artist wins the lotto!

year three: Right Speech

2012-01-01T19:14:00.000-08:00

2011 was my year of Right Intention, the second of the Noble Eightfold Path. Right Intention was a tough one: mostly residing within my head. i set myself to commit to abstaining from attachments, preventing ill-will, and stopping harm. i found myself indulging attachments often, and often caught feelings of ill-will even when i did not act on them. in these moments, i reminded myself the connection between Right Intention and Right View--remembering that the intention of ethical conduct can only be built upon seeing what is actually happening in the world, rather than skewing my view to my attachments or fears.

as with Right View, i feel as though i could spend a lifetime devoted only to Right Intention. however, since i have set myself to the task of covering the each of the Noble Eightfold Path, i must move on while also keeping in mind the power and necessity of Right Intention (and, with Right View, both elements of Wisdom) as i move on to Ethnical Conduct.

2012 is devoted to Right Speech. as i reiterate, the Noble Eightfold Path is not a sequence, it is one path with eight elements. however, i hope that through concentrating on one element per year, it will ease pursuing my ultimate goal of deeper mindfulness, true compassion, and working toward the liberation of all beings.

Right Speech is extremely important in the core beliefs of Buddhism. not only is it the first aspect of ethical conduct in the Noble Eightfold Path, it is one of the five precepts, along with abstention from taking life, abstention from stealing, abstention from sexual misconduct, and abstention from drunkenness or intoxication to the point of heedlessness. as with many spiritual traditions, Buddhism apparently puts much stock in the importance and power of speech.

in short, Right Speech comprises four main points: abstention from false speech or lying, abstention from divisive speech, abstention from harsh or abusive speech, and abstention from idle chatter. put positively, right speech means telling the truth, speaking toward concord, speaking pleasantly, and only speaking necessarily.

in more detail, the abhaya sutta states that according to Gotama:

In the case of words that [are] unfactual, untrue, unbeneficial (or: not connected with the goal), unendearing and disagreeable to others, do not say them.

In the case of words that [are] factual, true, unbeneficial, unendearing and disagreeable to others, do not say them.

In the case of words that [are] factual, true, beneficial, but unendearing and disagreeable to others, have a sense of the proper time for saying them.

In the case of words that [are] unfactual, untrue, unbeneficial, but endearing and agreeable to others, do not say them.

In the case of words that [are] factual, true, unbeneficial, but endearing and agreeable to others, do not say them.
In the case of words that [are] factual, true, beneficial, and endearing and agreeable to others, have a sense of the proper time for saying them.

in order for things to be said, they must be both true and beneficial. if they are disagreeable, they timeliness is of utmost importance. finally, even if something is true, if it is not beneficial, it need not be said.

if we desire to admonish others, we must then also consider the following:

[1] Do I speak at the right time, or not?

[2] Do I speak of facts, or not?

[3] Do I speak gently or harshly?

[4] Do I speak profitable words or not?

[5] Do I speak with a kindly heart, or inwardly malicious?

only upon considering these five can we admonish another.

i also interpret Right Speech as encompassing the written word as well, and it incorporates what many have termed as Right Listening--especially for the "timeliness" aspect of Right Speech.

as my community, i report this to you to ask for support and mutual respect in the continued search for the path forward. and if you find solace in the Noble Eightfold Path, that we can walk it together:

1. Right View (wisdom)

2. Right Intention (wisdom)

3. Right Speech (ethical conduct)

4. Right Action (ethical conduct)

5. Right Livelihood (ethical conduct)

6. Right Effort (mental development)

7. Right Mindfulness (mental development)

8. Right Concentration (mental development)

As with last year, I close with a quote about Right Speech from here.

Right speech is the first principle of ethical conduct in the eightfold path. Ethical conduct is viewed as a guideline to moral discipline, which supports the other principles of the path. This aspect is not self-sufficient, however, essential, because mental purification can only be achieved through the cultivation of ethical conduct. The importance of speech in the context of Buddhist ethics is obvious: words can break or save lives, make enemies or friends, start war or create peace. Buddha explained right speech as follows: 1. to abstain from false speech, especially not to tell deliberate lies and not to speak deceitfully, 2. to abstain from slanderous speech and not to use words maliciously against others, 3. to abstain from harsh words that offend or hurt others, and 4. to abstain from idle chatter that lacks purpose or depth. Positively phrased, this means to tell the truth, to speak friendly, warm, and gently and to talk only when necessary.

i look forward to working on this year of Right Speech.

sources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noble_Eightfold_Path

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five_Precepts

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.058.than.html

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/ptf/dhamma/sacca/sacca4/samma-vaca/index.html

http://www.thebigview.com/buddhism/eightfoldpath.html

http://www.chzc.org/pat28.htm

http://www.tricycle.com/web-exclusive/family-dharma-right-speech-reconsidered

year two: Right Intention

2011-01-03T20:36:00.000-08:00

as you may know, 2010 was my year of Right View (see my note from dec 2009), the first of the Noble Eightfold Path. i spent the year reflecting on what it means to see the world "exactly as it is," and to remind myself to stay close to reality: to see suffering for suffering and joy for joy; to not over-complicate what is simple, and to not simplify what is complicated; to remember what has been, to live in what is, and to not to make up what has not yet become; to move through the day-to-day seeing myself and other beings as living in the same space, occupying the same time, and breathing the same air

it was an immense challenge. i am quite certain that i have absolutely no mastery over Right View. but i did notice some times when i had quite Wrong View: when i obsessed over things, people and events that were symbols of what i really needed to address; when i did not see my actions causing dis-ease for others; when i did not see my own dis-ease that might have been caused by something/someone else; when i could not feel loving toward those i loved and when i could not feel joyous when surrounded by joy. that was the movement: the first step toward Right View is noticing Wrong View.

i feel like i could spend my whole life devoted only to Right View but that was not the task i set myself. besides, to move on in the Noble Eightfold Path, i must keep addressing and aspiring to Right View, always.

2011 is devoted to Right Intention. as i mentioned last year, the Noble Eightfold Path is not a sequence of steps. it is one path to wisdom broken down into eight elements. my hope, though, is that through spending one year devoted to Right Intention, i can continue my resolve and dedication toward deeper mindfulness, compassion, and hope for the liberation of all beings.

Right Intention is the second aspect of wisdom, and is positioned between the perceptive/receiving skill required of Right View and the kinetic/doing skill required of the three ethical conducts beginning with Right Speech. it is the breath between knowing suffering and doing something to end suffering. it is the fulcrum between decision and discipline. without Right Intention, all efforts toward liberation are mere exercises, leading either to more suffering or to sisyphean cycles of fruitlessness. perhaps noticing my Wrong Views last year that involved obsession, joylessness, and lovelessness can help point me toward the three aspects of Right Intention: letting go of attachments, releasing rage, and resisting destruction.

