Writing Samplings

The performance went great, thanks to all those who came out. The videos and images are making their way online slowly but surely in the new stuff section here. I've been have a rough few weeks since quitting my job with no backup plan. I keep getting "leads" which go no where, and interviews that make me hate life. Plus its Feb., which means pleanty of grey and no sun. I am solar powered.

So, in my tired and frustrations I have been doing a little bit of writing between checking NYFA and my email. Here's a few samplings, don't be too harsh.



I am petite middleclass, and I think that mist be a force of gentrification in this apparent “urban blight”.  I find safety in the fact that someone once told me that I walk like a lesbian, which I took as a commentary on my solid, heavy, unmovable steps.  My feet don’t move unless I say so.  It makes me feel that despite my short stature and feminine curves, I might seem like less of a victim in my neighborhood of strangers.   I am “Miss” and “Ma’am”, when “Hello, I am selling candy for my basketball team at school.  It is only a dollar.”  But otherwise I am, “Hey baby; hey sexy thang; I want some of your sweet white chocolate vanilla.”  I want to exist on a level of mutual respect with my neighbors, but who is my neighbor, player or basketball player?  Lately, I have just taken to walking with one shoelace undone because when I once did it mistakenly, all anyone said was “better tie that.”  There’s something to be said for consistency’s power to greatly reduce confusion.  It’s just easier.
            Who is my neighbor? Who is my brother’s keeper?  Who is my keeper?  I am sure the residents of the apartment below me are not as reassured of their safety by their by my pounding stomp of a walk, but if I can’t have a dog, I might as well have the protective sounds of a 300lb man.-

When I go to art museums, it’s kind of like the zoo.  Not that it’s crowded or loud or smelly.  It just that I have to see Cornell just like going to see the monkeys; I have to see the Klien, like visiting the Reptile House.  It is like dropping in on an old friend.  But, good old Joey never changes like real people do. -

I had this dream, where I had finally written a beautiful song.  And I had one of those conscious dreaming moments where I thought, “I actually did write it because this is my dream and all these thoughts are mine.”  So I tried really hard to remember it, but when I woke up, the only thing I could remember was the following line,
“If Dusty and Lonely
Got to cuddle the whole way,
I hope home’s not too far to go.”
Ain’t it awful to find out something you thought was beautiful is crap.-