…on quantity…

Quantity of life
Inexorable memories
Breathing
Seeing
Feeling

Your touch
Body close
Warmth like the sun
Love radiates

Whispers
A breeze lilting
fluttering leaves
My heart

May it only end in old age
The passing of you or me
When flesh grows cold
Memories warm forever

… on… looking into the iris of the world

Just when you think you know what a lily pad looks like I come along to shatter your preconceptions…. LOL
This was quite a massive pad whose center had become filled with water. For me I can imagine this being something viewed from outer space. A massive landscape seen from above with the center shrinking and expanding in a constant pulse letting pass only so much light and material from one world to another. I would love to wander thru a landscape like this. I almost feel I could get sucked into the center of this as though passing into some other realm. A realm unexplained, unexplored and unpredictable. Enjoy the journey. Let your imagination go…..

Withering Depths smlr

… on … losing country

Over the course of my adult life I have created a few short performance pieces. This is still one to see “the light of day”.  I have not had the opportunity to perform it yet – not because of the gun (Americans LOVE their guns) and not because of the text.  Simply because of the controversial use of the American flag.

~ LOSING/LOST ~

Setting:

The performance begins before the audience enters the space. When the doors open the audience walks in and is confronted with a tableau setting and the sound of distant thunder.

On stage left is a shadowy faceless figure in an aggressive stance with an american flag flag draped over their right shoulder and arm. The flag must be displayed upside down and in reverse (stars at bottom right and bars at the top). The figure is holding a rifle and aiming it at the figure stage right with the right hand ready to pull the trigger.

Stage right figure is seated at a small table. Angled to face stage front and slightly left almost facing the other figure. on the table is a large glass of milk. The figure just stares straight forward. Standing behind the figure at the table – and almost in the shadows – is a family – spouse and children.

As the house lights dim the sound of distant thunder and faint lightning. At the beginning the interval between lightning and thunder will be greater and should be shortened as the performance continues.

The figure at the table begins to speak. He/She is visibly tired, exhausted, spent with the appearance of nothing left to lose and speaks accordingly with long pauses almost struggling to find the words.

He/She: I have
I have lost
I have lost … something
I have
I have lost my … country

Home of the brave
Land of the free

I have
I have lost
I have lost my country

Home of hope
Land of opportunity

Who will
Who will free me
Who will free me from these unshakeable bonds?
Bondage

Home of fear
Everything lost
Land of Surveillance
Land of the lost

Who will?

(figure takes drink of milk from glass leaving the glass half empty/full)

Who will
Who will restore
Who will restore my country?

Home….
Home….

Home of….

(figures hand still resting on glass – slumps over at table and hand topples glass spilling milk with loud crack of thunder with simultaneous lighting flash. As figure slumps over table the family slumps to floor in slow motion and figure – with flag and gun – at stage left slinks off into the shadows. Lights fade except for one spot light on the corner of the table where the milk that was spilt has turned to blood and is now dripping of the edge of the table. Fade to black)

Entire performance should not last longer than 10 minutes.

…on… nowhere

EXIT TO NOWHERE
Exit To Nowhere smlr

Where is Nowhere?
Can you take me there?
Will others welcome me?

What will it look like?
Will it be someplace just like here?
Will I be entering a place everyone else is trying to leave?

Is there a road to nowhere?
Is there a train to nowhere?
Is there a door to nowhere?

Nowhere is home
Somewhere is always someplace else
The elusive “other”

Always going and never arriving
Living the dream
While ignoring reality

White line fever
Tracks of our tears
Knocking on the doors of opportunity never to be opened.

We have taken the exit and are now here.