Surrounded by Palms

I am not old
but older
I am not wise
but wiser
I am not complete
but aware

Life holds nothing in its hands
for its fingers will not bend
to just one thing

A Soldier's Fortune

hessian (HESH-uhn) adjective

1. A mercenary soldier or a ruffian.

2. Burlap.

The hardest lesson one can learn about writing is that no rules exist. Every time I feel stagnant with a premise, or bored with some dialogue, I seem to come across a book or play that's based in some alternate reality, or fuses dream-like images, or simply creates a world so different and interesting, I wonder if anyone else could have imagined it. What makes it a "hard" lesson, however, is not simply that it's difficult to locate or takes years to fully comprehend, but instead that writing without limits broadens the scope of general human existence to such a grand degree, fathoming the next step almost surely scratches the very action itself. Yes, there's the infamous "box" that separates all ideas into new and used, but my God, once outside the box, it's a frighteningly infinite universe.

I think a writer knows when they're writing something new and interesting--it's that moment when arm hairs tingle and the scribbling or typing stops and one thinks, "What in the hell just happened?" Sure, the next sentence might be total shit. But what you wrote before that: worth more than oil made from gold.

Fashionable Quotation

Here's a quote my friend emailed me that I really enjoyed. Apparently, it's from an interview with a famous fashion designer who became so agitated by the tenants of branding, he decided to resign his lucrative and oft-sought position as creative director. I find the last sentence particularly striking.

Because dimension is total, it is increasingly necessary to be vigilant on the direction. The direction, the idea, and engagement first of all. I am very skeptic on the tools of marketing. One does not advance while looking in a rear view mirror, unless being a follower. The idea initially, marketing then. Marketing can only support adhesion, and not replace creation. The formatting is not the performance; the performance, it is to know to think differently. I think of YouTube, but the examples are legion. One needs the intuition, before the reason. The insanity can also be powerful.

Watermarks

artesian (ahr-TEE-zhuhn) adjective

Pertaining to a well that has water rising to the surface under natural
pressure, without the need of a pump.

(I am dissatisfied with my daytime commitments and tired of complaining. My bitterness no longer serves as entertainment and when I encounter old friends--the best friends, the ones that know me best--I seem littered with sullen valleys.)

Change, strong personal change, can only occur after recognition. Before one can open a door, he must first see it.

No one sits in a room without exit.

(I am not proud of what I do here at the theater; it is not unique or interesting. And I should be proud. And I should participate only in interesting things.)

At the bottom of a pyramid, you are stifled by its weight and succumb to its pressure. At the top, you are too high to see the foundation and disillusioned with power. We are each blinded by where we could be. And that is civilization's ultimate flaw. Yet where we are--entrenched in the pyramid--was created by us. It is not what man makes that should define him, but instead why he chooses to make it.

Sometimes we are beings concerned more with the fountain than its water.

Yeah, well. Darwin's dead.

bombast (BOM-bast) noun

Pompous speech or writing.

I finished reading a book today--for the first time in months--and the first thing I thought was, "What a story says and what a story means may not always be different things."

When I finish my play, or flesh out any of the many parts of other things I write, I hope, when someone else reads it, they're moved to think the same way.

As a side note, if you ever (or more appropriately, never) question the human races' existence on this planet, I urge you to read Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut. I am now convinced that these "big brains" of ours instead represent an alien-like defect, and not the tools of infinite progress and created wealth. Sure, the possibilities of what we can do and accomplish in our lifetimes grows exponentially each day--all but one having been defined and refined within the limited scope of our self-constructed systems.

Ah, but I've said too much...

My Running Tab

grog (grog) noun

1. An alcoholic drink, especially rum diluted with water.

2. Any strong alcoholic drink.

At 27, life turns more backwards than ever. Your college days merge with your high school days merge with portraits of your best friends in junior high merge with when you used to slide down snow covered hills in your dad's backyard and how that old trailer doubled as a hideout for superheroes whose powers relied solely on a steady supply of Mentos. Suddenly, each memory spits out like a vending machine full of fortune cookies (no quarters needed).

You start to recognize dreams at 27--the ones you still pet, the ones you shelved--and all your loves and your loves lost. Tears, adventure, pain, desire, romance, the whole human spectrum of emotions in sepia-toned nostalgia. Running lists of laughter fueled by friendship and alcohol and general celebration.

Last night I asked, "When does life become about how much someone is willing to pay you to do something?", and that's exactly the kind of question you ask at 27. The kind that wonders how you got to 27 like this. Covered in cookie crumbs.

