees, and no bumping noses. Please, take me home.
Take me back to the world of twisted rituals, where we knew everything about each other, from what color underwear to favorite ice cream flavor. To where we'd live for our own craziness. Lemon teas, meditation, relaxation, where the crew in black were my heroes, and my life depended only on a moment.
Take me back to where a smudge out of place was the end of my world, a missing prop, a loose wire. Where hearts were poured into energy circles and the warm ups made you laugh out loud.
Playing mother on the shows when I wasn't performing, armed with painkillers, water bottles, hairspray, and sheet music. Everything could be falling apart, and suddenly pushed back in place with a single bobby pin.
The backstage hallway was nothing less then the artery pumping directly to my heart. Even a trip from getting miked to getting dressed was slow, for one never just walked down that hallway. One bounced from person to person, with one's arms extended. Wrapped into uncountable hugs, whispering unintelligible inside jokes and good luck wishes into uncountable ears. Simply a smile and a nose bump were heaven. My home.
Where am I now? New show. New theater. New cast. No hugs. No warm ups. No nose bumps. Please. Take me home.
Take me back to the world of twisted rituals, where we knew everything about each other, from what color underwear to favorite ice cream flavor. To where we'd live for our own craziness. Lemon teas, meditation, relaxation, where the crew in black were my heroes, and my life depended only on a moment.
Take me back to where a smudge out of place was the end of my world, a missing prop, a loose wire. Where hearts were poured into energy circles and the warm ups made you laugh out loud.
Playing mother on the shows when I wasn't performing, armed with painkillers, water bottles, hairspray, and sheet music. Everything could be falling apart, and suddenly pushed back in place with a single bobby pin.
The backstage hallway was nothing less then the artery pumping directly to my heart. Even a trip from getting miked to getting dressed was slow, for one never just walked down that hallway. One bounced from person to person, with one's arms extended. Wrapped into uncountable hugs, whispering unintelligible inside jokes and good luck wishes into uncountable ears. Simply a smile and a nose bump were heaven. My home.
Where am I now? New show. New theater. New cast. No hugs. No warm ups. No nose bumps. Please. Take me home.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Hope
The new year finds me hopeful. Gandhi once said to not lose faith in humanity, for humanity is like an ocean. Just because a few drops are dirty doesn't mean the entire ocean is. With this new faith, I dive in, full of joy and hope.
Sometimes we forget just how good it can be. It's the little things that count. Seeking perfection in the everyday isn't impossible. Family, sledding, hot cocoa, and the Three Stooges. Perfection. Live for these moments.
One of the biggest mistakes we make is with relationships. Often we become entwined in the idea that we need someone else. What we're really looking for is to be loved, inside and out, even our flaws. Nobody ever said you couldn't be that person for yourself. Love yourself. Inside and out. Even your flaws.
We've got to accept that there won't always be someone holding our hand. That's not to say someone isn't a moment away, our friends are always there to catch us when we fall. I'm learning to stand on my own two feet. If I fall, I fall, but I'll be able to say that I tried. Always strive for the best. Let go of your fear and push yourself.
For the first time in such a long time, I know I'll be ok.
Sometimes we forget just how good it can be. It's the little things that count. Seeking perfection in the everyday isn't impossible. Family, sledding, hot cocoa, and the Three Stooges. Perfection. Live for these moments.
One of the biggest mistakes we make is with relationships. Often we become entwined in the idea that we need someone else. What we're really looking for is to be loved, inside and out, even our flaws. Nobody ever said you couldn't be that person for yourself. Love yourself. Inside and out. Even your flaws.
We've got to accept that there won't always be someone holding our hand. That's not to say someone isn't a moment away, our friends are always there to catch us when we fall. I'm learning to stand on my own two feet. If I fall, I fall, but I'll be able to say that I tried. Always strive for the best. Let go of your fear and push yourself.
For the first time in such a long time, I know I'll be ok.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)