1. Right View (wisdom)

2. Right Intention (wisdom)

3. Right Speech (ethical conduct)

4. Right Action (ethical conduct)

5. Right Livelihood (ethical conduct)

6. Right Effort (mental development)

7. Right Mindfulness (mental development)

8. Right Concentration (mental development)

As with last year, I close with a quote about Right Intention from here.

While right view refers to the cognitive aspect of wisdom, right intention refers to the volitional aspect, i.e. the kind of mental energy that controls our actions. Right intention can be described best as commitment to ethical and mental self-improvement. Buddha distinguishes three types of right intentions: 1. the intention of renunciation, which means resistance to the pull of desire, 2. the intention of good will, meaning resistance to feelings of anger and aversion, and 3. the intention of harmlessness, meaning not to think or act cruelly, violently, or aggressively, and to develop compassion.

I think 2011 will be awesome.

love and light,

oil

2010-11-28T09:36:00.000-08:00

that turpentine stench first
filled my nostrils very young. she
stood with an apron in the laundry
room; pausing, standing back, knitting her brow

each of us sitting for at least
one portrait. she tried water,
then charcoal, but really loved
oil. burnt umber, prussian blue, sap green

viridian. she said, we try not to use too much
black or white. those colors don't really
exist in the world. try to show the hues using
different colors; it's more interesting and true

she was jealous of those pastes.
watching pbs, sucking her teeth: that's
an expensive color! so much that
christmas memories are filled

with small boxes holding tubes
cadmium yellow, light; van dyck brown; payne's gray
each year, more tubes and tubes
it felt like she never had enough.

in my house, over the piano she made me keep playing as a child
hangs her last oil
the boldest, most dynamic piece of landscape
she'd ever painted

subtle, muted, green mixed with violet, the trees almost
mourn with me, the loss of their maker
when we cleaned out her things
a whole room filled with easels

sketchbooks, unused yarn, fabric scraps, calligraphy brushes
ink stones, rice paper, photographs
and a green tackle box filled with
paint tubes

no one else wanted the supplies
so i took them. sullen.
i don't know how to paint with oils
i've kept them in this house for almost nine years

meanwhile, i take a job in an art department
where every other person is a painter
longing for more supplies
i remain jealous of those tubes just like her

but then, three weeks ago my not-supervisor's
sister drops dead suddenly
no one knows why
she flies across the country

to tend to body and mind
arrives at work three days later
red-eyed with smokey hair, says:
where else am i going to go?

not-supervisor is a painter
a very successful one, until life happened
and she had to support kids; family
she specializes in a certain symmetry; she's not

picky about paint. but she uses
a lot of it
today, i sort through my work space
find that green tackle box

smelling of the turpentine that
wafts through laundry room memories
i will never sit a portrait for mom again.
so i find a clean bag

place each paint tube in it
write down the name of each color
wrap them up, nice and neat
for transport in the morning

i hope not-supervisor will use every one
to remember her sister
so i can let go of my mother
and more things can be made

again, and again, and again.

私こんな夢を見た。

2010-11-27T11:50:00.000-08:00

london was near a beach.

i was walking along this beach with a flamboyant man of chinese descent who was apparently my father.

the beach was strewn with detritus.

but that didn't matter; i was searching for something. what it was, i cannot recall.

upon a hill, we saw a structure. it was old, and at first, seemed abandoned. we passed by the structure, arguing. but something about the structure brought us back--maybe we heard a sound or i needed to use the toilet.

we walked up the hill, my "father" swishing behind me. when we arrived at the building, we quickly recognized it was a church. i looked into the main chapel and scoffed: why build the pulpit facing the sea? the congregation should face the ocean, so the sermon will feel like it is rising from the blue deep!

we walked through the rest of the church and found it was, in fact, full.

we turned the corner and there were many elderly people, almost entirely afro-caribbean, desi, or chinese. my "father" began to smile widely and spoke with a man who had a heavy jamaican accent. everyone was smiling at me.

he said: yes, yes. we welcome all kinds here. well. every church will say that. but look here--we have every shade of black and brown here; some with arthritis, some not. the young ones, they are upstairs. some of them are confused, searching for something. and some of them have pink hair.

i understood that pink hair meant queer.

he continued: but the reason all shades of black and brown and confused and pink-haired come here is because we know--it is a tough thing to be brown in this world--

the man and my "father" looked directly into my eyes--

but some of the people who are brown also have pink hair--

his eyes were full of pathos, and my "father" replied--

and that's even tougher.

amen.

i woke up.

this was the first time in a few weeks that i woke up and did not feel depressed. i felt loved. and determined. as if the ancestors understood the struggle i am facing as they were looking on with loving eyes.

my house

2010-11-07T15:18:00.000-08:00

in manila
there is a building
built for an international festival
by the over zealous wife of a dictator

in their haste, they
built too fast
sealing bodies of builders
in the too-wet foundation of the edifice

now, the building lies empty
ignored, forgotten
a tomb commemorating
the hubris of megalomaniacs

in my city where
tech boom meets econo-bust
whole neighborhoods are built
in weeks

they look prim, proper, perfectly
middle class. humming with the rhythms
of aspiration and need.
only during harsh weather

do their owners listen carefully
to the paper-thin walls
and the winds threatening to pull up
the homes from the earth

when the two towers fell
and they took away the rubble
what was left was a mammoth of a
hole

whole structures
never stand
without deep roots
routes to strength and certainty

but digging is hard; it takes
strong backs, persistence
sometimes we can guess map what veins of dirt we will hit
but mostly, everything is a surprise

sand, rock, loam, old refrigerators
brick, shale, the skeleton of a long-lost possom
gas pockets, pipes, geysers,
gold

the deeper we dig those holes
the stronger the house becomes
but the more we must unearth
the more secrets and surprises we must witness

for with height comes depth
just like how we don't listen through the chatter
but the strongest voices are borne
out of the stillest silence

so is the gentlest love
borne sometimes from solitude
or the ripest fruit
borne from rot and decay

my house, so loyal, so warm
has had cracks in its walls from the day
i moved in
the foundation sits on sand

in this house, though, i have built a home
with tenderness and thought
that has weathered many storms
i take those cracks as testament

to the hope i hold in my heart
and now, i must dig deep
to build, to rebuild, to withstand the ever-coming wind
the digging can be rough

lasting until the wee hours
full of tears and whispered screams
refuse of the past
that can still bear us fruit

i see those suburban houses
prim and sweet; sometimes
they seem to be perfect
but i know

i would rather get my hands dirty
in the soil beneath my feet
to build and rebuild with purpose
than watch perceived perfection

blow away with the slightest
breeze; my house
will always be strong
digging deep

into the depths of the soul

practice

2010-03-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

sometimes i miss myself
talking past the horizon
i think if i can look far enough
something will become clearer

i wonder if in this habit
i've become unable to
see what lies
closer than anything else

