andalus: (silence)
[personal profile] andalus
How does theatre differ. Words in action, maybe? Poetry on its feet. And the whole range of the nonverbal. I'm in rehearsal for two shows at the moment, which is keeping me busy. With the full load of classes. Time not spent out is spent at night on netflix, wondering why if I'm so tired I can't sleep.

Last weekend I saw a set of guerrilla-style plays set in various public gardens in the lower east side. The act of involving the watchers in the spectacle: it's so simple but can be so affecting. Heartbreaking, even. The bare fact of communing with strangers in a space. The ritual of it. It gave me tingles.

Of the two plays, one is a found-text piece about Anthony Weiner with a nod to Greek tragedy. A kinetic variety show about the very public reaction to the scandal and the transformation of private lives into a punchline, where all the words spoken are verbatim from news sources, blogs, Mr. Weiner's chat logs, etc. And they're setting up wifi in the theatre, with an app accompanying the performance, so you can follow along with the scandal on your phone and get sexted. I get to tap dance (I can't tap dance), play with a lightsaber, scream my head off. It's exhaustingly fun.

A couple weeks ago I was visiting my 12-year old brother, around the same time I was memorizing Whitman. He said "What's wrong with you? Sometimes you like video games, sometimes you like sports, sometimes you like poetry." With a look of genuine concern. Like I was doing him a disservice appearing to him as three different people.

There are those, out there, that I've always admired, adored even, who struggle with the world but seem to pass through it uncaught. Like ghosts or leaping, golden fish. I've always felt myself firmly within the world. Pragmatic if not practical.

Meanwhile I've got access to a small black box theatre in school in January and carte blanche to can put up whatever I want. So many things I could do! Too many things!
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