GUT
The studio is not ours. We are renting space. It is a large room with an irregular hardwood floor and many large rectangular windows looking out onto a residential street on the south side of the building. There are some houses. A glimpse of a bike trail. No one is out there. It is February. It is bleak outside, but the space is so wide, the windows...
The Speakeasy: Traversing a Mountain
Addressing the Elephantine Alp How many ways to traverse a mountain? Around, over, through. A circumambulatory hike around the base may have given us a peek to what landscape, what skies and weather conditions the other side is capable to offer; instead we hoisted our pickaxes immediately and tried to chip our way through solid rock. The ills of no existent structure can be cured in 25...
The Things That Matter in Life (Are Useless)
While I was trying to decide if I wanted to make Young Manic / I Wanted To Be On Broadway—a satirical dance-theater show about modern dancers who, as children, dreamed about being on Broadway—I was also doing something else for the first time in my life… I was reading articles about nuclear attacks. Particularly, about possible timelines of survival if a nuclear bomb were to fall on...
The Nether Highway of the Social Contract: Part 2
Through my dashboard the rhythmic hologram of Venus projecting up from reflective dashes, her columnar nakedness a stolid repetition of disfigurement as idealization, brokenness inevitably paired with the female form. It was Kansas, and I was driving because that’s what we all did, because it was the plains, everything stretched out into brown-dry wheat fields and endless parking lots. Like many images from my psyche of that...