Yesterday and yesterday and yesterday

Yesterday and yesterday and yesterday

Tomorrow was today.

This morning I found some of last week’s thoughts. And though we open TONIGHT! and time is a jetplane, I’m still crawling around on hands and feet. So here they are, last weeks thoughts, still fresh:

 

“A major chance operation crept into the show.

Stormed in, I should say, with muddy, bloody, war-like little booties. Why? — It certainly wasn’t part of the original plan.

Is this a moralistic metaphor about the sick absurdity of a death card, the drone casualty pulled blindly from the deck?

Is it homage to the art fathers, Cage and Cunningham?  Regretfully, I never loved that music. It’s the writing I love. Cage’s music is the good idea of surrendering preferential love. His writing is the love of that very same good idea. Maybe it’s the love I love, not the idea?

Is this commentary on the cleaving dualism of language? My best definition of tea-pot being ‘everything that’s not not-a-tea-pot’? Yes-or-no, live-or-die, girl-boy-girl?

Is it that I just don’t know what ending I prefer, that I’ve lost my confidence as an artist?

An attempt at embracing equanimity, a reminder that left or right, we turn toward death?

A test of the fidelity of my collaborators, whose purity of heart seems to know no bounds?”

 

We open tonight.  

Good words: “Open the show”.

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