Sunday, February 28, 2010

Today would have been out Matinee~

I wonder how our lighting would have been...

How the rain would have turned out looking...

Would I have messed up my solo?

Would anyone notice?

I miss it very much.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Opening night

Tonight would have been opening night.

It's 7 and in an hour i would have been performing.

Expecting the unexpected is the hardest thing.

An injury to one of my team prevented this show...

I don't know what opening night feels like...

Are there butterflies?

All I see is print paste and string...

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Between branches and shadow there is a warm peering light, a dappled light. Like underwater except the surface isn't transparent.

A contortion of light and body.

To be free and on a trapeze is to be unable to move from that fixed point, yet to be high enough that no one can touch you.

Before an audience, you are a god. They can't imagine having the courage to do what you do.

You exhilarate them like a spot of dappled light through a tree's shadow on a chilled spring afternoon.

They fear for your fall for you. You need not fear because you are surefooted but they go cold and still with anticipation when you suddenly fall backwards. They look at the floor for you but you are hanging my your ankles.

Toying with them is what the world is worth, like the sun behind a cloud.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

And then you go about standing up.

And centripetal doesn't want you to have anything to do about that unless you're in that sweet spot in the exact center. But your weight shifted a bit to the left and suddenly you're lunging and your spin is dwindling until you can stand straight again.

It's about equivalent to thinking you're going to go bring your friend a cake with some other friends but then you're told that you aren't invited. So you spend the rest of the day feeling nauseatingly lonely.

When you're at the top, you can be the only one there.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The color of flight and the fall...

What would that color be?

Of the sky?

Which sky?

Morning sun? In the rain? In the haze of summer morning light? In the bright unsaturated winter light? Through my window? Or on the other side of the building in shadow?

Afternoon light?


When the sun is red before rain in the summer?

Warm rain?

Night? The purest navy black?

The cloud coloration before it snows?

The kind where you can't look up at the sky without water falling in your eye so you never know the color?

Black? The void of all light?

White? The origin of light and color?

Monday, February 22, 2010

Psapp - Part Like Waves

I tackled the limits and then I fell down again.
Pulling the reigns to my chest, letting go again.

But we all fall down,
we are scattered on the ground.
And we part like waves
No one ever stays.
How many people do you know that can fly?

Most kids my age have several jobs, possibly a child or two and may or may not be married.

I weave cloth for kicks and after a day of weaving and dyeing cloth I climb ropes and spin in circles.

Clearly I am the most productive member of society.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

There is nothing like being on a trapeze.

It is the most painful thing I have experienced but the only place where I feel free.

I sit on the metal bar and let myself fall backwards, catching myself by only my ankles.

There is a bruise on a strange part of my foot that only the lacing of boots have ever known the place of.

When I fall in this position, my head is six inches from the ground. I can touch the floor with my hand. When I look straight up, it is the floor I see, spinning in circles as I spin myself from my single point trapeze.

Black, swirling. Dust on the floor, a foot print..

To bring myself up is dizzying, a red hot flash and then suddenly, it's cool and breezy again as the blood leaves the inverted position of my head and a breeze swirls around me as I lean back, distributing my weight, slowing the spin. I clench my body close to itself again and it spins faster.

Spreading out slower.

Twisting, faster.

Rope comprised of many thin threads supports me.

A different kind of weaving.

Friday, February 19, 2010

What can keep me up and let me fall?