32 years
and still
i'm learning to be a better roomate
with myself

we fight sometimes
but mostly
we turn up the noise
shut our doors

and wait. no
maybe that's not it at
all these days i don't quite
recall youth

smiling softly,
patient like nursing
a chronic wound
nagging yet healing

yes. that might have been me
young shoots across
fertile land
fleeting and going

on and on. this morning
i woke with little left
but the dew on my finger tips
reminding me

of her. i am
waiting and healing
and remembering what
warmth of other

warmth of self feels
like. never ending
softness splayed across
wisps of freedom.

release

2010-03-14T09:35:00.000-07:00

letting go is not letting go it is returning to turn and turn to return and skies filled with marbles that rain rain reign the heart of head of heart of heading to the place where i held you tight but loose too tight to let you go too loose to keep you there the sprinkling lights reflecting off the imagined mirror ball on the new hampshire red road turning turning turning around around a round headed kid like me wanted to keep holding on to your now wrinkled yet somehow young hand that once stroked my hair in the moonlit darkness the night after a typhoon-swept tree had fallen on the house in the mountains where we took care of the woman of a womb that bore you so late not too late but still late like you bore me in the warmth of that late summer air when we both looked forward as i confessed i'd gone and fallen in love and what a time to fall in love and you said love is good love is great you should fall in love and what you didn't say was because you will need the love soon because even though i will love you forever i won't always be around to remind you that i do.

incense fragrant
a loss fragrant in sense
incensed at loss

release is everyday now with and without you when you left i thought no mistook no wondered no assumed no forgot yes forgot that releasing your body was not releasing you yes forgot that you were still existing still in my pores still wafting on the breeze in my ears on the memories i still tell and recall in stillness of light yes still body racing mind i must yes to seeing you everywhere yes to light raining down yes to releasing more and more to listening with confusion yes to confusion yes to a car ride back from a mall in a tiny car you know you no more false pride not saying yes but yes to saying i want your child your queer child you just need to find a random asian man i want yes an asian grandchild your child yes you would raise yes and smiling at knowing not quite yet but maybe future yes embarrassed at boldness no regrets when you said those words i knew you finally saw me yes me yes meet me half of the way to the altar of sight you had let me go and then you saw and now i let you go and maybe see you back lit seeing to see the sunsets and storms and soft finger tips at edges end blue baby glory of the once.

yes

untitled

2010-01-31T14:58:00.000-08:00

she always leaves pieces of herself as if to insure i won't ever forget her.

it's affective. because i never do.

this time, she dropped a pair of gloves next to the dog's cushions. as always, when i find these pieces, i immediately text: do you want me to send them to you? even when i know her phone is off and her plane is either in the air or preparing to go there.

some people, you watch them and they make this all seem too easy. too glamorous, too practiced. for me, it never gets that way. we've been together eight and a half years, and this is the fifteenth month we've spent apart. each visit through our distance changes. each month we are apart, we change. every time is laced with pain.

sometimes, it's easy to lull oneself into accepting this as normalcy. to think: my solitude is the fabric of life now, the fact that i don't care for my thoughts, my body, my space, my surroundings--this is all a part of the daily routine. i begin to forget that once, with her, i would take care, i would seek comfort in every aspect of my living. now, a patina of sorrow covers each square inch of my being, and when my conscience recalls the warmth for a split second, i feel as though i will break.

my friend told me, you've been through this before, it means you can get through it again. then he added: that may not be much of a comfort.

it's not, really.

every time we see each other again, i'm reminded of what i've been missing. that reminder makes me petulant, resentful. i'm reminded again of my humanity. of loving things i once took for granted, of the fact that i don't need to merely survive an emotional subsistence, but that we are meant to flourish, together--struggling, negotiating, forward looking, arm-in-arm.

i sit under the covers of the bed we just shared: where i wept just minutes ago in a primal scream, where the sheets still smell of her, where we laughed this morning enjoying each other, where we fought savagely two nights ago.

each time she comes and goes, i worry sickly during her flight. a contracting sensation in my belly keeps me still like waiting for a predator to pass. i hate missing her.

i wish she'd come home.

miscegenate

2010-01-11T22:28:00.001-08:00

if you wanna know what happens late at night in the middle of the blue-green l.e.d. lights of sanyo and sony and moonshadows falling across the spread never never is the stillness still enough for too long into the gloaming of the after where in a waiting room she has a gown tattered from too many launderings that faded puce with faded navy with faded mauve-maroon maroon marooned on the little pad of never-ending transfusing to come back and late at night i listen carefully to see if i can hear the youth of them plea and conquer and not-stillness wanting and wanting and wanting to a point that when the fucking may or may not stop something inside me says that we're fucked not completely but to a holding stand still not fucked and empty is form is void is wanting is slow is never filled to the hums of what wasn't but what might and the rain on her lashes looks too much like tears like scrubbing my back in the shower until it drains and falls and bits of me enter the sewer go to processing come out the aerator into the air and up to the clouds to the sky to the sun to the moon and come come come down down down falling on her lashes in the middle of the street where apologies were meant but unsaid and the gravel was new hampshire red and the flowing was form was empty was fucking and yet we knew the difference.

i want i want i want to see you here right here before me naked and whole and young and old and when did it matter which she was her like we could tell them apart in the first place racing blood through bare breast it's still warm warm whether it is her or her or even the forbidden her we drank from her and with her and through her i want i want i want to never have that taste of metal come through my cheeks and out through my lips that forgiving never offered and youth missed not forgotten not even wanted anymore because who wants to be 30 25 20 18 anymore anyway my greys her greys our greys are medals are talismans and fuck the fuck the fuck the want want want.

don't go.

dishes stacked on each other in a precarious heap slowly making a long low sustained stench like the faint echo of her breath in the unit where the nurse said they call it neuro breath hard breath breathe again breathe more come here to breathe by me with the warmth of fragrance only you had she had even the forbidden she had that time when we couldn't quite say the words because words felt like nails felt like stones felt too much like hurt even words of love of want of good luck when we could not even for a second think to say it back and instead we walk out to ask the nurse a question and when we come back she's asleep again not yet forever but for the last time.

