blind

usually, it begins with a poem of some sort and maybe attending a theatrical event (on stage or screen)...followed, of course, by some couch time (procrastination/deep thought)...the muse is abound.

last night I sat with a play I started in 2001. pre-911 if I recall correctly. An assignment really, but one that I put on myself. the play is based on events that occurred the year before I arrived at the University of Arkansas. an African-American PhD student entered his mentor's office on the first day of class, before the first bell (if there is a bell, I don't recall) and shot him...then turned the gun on himself...before police were able to get through the door. why this happened is anyone's guess. the research I did while at the University resulted in the story that the student had just been dismissed from the program he had been struggling in the past few years. The professor was his mentor and staunchest supporter. A final appeal to remain in the program was denied. the student, unstable, took the news a little too hard...a little too far. Other rumors abound were that the two men were lovers.

The murder happened behind closed doors and the two men are not around to speak of their actions, though I began in 2001 writing a piece of non-fiction. taking from newspaper articles, interviews and University publications the majority of my play. last night I began stripping away these facts to create a piece of drama without the burden of fact. facts that I felt could never be substantiated, though the two sides of this story remain intact; a story of power and mystery. a piece on race in America. tentative title: WHITE

i hope to complete the new draft this week. it is now connected to my body along with my mind. the soul is breathing new life into the old script.

and it began with a poem:

words once clear are now blurred
my sight is going; mind racing
the finish line is not all apparent
we'll stride forward by the nose

and where it all began is anyone's game
i guess I'll make a left; less a wrong
hope is in the shadows we create
a little light and we're all here

walking a bit slower with history in our bones
aching our way home; a way to roam
wallow in pity or stand up and fight
peace everlasting and to all a gentle night

...then we saw The Strangerer (after getting rejected from the waiting list to The Weir). an absurd play paralleling George W. Bush's struggle during the 2004 elections with that of Camus' main character in the novel of the same name (minus the extra "er"). Bush and Kerry are at the first debate in Florida being moderated by Jim Lerher. Bush has been inspired by a play he's seen the night before and believes he must kill Lerher before the night is through. Kerry is asleep "in dreamland", he has the same sentiment, but doesn't believe this is the right setting and that Bush's inspiration is unfounded. a series of attempts on Lerher's life are unsuccessful due to Bush's lack of imagination and the struggle ensues. We learn of the play and the moment that inspired the man to attempt such an act. We learn of a darkness that surrounds us all in a world we've all created that we all deserve. it is absurdism at its best. theatre in its highest form. art on the verge of catastrophe. go see this play...

then I watched some shitty tv, fell asleep, watched more shitty tv (a four way tie at the Honda Classic, I wonder if they resolved it this morning?), had some Ethiopian food (coffee from the motherland, maybe too much coffee from the motherland) then retired to my apartment, sat at the computer and began the revision...

this is how it goes. i don't try to fight it. let it lead me. enjoy the ride.