Drafting A Speech, Part I

ouch or ouche (ouch) noun

A brooch or buckle set with precious stones.

Lights Up

A moment of stillness passes before a suited man enters from stage left and crosses to the podium at a patient gait. He clicks on a small reading light, produces folded sheets of paper from his inside suit coat pocket, and then places them on the podium. He speaks slowly, with an accomplished confidence:

We are all privileged. Not just in the sense of what each of us choose to do for a living or choose to do on the side, or how we each adjusted our busy schedules to attend this event, or even in the methods by which we came to arrive here--in this unsecret hall for this unsecret occasion--and what form of transportation, owned or borrowed, drove us here. We are all privileged in the sense that we have seats. In the sense that where we go brings us to cushioned seats and that there are enough of them and, in fact, too many.

I, as you have no doubt observed, am not seated with you. But then again, I'm getting paid to tell you that.

And yes, it's true that I'm here, and that I am me, and that I should speak to all of you about the state of mankind and where I've traveled and what I've seen and all about what I think of those things. You probably know about me from a few articles in liberal publications and left-leaning magazines. Or maybe you read my blog, peruse through my pictures, my first-hand stories, the anecdotes of my travels. My life it seems sometimes. If not, you certainly can--it's all available through any basic internet connection. You can visit me from home, you can visit me from work, you can visit me from school, you can even visit me from your mobile phone. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you should definitely consider visiting me and my website. I'm not hiding anything. And neither are you. Just ask the government.

But really, what good would recounting and reciting do in such a forum? What would that say about me if I stood up here and reminisced about familiar topics? If you've read me, then you've read me. If you've seen my pictures, you've seen my pictures. What you want is something new. If I'm a rock band, you want me to cover a forgotten song. You paid for a spectacle, not a review.

And this is what I have for you: We are all privileged. Privileged from every second we remain alive. I'm not talking about God, or Allah, or any religion. I'm just talking about me and all of you--any of you--listening to me speak here. All the ladies and all the gentlemen. We are all privileged. And in this sheltered, privileged life, we remain completely unaware or, at the very least, unwilling to look.

I've traveled the world. You know that. It doesn't make me any better or any worse or any thing than you. But more than likely, you have not traveled the world, and I suppose that's worth noting. Not a point of contention--that's not my role here--but instead something to consider. However you're feeling when you leave this hall, you might be sure to remember this one thing: I have traveled the world. You might think to mention it tomorrow to a friend or a coworker at the pub or the cafe or the water cooler when you attempt to describe this unsecret occasion you attended. When they ask you about me, about this curious person who spoke at a publicized event, you can tell them, "Well, he traveled the world," and that will be that.

To be continued...

Control + Alt + Delete

junta (HOON-tuh, JUHN-) noun

A group, especially one made of military officers, ruling a country
after a coup.

Yesterday afternoon a man was caught on camera covertly entering the theater behind two badge-wearing interns. According to the tape, he shadowed them as they flashed their badges and appeared to--or pretended to--receive a phone call on his cellphone. A member of the box office, in recognition of the badges, buzzed the front door and all three individuals entered as a group. The only reason anyone would know this detail, or why I in particular harbor this knowledge, or why anyone would consider reviewing a security camera tape in the first place, is universal and assumed: this man robbed us. He stole a recently purchased DV camcorder (high resell value) and a personal laptop (not as high, but valuable still).

Without surprise I am reminded about last year's Autumn Auffense, and all the heartache and anger and money and helplessness. It's quick to come back; it's easy. That specific feeling of invasion only gets repressed. Along with their footprints and sloppy exits, robbers always leave behind the gift of benign malevolence--that learned, jaded human instinct of distrust.

Sometimes I think, "Who has my old laptop now? Did they know it was stolen? Did anyone look at my files, my scanned-in photos, my unfinished essays and sketches? What about my music choices, what did they think of those? Is it all deleted? Wiped clean? Everything? My bookmarks? My homepage? My history?" I'm sure it is, really. I'm sure the motherboard got flogged and a pawnshop dealer turned the other way for $200 and this all happened in under a week's time. They probably took out the memory stick from my digital camera without even peaking at all the photos we took of Madison, Wisconsin on our trip the weekend before. I mean, why would they? Why would they care about our trip, about how it snowed one night and we got drunk at the hotel bar? Or how we drove to a nearby town famous for these little statues of gnomes, but it was a Sunday and everything was closed. So we ate breakfast at a diner. And drove back to Chicago. And slept that night in our dark garden apartment. With flimsy dowels in our front windows.