i want her i want her i want her back and back and now and here and here and closer and never again in the same way but whispers of memories held close and never shared i want her near i want her in me i want inside her and her and her and her and fuck and fuck and fuck and not the same difference same different will she hear me does she hear me if she hears me will she say and if say say truth or lie lie lie with me once again and again and just once if we suffered enough when was the war won?

i want want want again
no more
more and more
not loss
the same
to change
to forever
for never
i want want want the her and the her and the her
a trinity of never and again and not ever

treyf. treyf. treyf.

come back
return
don't go
just once
forever
not ever
now go

go forth
go into the emptiness and beyond

preparing for the new year

2009-12-24T15:00:00.001-08:00

as i was composting today, i realized that the new year would come soon. i wasn't sure what my resolution would be.

i usually don't like resolutions, i find that they are often self-indulgent and strange performances of mixed virtue and vice. but something about the smell of the compost made me pursue the thought deeper.

seriously, it was the compost.

because on my left was a beautiful pile of black gold--fertile and supple, ready to be returned to the earth to grow new things. on my left and in my hands was a stinking heap of decay--refuse from meals past. the stink was the metaphor of larger things. of cycles, of death, of birth.

i'm a buddhist, see. if yer not interested in that, you might wanna stop reading here.

it's nothing new, the buddhism. growing up, it was the only form of organized religion i ever took part in, usually through sporadic visits to temple when our family visited my mother's family. really, though, i came to know my buddhism through funerals. now, lovely partner, a born catholic, is converting to buddhism.

she shares with me the precepts and concepts and ideas behind what i have been practicing all along. at first, there was a bit of disconnect. her sources were theravada (my mother was part of a vajrayana sect, and most japanese buddhisms are mahayana), and filtered through american sources. what lovely partner said actually meant something, whereas what i knew made no "sense." but i've been listening. and i've been moved. and i've slowly come to a place where what she talks about and what i have known my whole life are beginning to make sense together.

and so, while smelling the compost, i came upon an idea. i'm still feeling it out, but i think it might take.

i will begin 2010 as a meditation on the noble eightfold path. each year, i will dedicate to one aspect of the path. at the end of the eight years, i will re-assess and perhaps begin the cycle again. 2010 will be my year of "Right View."

incidentally, the noble eightfold path consists of the following:
1. Right View (wisdom)
2. Right Intention (wisdom)
3. Right Speech (ethical conduct)
4. Right Action (ethical conduct)
5. Right Livelihood (ethical conduct)
6. Right Effort (mental development)
7. Right Mindfulness (mental development)
8. Right Concentration (mental development)

i recognize that the eightfold path is not a series of steps, to be done in succession. but i wanted to see what would happen if i pay particular attention to one aspect of the path for an extended period of time. i'm choosing this order because, well, that's how it's always presented.

in thinking about this journey, i'm particularly influenced by linda montano and her seven years of living art, based on the chakras. my exploration will be less public, i think, and being that i'm a theatre artist, and less of a performance/conceptual artist these days, i hesitate to call this endeavor a "piece" anymore than i would call living my life a "piece," which i don't often do. even though i think it sometimes.

i've come to a place where i accept that my creative process is undeniably linked to my spiritual practice. in the past year, i have met several creators who practice their craft as an extension of their spirituality. i've been humbled by observing their rigor and general posture toward life. perhaps this eight-year journey is my attempt to join them.

i share this here to hail, to incorporate. maybe you can help me with my meditation on "Right View." or maybe you can join me. i will see the world for what it is: nothing more, nothing less. neither better nor worse than it actually is. so i leave this post with a short note on what right view is from here.

Right view is the beginning and the end of the path, it simply means to see and to understand things as they really are and to realise the Four Noble Truth. As such, right view is the cognitive aspect of wisdom. It means to see things through, to grasp the impermanent and imperfect nature of worldly objects and ideas, and to understand the law of karma and karmic conditioning. Right view is not necessarily an intellectual capacity, just as wisdom is not just a matter of intelligence. Instead, right view is attained, sustained, and enhanced through all capacities of mind. It begins with the intuitive insight that all beings are subject to suffering and it ends with complete understanding of the true nature of all things. Since our view of the world forms our thoughts and our actions, right view yields right thoughts and right actions.

and so, on 01/01/2010, it begins.

sublimate

2009-12-11T20:36:00.000-08:00

i wanted to tell you that this was not the end that this was not the last time i would see you that somehow we would find each other and you would be well and i would feel whole and the things that surround us and keep us far apart would go away that the secret you needed to tell me could stay a secret rather than spill out into the summer ohio air on a green metal bench after a day spent wandering in hopes that we could forget that the end was probably even closer than we thought that even when you began to tell me what you needed to confess that even when i had offered absolution that even when your anger and confusion had transformed into resignation and then wisdom that i wanted to tell you the end would never come and i would make a room in the house i had just bought put your name on a wooden plaque and hang it in above the bed where you would stay when you would come visit on some whirlwind trip that would include every city and country you had ever dreamt of seeing but never got to see that even though everything had said end and end and end this was really and truly and nothing other than the beginning.

the question i wanted to ask you as you lay there in that beanie that you wore after chemo but that i couldn’t because i saw where i was the question after all those nights we talked about things that you can’t tell many people those nights where you were the straight one and i was the queer one and you were the black one and i was the asian one and we had too many reasons why we were never meant to care but then we did anyway because that’s what people do after all those nights where i knew we saw the wholeness in one another i wanted to ask you if this was the redemption you wanted and wished for and did that redemption include or exclude me and peace is something that i knew you would find and did you find it at a cost or a gain because when you went to see the father of all and the father of you at the same time i wanted to ask you does your heaven allow visitors from mine because i will try to find you again in the lightness and darkness and the after glow of the once and if there’s a bouncer i don’t wanna be rude because even though the beginning was an end it doesn’t meant i wont keep looking.

songs
beats
dog-eared books of richly colored heroines
this line was crossed so many times
and in the warmth of solitude
we could hear each other’s breath
the relief of sleep
only i wish to rise

inhale

2009-11-23T18:28:00.000-08:00

this is a fragment of writing i started to write almost a year ago today. it helps me remember that this time of year is always layered with solemn thoughts, fear, and melancholia:

somewhere in the breath between autumn and winter, i learned to fear from the core of my bones. earlier that i wish to remember, but late enough that i do, i began to find myself in open waters without a buoy, and there they were, each thing that i had pushed out of pre-pubescent dreams, finding their way from slumber to wakefulness.

may i one day find solace in the depths of november.

