Awight, so iss bin a minit....
Finally finished the Willie Wells Story run. After a few days of bull$#!! leading up to it, the last day actually went pretty well. Lucien Douglas came out to see it. As did Deepti and Larry. The last few shows went pretty well, I think. There were a few moments when I was really goin' for it, but I don't think I acted it up too bad. I should also mention that Elena and Melinda came to the show as well (they seem to have formed the "Desparately Seeking My Brownness Dream Team). So I'm doin the joint, feelin' alright. I wasn't trying to hard the way I did that time Flordelino came. I get to the end of the outfield sequence and make my brief exit to stage left. I get off, and suddenly I hear the vigourous clapping of hands...one set of hands. I knew immediately who it was, but for the sake of eschewing presumptuousness, I assume that it could have been one of the two classmates in the audience. Of course, it turned out to be Melinda whom God has seen fit to give an abundance (!) of enthusiasm. I had to fight a smirk coming back on stage, but I managed to get through it.
So we back at school now. I keep walking past the fountain in front of the MLK statue thinking, "now, just what kind of interesting thing am I going orchestrate in this glorified (though quite nice) bird bath. I'm still mulling the idea of a swordfight over, but I wouldn't want the swords to get scummy. I guess I could just clean them directly afterward. There is also this idea of having two people mirror each other for about an hour before finally having them begin to play in the water. Gotta do something. One's muse fades when not given the chance to see her inspiration utilized.
Let's see, what else.
I asked this young lady (who appeared to acrifan {<- be="" br="" dissed.="" down="" for="" got="" hmmmm...="" if="" intentional="" interviewd="" mama.="" my="" next.="" pen="" put="" red="" she="" spelling="" the="" thesis.="" to="" willing="" would="">Reading some interesting stuff for my Black Feminism class. I just read this article by Audra Lourde which says that the erotic is the opposite of pornography (pornography v erography?). Her basic argument is that women are denied their inherent need to explore the erotic. The erotic according to her is not just about sexual joy, but any true joy, period. This is either a quite inciteful and intriguing critique of western society, or her way saying that people gettin' happy in church are just getting off on Jesus. Look, I'm just sayin'....
Finally finished the Willie Wells Story run. After a few days of bull$#!! leading up to it, the last day actually went pretty well. Lucien Douglas came out to see it. As did Deepti and Larry. The last few shows went pretty well, I think. There were a few moments when I was really goin' for it, but I don't think I acted it up too bad. I should also mention that Elena and Melinda came to the show as well (they seem to have formed the "Desparately Seeking My Brownness Dream Team). So I'm doin the joint, feelin' alright. I wasn't trying to hard the way I did that time Flordelino came. I get to the end of the outfield sequence and make my brief exit to stage left. I get off, and suddenly I hear the vigourous clapping of hands...one set of hands. I knew immediately who it was, but for the sake of eschewing presumptuousness, I assume that it could have been one of the two classmates in the audience. Of course, it turned out to be Melinda whom God has seen fit to give an abundance (!) of enthusiasm. I had to fight a smirk coming back on stage, but I managed to get through it.
So we back at school now. I keep walking past the fountain in front of the MLK statue thinking, "now, just what kind of interesting thing am I going orchestrate in this glorified (though quite nice) bird bath. I'm still mulling the idea of a swordfight over, but I wouldn't want the swords to get scummy. I guess I could just clean them directly afterward. There is also this idea of having two people mirror each other for about an hour before finally having them begin to play in the water. Gotta do something. One's muse fades when not given the chance to see her inspiration utilized.
Let's see, what else.
I asked this young lady (who appeared to acrifan {<- be="" br="" dissed.="" down="" for="" got="" hmmmm...="" if="" intentional="" interviewd="" mama.="" my="" next.="" pen="" put="" red="" she="" spelling="" the="" thesis.="" to="" willing="" would="">Reading some interesting stuff for my Black Feminism class. I just read this article by Audra Lourde which says that the erotic is the opposite of pornography (pornography v erography?). Her basic argument is that women are denied their inherent need to explore the erotic. The erotic according to her is not just about sexual joy, but any true joy, period. This is either a quite inciteful and intriguing critique of western society, or her way saying that people gettin' happy in church are just getting off on Jesus. Look, I'm just sayin'....
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