No More Excuses

I'm having a little trouble getting going on this blogging thing and I think the problem is that I spend all day working on the computer, so I don't really want to spend my free time on it as well. So, instead of trying to blog, why don't you get off your ass and go do something that you enjoy? one might ask... WELL there, before we all get hostile, I have to say I do appreciate having a space to present my thoughts, simply for my own organization. Making this space public (even if no one reads it) forces me to put to think through these ideas and make them legible. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that rather than trying to reserve large chunks of time to write long-winded blog posts, I am just going to post short ideas that pop into my head and perhaps I will go back and expound on them later. Maybe. If I feel like it.

fayres and farewells

sitting underneath the theatre building, it begins. we wait, watch water trickle down a muddy stream, part of a "protected ecosystem". the air is bright with our anticipation. smoke swirling upwards from our cigarettes- lingers in the foliage.
sweaty palms wiped on damp jeans.

without warning, the sky opens up its purple mouth. our timing is so perfect. good thing we didn't linger at that bug eating contest.

i stand, jostled in the damp hallways of a school that isn't mine, mind a million miles a minute. everywhere people- flood in around me. outside! we need to be outside. stumbling, pulled by tides, onto covered brick veranda. we watch in near silence at the ensuing madness. the wind bends trees in half. rain pelts sideways, threatens to invade our little haven. everywhere, people- moving: out of the rain, into the rain, through the mud... somewhere off to the left, the strained chords of electric guitar. a band starts to play.



the guitar player is rocking out. i like his red pants and the fact that i can see all but his head from where i stand. slowly the courtyard fills with water, beginning in the tiny crevices of the brick, until giant puddles of indeterminable depth have formed throughout. the hippie children splash, slide, dance in the rain. "come on..." i feel a girl whisper to her hesitant friend. she tugs her hand and edges closer to the heathen figures dancing, "we're already wet!"

then, sudden as it came, the storm is gone; forgotten. the air breathes wet but we don't care. the sun is shining! we stare in wonder, sole still figures in the chaos. and once again the people pour out of the school, always moving.