converge

2009-11-20T12:31:00.000-08:00

we were always hungry never full trying to nourish and the belly always slender when we traveled taking junk food and remembering the days when we'd queue up beside a fry pan next to arm-chair activists and queer girls who only flirted with girls but really slept with men whose last words were you need to read more books always hungry until we stopped tasting stopped chewing not knowing when to stop or pause or wipe our mouth or say excuse me after a burp or take a sip of water going back up the line for one more plate we were always hungry so that when she couldn't eat so thin and pale and peering through crusted lashes saying i can't oh no i can't not today will you bring me what you've made not this stuff you eat it so it can't go to waste please it will just be thrown away we can't help but pick up the beige tray start to chew the food that never seems to fail to make the whole ward smell more like sick like our appetite can't be turned like we were never fed properly like eating with our mouth will somehow feed her spirit.

and that week she first started to bleed without stopping when the fluid would leak and leak into her cranial cavity when she was diagnosed with meningitis that we distinctly thought was an incurable disease reserved only for unhygenic college kids when she developed bruises just from sitting when her blood would secretly gush just not where it could be seen we stopped bleeding entirely like a stone setting right next to jesus but unnoticed and neglected into silence we stopped bleeding as women bodies do as the moon waxes red as the tide becomes still as the night invites those that must drink blood to have it flow through them the font of life flowing only through a dying body but not through the surviving one when the blood carried revived love spilling out to all around her despite the stoicism and the denial and the queer lover brought home on holiday flowing just because it was impossible to stop all while her daughter's blood ran stiller and stiller perhaps in hopes that if it just stopped altogether it could hide from the feelings of chaos and lividity could stop time in its tracks from moving forward to the inevitable stopping of blood that could not be stopped because really it ran dry too dry to live that months after her blood and the vessel carrying it had been transformed to ash her daughter had to visit a doctor just to have her blood flow once more.

the man who saw her in new york said to us she is connected to god in heaven so she needn't fear and if you want i can do a special healing for her from afar but that will take $3000 and that's very expensive isn't it that we looked at her and told her the news and seriously considered withdrawing the $3000 from our money we were never to touch but $3000 is a bargain if it means her getting up and walking but she looks through bleary eyes in that way that says it's confirmed he's a quack and besides i'm ready to die because i cried through it all these months and i've made sure to tell you the important stuff and i know it will take you long to cry through it yourself because i had to cry through the same thing at age seven but you'll do alright let's practice now so we lie down on her sterile bed and curl up with our head right next to her hand and she comforts us even though she's the sick one stroking our hair and telling us stories through dreams we share as she falls into a bleeding-brain-induced slumber and we fall into a grief-induced one.

we sleep. we walk together, with a purple horizon warm at our backs. her hair is thick and long. she puts her arm through mine. she wears white shoes. i look at her face. she looks at mine. she nods forward and i see a bright reflection of yellow light in her eyes. i look forward. i see no light. she smiles. she's a pixie. she knows more than the rest of us, even though she has always played the part of the family dunce. i understand this at last. she nods.

i wake up.

10/12 freewrite--koi

2009-11-02T13:41:00.001-08:00

she told me to look at her pictures, that they actually came out pretty good. they did. i clicked through them and waited for my slow connection. then, it's there. a tight shot of a bright orange koi, peaking through a reflection of the sky.

"remind me to tell you about the mythology when you call," i write in the comments.

every may--less now than before, and always more in the countryside than in the city--childbearing homes will fly flags. tubular ones, shaped like the bright orange wind detectors at airports. the homes erect flag poles lined with three or five flags, each one but the bottom-most printed in the image of a koi.

the myth goes, a highly determined koi swam upstream continuously, underwent much hardship. finally, the koi swam up a gigantic waterfall and upon reaching the top, it turned into a dragon.

that's why koi are so auspicious. they represent pure potential. something so humble as a bottom-feeding, water forager could eventually transform into a mighty and mystical dragon.

it was no accident that she took that picture. she needed that koi.

***
in many ways, we were meant to be a scholar. high school was filled with music teachers who wanted me to just stop. i took ear-training classes with eight year olds and i couldn't seem to make it through a piano lesson without my piano teacher laughing at me. i know now, without malace, that my piano teacher was not very gifted. the problem was, i am. just not at playing the piano. but even though my piano teacher laughed at me, and i stayed in the elementary school ear-training class, the head of the prep school loved me. she always got me free tickets for concerts, arranged for me to take off-the-books composition training, asked me philosophical questions abaout performance and new music. she always wrote back to me and insisted i call her periodically. she knew my thinking was way ahead of my playing.

first semester of conservatory, i was utterly confused. but my piano-playing had improved immensely. some piano performance majors were trying to get me to audition to join a studio supervised by a faculty member. i remember that fondly--i might have studied with lydia rutstein.

eight years later, in waterloo records, i was staring at lydia's face on the cover of a used LP. i didn't have the heart not to buy it. i have never listened to it.

i sometimes wonder whether i was the last one admitted into my cohort. but it didn't end up mattering. i caught on. i wasn't the best, but i was better than average. i was a good thinker. that made up for my lack in musicality, talent, or whimsy. in hinsight, it was really only one professor who didn't treat me like he thought i could go far. he was a drunk who hated undergrads. and his music was boring.

i left music, for my own good, really. and the thing is, i have perfect pitch now. it's not very fast, and not so flashy. but if you hum a note, i can usually tell what it is. and if i hear a song, i can sing it back, several days later, in the same key and with the same precision as the original. if i went back to ear-training school, i would kill on their exams.

the one thing conservatory taught me was: talent helps, but you can really make up for in in old-fashioned hard work.

it's been a blessing and a curse, this realization. i left music just as i matered it enough to take elite classes but tnot enough to make a career of it. i could have stayed. i'd have a phd in music composition by now and would be collecting occasional checks from ascap for my obscure compositions that would get aired on local npr or college radio stations. gross.

teachers often love me. because i go from just acceptable to pretty damn good in a short amount of time. it's after that where i run into problems.

i was an academic for a bit. my writing was only so-so. and i hated reading. but i showed up and listened and pretty soon, faculty kept trying to convince me to get a phd, telling me i'm writing dissertation-quality work, that academia needed "people like me."

that was nice.

i took a production cllass and the professor told me i had made one of the best pieces of book art she had seen in a long time.

i'm a little more settled now. but still thoroughly confused. i only recently realized that i want to work on theatre that is physical, that treats the text as no more important than the movement or the set or the sound or the lights. and i'm taking a writing class?

did i mention i was once a crappy writer? not crappy--humble, but crappy--why should words even matter?

i don't really know why i'm writing. there are plenty of things that need to get written. but it feels like a distraction. i don't even know what theatre is like, really. the fact is, when i don't write, i become depressed, then nothing else happens well. i kept myself alive at SITI writing morning pages, taking copious notes, blogging about each revelation.

when i was about eight, mom told me a story. i was playing outside and obaachama watched. suddenly, she turned to my mother and said, "be careful of that one, she's smart."

