cave candles

cave candles

and what is a cave like with no light. is it scary? is it sacred? is it full of animals and bats and insects? is it perverted? is it damp? is it full of bioluminescence? Is it the temple? is it ceremony? is it a cycle or a juncture in a larger story? How many candles went out? Are we sitting near the mouth of the cave? can we hear the ocean? are there blankets? are we alone? are we forgotten? are we entombed? Is it the fading of night sky with light bleed? Is it the loss of fireflies or the Mists of Avalon?

A Heartfelt Ramble On Performing, Peace, And Our Collective Creative Responsibility

A Heartfelt Ramble On Performing, Peace, And Our Collective Creative Responsibility

Theater, dance, music, spoken word - the act of performing before an audience of one or an audience of 5,000- all are a breathtaking leap of bold courage, honesty, raw storytelling and human yearning put to spoken and written word, vibration of notes and voice, movement - expansive outreach, an unfettered releasing of human expression. The Performing Arts are, even in the best of days, a plaintive cry to the Universe pleading for immortality, for belonging through shared experience, they’re a prayer of gratitude. In the worst of days they are a tender salve in the wounded heart, a well for the raging spirit to scream into. In performing, we supersede all languages to bring audiences with us on a journey to the heights of imagination; we lead them to a place where all things are possible, all things are centered, worthy. Through this act we are peace personified. We place all the world’s active sufferings into suspension for a moment. Through the gesture of an extending arm, a breath taken just before the high C takes flight, the emotions of an actor at play - we wrap audiences from all walks of life into a cocoon of family, understanding, and warm welcome. Together we process silently, personally, the incomprehensible, senseless, self-inflicted wounds humanity makes. We shriek expulsions of laughter. We mourn. We wonder. All in collective unison. The audience becomes the dance, the play, the music- at one with the creators.

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JUST GONNA

JUST GONNA

I’m just –
I’m just gonna bang it out.
I’m just gonna dip into that article for inspiration.
I’m just gonna scroll and comment because that’s my ramp up to the writing.
I’m just gonna put a little music on, just gonna check my email, just gonna remember I forgot to call that friend who is going through that thing and needs me and, you know, I’m just gonna send that one text, I’m just gonna settle my mind.
Ring notification: there is motion at my Front Door.
Bills bills bills bills bills
This is not going to pay the bills.
I’m not delusional.
This is not going to pay the bills.
I’m just gonna –
Am I?

Only Lonely Golems

Only Lonely Golems

Only lonely golems
March along in time
The beating of their false clay hearts
A rhythm without rhyme
Judah was a magic jew
Filled with holy pride
Judah sculpted, wholly new
And then Judah died
Who was he and who are you
To crawl towards the divine
To bask in peerless virtue
Immune and un-maligned
All these aimless artisans
Refusing to dine
Ache to craft the perfect face
But what about the spine?
The pressure of a purpose
Turns a diamond to a dime

PLOT TWIST
My *Special Thing*

My *Special Thing*

She was my friend and my touchstone for what glory looked like. In the case of Lynn, glory was a slim but sturdy-looking child with wire glasses secured behind her by a tight croakie. She walked with an unevenness to her gait as if electricity was surging through her and she was trying to manage the current.

Epiphanies of the voice

Epiphanies of the voice

I am a voice teacher. I don't teach singing like most people think when I am tell them I am a voice teacher. I am a voice teacher that helps people with their speaking voices-the voice we use all the time, every day, to get through the world, to communicate, to function in society. Most people are confused when I explain I don't teach singing. I understand. I was confused by this kind of voice work when I went to acting school in the early 90's. I thought I'd be working on musical theater numbers in voice class, and was annoyed when I learned that we would be somehow focusing on our speaking voices. But why, I thought, would I need to do that? My speaking voice is just fine. It works, it does what I need it to do. What a waste of time this is going to be, I thought naively. 

Artista Dentata

Artista Dentata

I am every one of the teeth in the mouth that bites the hand that feeds it.

I think that hand is wrong.

I came to know that hand because it gave me a pen. Gave me a space. Gave me the roadmap to trek my way and

escort my soul through the channels of my every pore to elicit change. T o lend the frequencies of my voice to

Musings on The Art of Connection…

Musings on The Art of Connection…

I spent the last three years completing my MFA in Acting. In that time, I often found myself facing a deep sense of loneliness. It wasn’t that I was spending my days alone – most days consisted of 16 hours surrounded by classmates in the studio – it was the feeling of being isolated from the world. I cared so deeply about my work and milking it for all it was worth that I found myself overwhelmed by the idea of who I was as an artist and what my art had to say. My escape became my phone and the endless hours scrolling on social media.