oxygen tank

the candle burning and the clothes heaping and the bones cracking and the man on fire with oxygen tank illuminated and the ink bleeding and the sheets sweating and the night slick like oil and vinegar on wilted leaves and the record playing and the typewriter waiting waiting to be played like so many accordians strapped across the chest of a young boy

The Diet

Sometimes my dad leaves articles on my sink- a subtle prompt, a whisper ("be intellectual, remy!). This morning I took the bait. The article was entitled "6 Items or Less" and it was about giving one's self a clothing diet, wearing 6 items or less for a full month. My interest was piqued. After all, I have heaps of clothing that I both loathe and fear. I can't even bring myself to unfold for anxiety of what's waiting in those piles. The trouble is that at core, I'm not a minimal girl. Don't get me wrong, I favor a white t-shirt and jeans over most else but I like the promise of being chic, being inimitable, being me, and that sometimes calls for blue suede shoes, a sequined vest, a pair of shorts from mom's closet. I'd like to detox in every way possible (eat salads, drink tea, wear a turban and stick my face over a pot of boiling water) but at this juncture, I can't do it. I haven't riffled through the stacks and found the perfect sweater and I haven't smoothed out my heel walk. Were I to strip down to 6 items for a full month, I worry I'd lose that crucial process of becoming. The clothes don't make the man but that fur jacket never hurt.

Speaking of clothes, what am I going to wear for FT opening night? Send suggestions my way.

Library Card

I just watched "An Education," and it thrilled me just as I hoped it would. Nothing charms like a school girl and Carey Mulligan was no exception with her perfect complexion and tweed jacket and crest. The older man motif isn't particularly appealing to me but the idea of an education is- a wild ride that sends your insides crashing (whether it come from book or beast). I'm inspired to seek out some wisdom. If a tree falls in the woods, did it really fall? If a girl picks up a book without a camera crew, is it less meaningful?

Eskimo Pie

Life is circuitous, wouldn't you agree? I took a trip to Chicago's Field Museum and stood transfixed in front of all things Eskimo: seal boots, fur coats, netted eye protectors, and the like. Today, as I was riffling through a stack of underpriced books at Village Discount, I found a hard cover edition of Peter Freuchens "Book of the Eskimos." I bought the book for a quarter and brought it home, eager to see how the Eskimos live. The book was charmingly paternalistic ("they wear their hair in a low bun on the back of the head, kept in place with a bit of string or ribbon. It is long, straight, and blue-black, loose strands framing a broad oval face whose eyes seem to brim with savage, unashamed passion") but entertaining nonetheless. I find that passions and interests seem to converge in knots this way; loose threads come together and solidify when you least expect it. I'm excited about this Eskimo account. Is it the idea of igloos? Fur parkas and a life of mysterious ice athletics? I can't say. I do know that the book came from Highwood Public Library. It's long overdue.

You Do You

"One day I am going to grow wings, a chemical reaction, hysterical and useless"- it's one of my favorite lines. I think I'm growing wings, bursting through myself, and stretching into the atmosphere, and I owe it all to the Johns Hopkins University for bestowing their gracious funds upon me. In the last few months, each week has provided secret setbacks, hidden roadblocks. Fuck! I often thought. I have to write a script! I have to find actors! I have to hire a space! And the challenges keep coming but I find myself thrilled and delighted by the prospect of engaging with a full scale theatrical project. I've found my actors and by the grace of God, they love each other and are engaging the script in unexpected ways, imbuing it with energy and comedy that I didn't write. On top of that, so many other friends have brought their gifts to the table (Emily and Anna for costume, Mare for set) and thanks to their creativity and dedication, we are getting shit done and doing it in style. It's Summer of Yes and I'm having a ball. It's still difficult for me to relinquish tasks and delegate but I'm learning to trust the instincts of others, I'm learning about that unusual chemical reaction we call collaboration.

Celebrando

Notes from my notebook// words from my twisted brain bubble:

1. "shall i believe that unsubstantial death is amorous" (romeo and juliet)

2. interactions coming too quickly

3. misshapen tubes, squeeze me out

4. glass of sapphire ice

5. database lipstick candle scissor ouji board mouf of da jabba walkee whachu hiding in that mouth

6. existential exhaust, she says, unwrapping gummy bears

7. the ice cream dreams of ice cream

8. you sneeze absurdly incorrectly

9. the real biography of a fake girl