10/5 freewrite--"i miss her so much every day"

2009-11-02T13:39:00.000-08:00

second year of college, during the experimental composition module, corey wrote a piece called "closing statement." the score was just: "Improvise music and song using the following text, 'i miss her so much every day.'" a handful of us played it together--green chalkboards as witness, randy's prune-eyes shut in feigned interest.

a year later, at a composition recital, corey took the same piece but set it to five chords he scrawled with crayon--his counter-tenor pushing into the grey stone of fairchild chapel. playing the chords on the decrepit upright, rather than the well-tuned steinway grand, with his back to us singing up rather than forward--stretching out the prosody as far as possible. "i... i... i miss... i miss her..."

that might have been 1998. kim would have been living in chicago at that point. my parents still lived in tokyo. i was dating--probably--becky. or was it 1999? kim would have been in baltimore, my parents would have just moved to groton, and i would have been dating clara-who-had-not-yet-changed-her-name-to-hiroshi.

chicago and baltimore or tokyo and groton. it's hard to tell whether they would have been departures or returns.

when i first performed "closing statement," i thought i knew what it was about. corey probably thought he knew what it was about, too. i was most likely very indulgent. 20/21-year-olds often are. of course, 31/32-year-olds can be, too. i forgot about that piece. probably on purpose, like how you forget the water is cold when you've been swimming in it long enough.

corey wrote another song. he used yvan's words. "your absence has done my hands a favor. i now know every fold and wrinkle of my body." i think that song used toy pianos and accordions.

prosody.

when i played my thesis for mom, she gasped. it was for full orchestra. a full semester's worth of meetings with the only faculty member who could bare to look at me. she said, "wow. it's real music." i guess she didn't think any of the other recordings i brought home were. that's what four years of conservatory training are meant to do--create real music. i didn't tell her about the mathematical charts i taped to my wall. or the fact that i really had no idea what it would sound like until the day the chamber orchestra played it. the string players hated it--no vibrato and notes sustained over several measures. they don't like counting measures. i hated string players.

mom was always confused about my admission to a conservatory. "i never thought you were very... well... i knew you LIKED music."

i remember standing up from the table and spitting, "but you put it in my head! 'be the first female conductor, you have such careful hands. you're so sensitive.'"

i was the one who took a hobby too far.

kim still has much of my music in her itunes. every time the one recording of me singing plays, she says, "kt's on the radio!" i still blush.

it was one of my first gifts to her. a cd of corey's music with a guest appearance by me. it wasn't even a gift, really. she saw a stack of them and said, "can i have one?" and even though i barely knew her, i couldn't think of a reason why not. she was being so nice and attentive. i told her, "i wrote the song and words for my mom." she looked at her shoes. i'm still glad she has that song.

eight years later, on a stage in saratoga springs, i squinted at the limelights and looked down at julieta sitting on the edge of the thrust. the only words that came from my mouth were:

let me hold your small hand
let me hold stroke your thin hair
let me carry you in my arms
let me see you

julieta's abuela had died a couple weeks before. and most of our conversations were about our filipino american girlfriends. julieta looked up at me dewy-eyed and we fled to the wings as the viewpoints session moved on.

kim and i had been coming off a fight that day. the training was coming to a close. i was reluctant to part with my new friends. but i couldn't wait to come home.

that last thanksgiving, kim came up to groton to visit. mom had pulled me aside and said, "thank you for coming up separately, leaving me time to have with just you." it was a week after my birthday. we were in the living room when mom decided to give me my belated present. it was a men's dress shirt from land's end and a red tie. kim and mom sat close to each other on the couch, both beaming as i modeled my new duds.

kim said, "doesn't she look so pretty?"
and mom replied, "she does. yes, she does."

9/20 freewrite--spring

2009-11-02T13:38:00.000-08:00

i had forgotten what spring was like
water flowing from a mouth
somewhere, in the twilight
an eleven-year-old girl-boy
eats ding-dongs for dinner

so the blossoms never bloomed
and the air stayed metal
smelling like
licking the jungle gym
in sub-zero weather

grass the color of
goose shit
greybluechartreusebrown
not dewy
just vague

once, on a morning meant for flight
just six months after getting my license
i tried to turn a slushy corner
and skid into a ditch

dad got out of the car in front of me
said: don't brake in the snow
guess i'll wait another day to go back
to ohio

someone lent us a cell phone
it was before i had one
before dad used mine so much
to update us from the hospital
before he said:

i think i'll get your mom a cell phone for christmas
and i said: you really think
that's waht she wants? sounds
more like what you want

what would mom do with
a cell phone anyway?
she's always at home
or the hospital
or if she's out, she's with you

the tow-truck came
and so did the cops
nothing damaged
but my northeast ego
exiled in midwest doldrums

forgetting
is when you live now
i means you're never bored
because you just
don't know any better

every march, the whole city
would sit in a palpable tension
we'd watch the news
and the branches
jealously peeking at
clips from southwesterly climes

then,
often overnight
they would burst in pink and magenta
foaming with colors
so indiscreet, you couldn't
walk the street without at least once
wondering if you, yourself, were a street walker

this was spring

for three years
i actually knew what it was
she had talked about it
all through my childhood
held it with such anticipation

i'll buy you a new doll set
for spring
i'll buy you a kimono
for spring
we'll make sakura mochi
for spring
you'll start new school
in spring

how have we sprung from spring?

on discipline

2009-08-16T19:49:00.000-07:00

i return to the work force in just under an hour. i'm ambivalent. i worry that returning to the workforce, a relatively steady income, and that crazy place called the university of texas will undo me, will somehow take away all the progress, soul-searching, and craft-building i have done both in this past summer and over the last two years.

despite this ambivalence, i know i can actually continue, maybe even accelerate my work. the key is discipline.

discipline has been on the mind a lot. sometimes, i'll find myself saying, "when i start earning this much," or "when i get this resource." but this is just an excuse to put off discipline. anne bogart talks said during a podcast, "work the way you want to work now." she also wrote in her chapter on "resistance" that we must always commit to where we are now, or else what we need will never come.

excuses. that's what makes us avoid discipline. it's not easy to pursue discipline, that's why it's called discipline--it's hard.

