Monday, January 31, 2011

life is like the a.w.a.r.d.s show:

an overall terrible idea*, but you get to see some really good art** along the way.

lucky for all, life does not have a corresponding bad acronym (Artists With Audiences Responding to Dance).

While riding my bike, I got to thinking about social experiments as analogies to the greater picture. like that one from back in the day (bear with me now) where they (scientists) paired up two volunteers, made one the test taker (or something close to that effect) and the other the corrector of the test taker and then proposed the following stipulations: when the test taker answers incorrectly, the corrector hits a button which in turn informs the test taker that they have made a wrong choice - via an electric shock or something equally pain inducing. I think the idea was to see how far people will follow an authoritative command in the face of a not so clear moral situation, ie what you are charged to do is in fact harming another person. the results were icky: I think the majority of people ended up hitting the button, despite the test takers' pleas for mercy. the award show was nothing like this, thank the goddess. and yet it was, in the sense that it felt like a really weird social experiment with icky results. basically it made me, speaking metaphorically and about my life, not want to be the button pusher. not that I think I would have/am anyways, but it really sealed the deal for me to proactively not be that person/volunteer. also, I don't want to be the test taker. rather, I wanna be the fluke volunteer who puts down the you are wrong button, and starts asking questions instead of answering them. I feel like that line should have some really epic inspirational music behind it. for emphasis.
theatrics aside, if I had to be involved again next year, I would chose not to. and encourage all my friends to pass as well. it's just not worth it.




* if I wanted to watch a reality tv show about dance, I would let myself into my neighbor's apartment and switch the channel on the already turned on tv. but I don't, so I don't. ranking technique is one thing, ranking style and merit and creativity gets a little tricky/unfair. besides, any event where 11/12 groups of people end up feeling bad (ie like losers, cuz, well, they lost) is a no go in my book. there are better ways to advance the human race and our collective artistry***, like say, just having a showcase (cough northwest new works cough cough).

** i heart modern dance.

*** speaking of advancing the human race thru artistry, I am taking an old project off the dusty shelf and gonna make it happen. re-inspired by a having nothing to do with the show post show conversation I had with a fellow yogi, I am on a mission to make new, more palpable yoga music. something that does not include sitar or Sanscrit or that one guy who sounds like the lead singer of the Crash Test Dummies. mark my words, it's gonna rule. in the most mellow, stretchy, prana stimulating way possible.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

256 - 260

a face with no name

the click of a range burner

the warmth of knowing


the trees part the clouds

drop leaves, shaking off the rest

a letter sent


thin lines stretched for miles

smiles

the catastrophe of truth


time numbing gray skies

crows in perfect silhouette

same sweater today


a knock at the door

this stranger, my shy neighbor

dinner dishes undone

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

251 - 255

connect electric

collapsing into silence

a cold kettle


wingtips in flight

the flutter of eyelashes

the rush, the lovers, rush


the perfect pot

breakfast or

break it


bare branches

curtainless window

a ladder leaning


creased pages

the curve of earth

snaked ess, a snapshot

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

241 - 250

stare into space

kid in a fountain

wet wash of starlight


asleep with few sheets

the black notes of birds pebbling

closed windows


a washing of words

sluiced through a steel grate

dirt down drains scrapes pipes


piano! dusty wires

connect fingers to brain, fingers to brain,

been too long, that song.


you said 'paint peeled'

i heard 'fate sealed.'

water dries, leaves salt


bare flesh in high winds

the surface of fresh water,

in fall rains, complains.


empty parking lot

spines of stray cats

starved gaps


late pumpkin

tucked in amongst leaves

mold or frost or both


water on the whale

twinkling against the sky

an astronaut


archways

all the spaces above

freckles taught