We are are opening Friday Night: V2 – Vula Vala – (open/close in Zulu) – the 2 Virtues. How did this happen? See you there.
I’m opening a Nightclub . . .
Speech (Never Made)
The speech I wrote (but never made) at my student’s showcase last week.
“Stories are how we make sense of the world. They surround us everyday: from banter at the taxi rank, to chats with friends and colleagues, to talk at dinner – we only need to listen. I can think of no other vocation I’d rather share than to be story teller, each day working in my shop, constructing stories I hope will change the world. It has been an honor to share this story telling world with these students. I invite you now to listen to their stories – and I hope you find, in them, as I have, some extraordinary glimpses of who we are and what we can become. Enjoy.”
Playwriting Class Showcase
My class had it’s final showcase a couple days ago. 14 students all reading bits of their work. We did it in a friend’s bar in the afternoon. I found it awkward and at moments wonderful, tedious with bits of brilliant. The director reminded me this is a showcase: the good, bad, and the ugly. In any case, I still love the students.
20 September, 2014
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“Reality is wrong. Dreams are for real.” — Tupac Shakur |
13 September, 2014
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“Let me speak, let me spit out my bitterness Born of grief and nights without sleep and festering flesh Do you have eyes? Can you see like mankind sees?” — Joni Mitchell, Sire of Sorrow (Job’s Sad Song) |
6 September, 2014
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“Money, power, & respect, the key to life . . . “ — ‘Lil Kim |
30 August, 2014
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Grief In the night I brush my teeth with a razor — A poem by Kevin Young
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23 August, 2014
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“Seasons come to pass.” — Poet Wally Serote |
Play Reading: Torn Apart
I held a play reading at my house a few nights ago – a 1st draft of a new play. I came in very excited because a small group of us had read the play through a couple days before and it seemed great, full of promise. We did the reading at my house and I afterwards wanted to crawl under a rock.
To be fair there were powerful elements to the piece – it is the story of an aging white South African woman and a Zulu woman that takes care of her. There are funny moments, touching moments, moments of truth and beauty . . . some people were very moved.
But there are big problems with the piece – it showed up in the audiences reactions. It’s not clear whose story it is and what it is about. Is the piece about aging? the love between the two women? The racism/inequality in their relationship? All these elements are swirling around. People resonated with some parts, didn’t with others. Perhaps in part because it was such a varied group of readers and listener.
I love opening myself up to dialogue and input – this is why I write – to connect. I also find it so jarring sometimes – pulled (drawn and quartered?) by conflicting wishes and desires in others and ultimately in myself. I know this is part of the process – I love it, but I also sometimes find it hard, hard, hard . . . .
16 August, 2014
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“To apprehend The point of intersection of the timeless With time, is an occupation for the saint.” — T.S. Eliot, The Dry Salvages
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