sometimes, conditions will foster discipline, sometimes discipline comes at extreme cost. and sometimes, it's important to let go of discipline. we also need to be gentle when we fall off-punishing ourselves and therefore taking the joy out of what we do. being too disciplined--inhuman, in many ways--makes the discipline rigid, totalitarian, and dead.

the thing is, discipline is a gift. it is a way we tell ourselves: this is the time to do that thing that is what we want. it is a vehicle for joy, even if we need convincing every time.

i have a friend who wakes early every morning to take care of his orchids. i've heard his partner tease him about this, and i would giggle at his hobby. even though this daily care would drive me crazy with its idiosyncracies and pretty demanding schedule, the occasional parasites, my friend makes it look so easy. the teasing rolls off his back. but i imagine, it's not easy all the time. i imagine, he must undergo constant negotiation. but it's so clear by the way he goes about his morning chores: it gives him absolute joy. what a gift that is, to wake up every morning to joy, even if the extent of that joy might fluctuate daily.

this friend of mine has always struck me as very disciplined. thinking back on what i've known about him for over a decade, his discipline seems to be at the core of him. and he's far from a robot--there are many things he is not so disciplined about. and he is generally pretty laid back.

i think that part of my difficulty is that i'm too ambitious about my discipline. i want to be disciplined about everything all at once--my creative production, my creative consumption, my relationships, my politics, my economic wealth, my physical fitness, my public persona, my spiritual growth. i try to turn over too many new leaves at once.

i can hold that kind of discipline for everything for maybe 10 days, tops. then, inevitably, my discipline will falter--i'll oversleep or miscalculate. then i throw up my hands and give up, at least for a little while. so i get things done in emotionally taxing jags of 10 days followed by weeks of procrastination.

when i was at siti, i only needed to be disciplined about a few things. i let go of my looks, my "life style, food preparation. but i spent a full four weeks extremely disciplined about my creative production and consumption, my relationship to the world, my physicality and my spiritual growth. then, a curious thing happened. i found that i felt attractive, i began to be careful about the food i ate, and my political compass was becoming clearer and brighter. because i focused on certain types of discipline, i became more disciplined in other ways, too.

i must commit to what and where i am right now. and that happens to be someone who is returning to being an administrator. but more importantly, an artist who now has access to a new resource.

on SITI summer-part nine OR reflections

2009-06-28T10:53:00.000-07:00

i'm now back in austin, lying in the bed i've missed for four weeks, petting my dog and remembering the smells of my own house. i've yearned for this. i've missed this. i've needed this.

all is changed, though. my body is very different. i didn't notice it morphing while i was in training, but being around familiar objects now has shown me how i've become denser and faster. and the connection between my body and my mind has become so much clearer. my body tells my mind more things, and my body listens, too.

i am melancholy. i am worried i will forget.

the last few days happened at breakneck pace. i was directing while also training. we were sewing performative "buttons" on all the work we did. it felt like we were all thinking: pack in the last of the information and hope to god it will stick. and now on this side, i'm nervous.

will i lose it? what will happen if i do? how do we integrate our undeniably changed selves back into the life that we worked so hard to forge?

lovely partner had to remind me that rest requires it own rigor. i need to reflect seriously, give space to my transition, recognize that i'm more prepared than i thought for many, many things. and still be gentle with my fears, my insecurities, my obstacles.

today, though, my body is strange. it wants to train. and i am not quite sure how to assuage it. it's 107 degrees and our AC barely works. and then the every day things that i had forgotten about: dishes, sweeping, driving, the post office--they all return. i am a bit confused about who i am, what to do with myself. i still haven't sat down with a good half hour to write out my thoughts for myself. i'm too busy adjusting to actively notice my adjustments.

and i'm also a bit loath to finish this post right now. it's been sitting open on my computer screen for over a day. i'm sure it's no surprise why. because this is my last SITI post. and that gives me profound pains and fears. just as i had to remember to take pieces of my community here to SITI with me--just so i could make it through the solitude, i am remembering to take pieces of people and lessons i learned while training, back into my home, with the fervor and passion i finally learned was always within me.

it's confusing, yes. but i realize that it's more than just my own brow that becomes knit in this process. i am now the suture that connects one space to another, and though those spaces serve different purposes and functions in the larger sense of the world, they are interdependent and woven together. how completely messy. how completely complicated. how completely delightful.

and now, we begin.

on SITI summer-part eight OR our bodies, our selves

2009-06-28T10:12:00.000-07:00

on wednesday, i had yet another breakthrough about my body. i realized that the reason i "don't dance" is not because i'm afraid to look the fool (i look the fool all the time!), but because i have fundamentally hated the body i was given at birth. it's beyond "body issues" of wanting to be thin or attractive or sexy. somehow, since a very very early age, i learned that to have a girl body meant weakness, meant danger, meant potential violation. when barney o'hanlon said to me during a movement class, "kt, you're so good at folding, try more extending," i knew the reason i had so much trouble was because of my body hatred. extending my limbs meant showing my female body; showing my female body has always made me very, very afraid.

so i wept. and wept. and wept. and freaked out. and wept. and rehearsed. and freaked out again.

it's no small problem to deal with. afterall, i have hated being a girl since i was about four years old. yes, part of this is just my own gender identity and expression. and it's murky water around the line between gender expression and body image. the fact is, i have had a chance--many, in fact--to change my body. to take hormones, to do surgery. but i haven't. i respect those who do. but i resolved to keep my body as i was born with--vulnerable, flawed, and unmistakeably female. now i know why.

i see on the horizon the hope that one day, i will recognize my body as my own and as a finely-honed tool of expression and creativity. as something wholly connected to my mind and soul. as with any gender expression, i will continue containing it, pushing it, pulling it. but i will also choose to expose it. and revel in that vulnerability. someday, i will be that butch who loves her body as part of herself, rather than as something that could go nice on someone else.

the days after i wept, many things happened to reinforce my resolve around my body. all these different people kept calling me "gorgeous." and ellen lauren told me i "know how to move." i just need to continue exploring my limits and my possibilities, and embrace that fear as best i can.

on SITI summer-part seven OR depression, doubt and determination

2009-06-19T17:26:00.000-07:00

they warned us last friday that this would be the week. the week when everyone would break down. when the entropy of fatigue would hit the wall of impossibility. when almost everyone would sit and say to themselves, "what the FUCK do i think i'm doing?"

actually, though, i was euphoric for the first half of the week. because i realized that the thing i semi-wrote about last post was actually acute depression trying to take away my life. and by realizing i was teetering on the edge of depression, i made the decision to fight it. i was the bouncer outside the door to the interior of my mind, stiff palm outstretched and telling depression that it couldn't come in. sadness, i let pass. loneliness, i let pass. confusion, i let pass. but i dug in deep to get depression out of my mind. i've had low-level depression since i was about 8 years old. it wasn't diagnosed until the year my mother died. up until february, i had been on anti-depressants for five years. it's been a struggle, especially off the meds.

