i went to see a show. this guy.
seems like an obnoxious sort of fellow. some laughs.
what happened there blew me away
those happenings of the 60’s – the shows to pull you out of your comfort complacency, decency respectability – and the performer who asks this of his audience does not stand behind the shield of humor of wit of sarcasm only the nakedness and honesty he demands of his audience is returned in spades.
we were not allowed to stay in our seats we were not allowed to not participate we were not allowed to bullshit we were not allowed to get angry for the face of the whipper our torture was also full of charm love vulnerability honesty that can be found ironically behind a mask and a costume 0 ooooooo eventually stripped away – to bare naked – and not only that – genitalia discussed examined stretched. comfort in the skin you are in – for surely we are only that and not only that – but creating a material thing here to occupy this atmosphere – bones sinew blood and skin – with lungs heart spleen parts pumping within- and gumby wired movable parts without, penis breasts elbows grins
we crave public stripping
we crave bullshit bombs going off in all our venues
we crave long languid silences with the roaming humans on the range
here is my writing from yesterday afternoon:
in 5 minutes we will drive downtown under overcast skies.
melancholy has descended on my mood.
i long for something – and i want to be past longing. i desire. i ache. i know not how to be.
a drop of a melancholia inherited in a dreary rainy drip.
where is the balance between flowing as you feel and escape. where does copping out begin o…
Then last night I forced myself out of the house at 9:45pm…sleepy, and I go to the show by myself…
and I am transformed. Suddenly I think that I can see stripping and standing naked or approaching someone with the same emotional nudity is absolutely a valid choice in each moment – every moment can be anything. I can meditate on my couch for 30 minutes, visit another planet, I can rise up to the ceiling and look down at all the clutter.
Why do dark grey moods settle in at all? When they do, why is it so hard to remember that they pass? Why do we seek approval connection validation to be heard? what misery! i read Jane Eyre every so often, I don’t know why, but in part to remember how so many people in human bodies have experienced isolation hour by hour and weeks upon weeks looking out windows walking across moors putting up with making do surviving the only way they can eating boring food only speaking expected words dying young without experiences I am wondering to myself if my brother died a virgin at 17. dear soul, what pleasure did he know by that age? matters not. he may be walking the clouds, he may be back in another body and fairly old by now. i know nothing – and feel nothing but a fuzzy memory like a movie I once saw – i wouldn’t know him in his own old body let alone another. not a story clung to…now I must go do chores and duties – perhaps without clothes on – because all are gone from this house until late tonight – I am alone and I am the master of this house and my bones!
BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?