eleison, ma mere, eleison a votre compagnie et vos fils
��������� �����tonight, drowning in drama lit homework. gawking at the night and how swiftly it falls. a rotating fan brought up from the ever-generous quad. it spins desultorily, but psuedo-vigorously over by the window. the room is clean, as jason went on a spree tonight. i was going to do laundry tonight. but i don't think it will happen. in five hours i have to be up to catch a bus in to portland for a final. and another final. and auditions again.drawing, sketching with a black ballpoint tonight, horribly misshapen figures bleeding out onto the page. costumes fairly appropriate. faces not. i yawn, glance at the time. note how fast hours seemed to melt by. the headache re-approaching. somewhere in the middle of the heart of the matter. my arms & neck are sunburned and should turn into a nice tan. i don't tan easy. this should be interesting.
reading endless plays, endless characters parading through my head like those wretched pink elephants to a drunk in the old looney tunes cartoons. counting crows tonight. [ain't it just like the rain, cause love love love is only heaven way inside of you]
i spent a long time in the dance room tonight waiting for a rehearsal to start and found myself suddenly acrobatic, cartwheeling and running, leaping, jumping - i was getting into character a bit, i admit ... commedia dell'arte scene, and i was playing an arlequino, the trickster - now the mask sits beside me, wrapped up in a plastic bag, muffled and murmuring at me. volpone, it calls. volpone ... the fox.
i will not heed its cries! (oh my god i've gone insane.) it's 430am. jason and i are both still awake. i have gone on a hiatus from homework right now. i will be falling asleep all tomorrow. i don't trust sleep now. i won't wake up in time. but oh so good to close eyes and bob head ... and just let go. sleep while i can. and i will wake up when it is raining.
cranberries. linger. [if you, if you could return, don't let it burn, don't let it fade] - this song reminds me of rain. and the steady reliable rhythm of windshield wipers on a steady reliable old taupe dodge ram van. in the early nineties. a plastic holder carrying tapes of journey, phil collins, and richard marx. carefree spearmint gum. an atlas tucked in the corner, the old red plaid blanket.
i hope that i get left the small things in the will when my parents draw it up. photo albums. the red plaid blanket. actually, i want that now. a jacket from my dad. my mom's jewelry box, intact. [do you have to let it linger] rain. i want the recipes, too. and the slate painting by the back door that has a fire painted on it and the white word "WELCOME" ... and the latch-hook of the snowman and the old ceramic southwestern pottery that sits on the mantle and never moves.
listening a lot to the doors lately. [when you're strange, faces come out of the rain, when you're strange, no one remembers your name]
rain. i want some rain now, but i want hot rain, hot vicious rain that will seethe and sizzle and flay. i am comfortable in my skin. and i have the oddest urge for something chocolate right now. and some ice for my coke in a coke glass.
oddly philosophical tonight. "you give good hugs,"
"i had a good teacher,"
"you and mark both say that, it makes me happy"
"[me too, haha, me too] thanks"
and the night wearies on. like a beast of burden carrying the child who is to be the messiah. i will sell videotapes. "From Saul to Paul in 3 Weeks!" "The Virtual Road to Damascus!" "Try It And Be Saved!" who knew. me, an evangelist. we'll see.
[riders on the storm, riders on the storm, into this house we're born, into this house we're thrown]