on top of my decision to fight depression, rather than let it take over, i received several compliments in rapid succession. anne bogart said that i have a certain charisma that makes people trust me ("and i don't say that to many people..."), a fabulous new york director seems almost hell-bent on casting me in one of her productions, and i was receiving general affection from people i have begun to respect very deeply. i tried to give back. i listened and witnessed some of the most confident seeming people go through intense moments of self-doubt. i held people as they wept. i radiated warmth whenever i encountered anyone from the program. really, i did.

that was great. and lovely partner wisely told me to write down things people told me and sensations i experienced in these days of euphoria: "people here have begun to show a deep respect for me. people have said that they want to work with me. other actors and siti company members have said i have a 'great voice.' anne seems to enjoy me. people wish me well." i actually thought i was done with my "breakdown."

not quite.

the doubt began creeping in on wednesday. and thursday, after a very grueling viewpoints session, i actually heard myself saying, "what the fuck are you doing?!" today, it intensified. i kept shaking my head after every exercise i stood up to do. i felt ashamed that i couldn't do suzuki with full energy because my foot was in pain. and after i sat down from a short viewpoints exercise, a siti company member very gently reminded me release tension in my shoulders. i felt so discouraged that during the next exercise, i was completely terrified to be performing in front of my peers. the afternoon was a grueling suzuki session followed by a viewpoints session that i had been looking forward to: doing viewpoints in the big theater, with the sounds and light designers improvising with us. but all i could do was think "i'm such a shit actor. i'm such a self-indulgent sonovabitch." so i spent my whole time actually trying to dodge the light.

when i left the theater, i cried in silent wails slouched over a chair. embarrassed and hoping no one would find me.

it sucks. it really sucks. thing is. i know this doubt is temporary. and that's the difference. that is what tells me that i am keeping depression out of the interiors of my mind. after this week, i have a renewed determination toward the future. i decided to practice something anne talks about: speaking something into existence. the act of saying something makes it true, even if you have doubts.

and this is what i've been saying: i have a talent for directing and a strong presence on stage. i am not a dilettante. i am in this and good at it. i will find funding. this will be how i live.

i have begun sharing my work with the people here. my solo work as well as the work i've done with stamp lab. i feel like i'm speaking that into existence, too. by talking about "una corda," it will happen, and it will happen well. and by talking about my work with stamp lab, i will continue finding community around performance and theatre. even as i write this, the doubt creeps into the peripheries of my consciousness. and i think of advice i would give to someone saying the same things: that the doubt is a sign of change, and that we must have faith that the change goes in the right direction. i have to keep believing that.

i am determined.

on SITI summer-part six OR tension and balance

2009-06-13T14:04:00.000-07:00

sometimes flight takes strange forms.

we flee for survival when we are in imminent danger. we flee awkward interactions. we flee things that push deep and specific buttons in our psyche. we flee the exciting. we even flee from precisely what we desire.

on wednesday, at the weekly symposium, i asked anne bogart: as artists and human beings, how do we prioritize the ethereal/creative/phantasmic aspects of making theatre along side the concrete/materialist realities of everyday life?

her response was: exactly.

i've been thinking about the question a lot. and thought that the act of thinking about it was in itself enough. i have been catching myself from fleeing many things: the limitations of my body, my insecurities as a performer, the solitude of spending this length of time with strangers. i've been hyper-sensitive to reigning in my instinct of flight--for "the work"--trying to somehow see the ethereal and concrete alongside one another.

but then, i fucked up. i was too preoccupied about tending to "the work," that i was missing a key element in my flight response: my real life.

i'm still having trouble processing what happened to articulate it very well. i know that ideally, what happens in the work directly relates to "real life." the practice of that is difficult. even as i have been entering closer and closer into certain emotional vulnerabilities, i've also allowed for detachment and distance. detachment and distance can be healthy--sure. but these acts of detachment were hurtful. and i can't even account for them fully.

i just keep running away.

some might say it's the human condition to continuously repeat folly, despite full knowledge of it. but i don't believe that. i won't allow it. so how come i keep encountering this vicious repetition? how come i keep running away when all i want to do is go closer? even as i keep searching, the answer eludes me.

on SITI summer-part five OR why the fuck am i so weepy?

2009-06-11T19:49:00.000-07:00

saw the paul taylor dance company this evening. i honestly had no idea what to expect. but the siti company folks highly recommended it, so i got a ticket and went.

i realized midway through that i really have very little context for dance. i haven't seen ballet in decades, and the dance that i do see is usually politically or ethnically or site specific. so i watched the first two pieces with detached interest, trying to appreciate the composition or the lines or the very articulate bodies of the dancers.

but then it happened. i was suddenly moved. the music was poulenc's gloria. i, of course, knew all the words since i'm setting that mass text myself. the movement--it's so difficult to put into words--was formalistically pretty standard. but it told a story. a story of death and joy and fight and resignation. and as i watched, i again felt a heat well up from deep inside me run up my body and out my eyes. i was shocked. but i couldn't stop crying. i actually became frustrated with myself, "why am i crying?!" i struggled until i realized that this is what art does. it invokes feelings that cannot be articulated otherwise.

perhaps it is because i am exhausted all the time. or perhaps it is because i had a touching conversation just before the show. or perhaps it is because i've been thinking so much about the community i miss in austin right now. but the cause doesn't matter. what matters is that i was overcome with emotions that reside in my core that i might not have excavated otherwise.

i looked at the program afterwards. it was accompanied by excerpts from walt whitman's leaves of grass--the poem cycle that has the line, "i sing the body electric." the excerpts read as a joyous eulogy. and so did the dance.

anne bogart talks about how innovation and originality in the arts is overrated. that trying to do something totally new often misses the point. it's not whether it's new, it's how we approach it. and i think this show hit that home for me. even though paul taylor was part of that generation of choreographers who radically changed dance as we know it, his style seems almost classical in this historical moment. i think many of my compatriots were disillusioned because of that. and yet, even though the form itself was not new--even to me who knows little about dance--something about it deeply touched me.

i've been thinking about that this week, how to let go of "originality." i've been pairing that idea with the burden of representation. because i think about both a lot, and often in tandem. in my place of community accountability, i can't help but bare that burden of representation. but how does that intertwine with "originality?" if i'm trying to rewrite images of "my people," of whom there are so many stereotypes, how can i not strive for newness? and where does "authenticity," both culturally and creatively, lie in all this? i think they key is, in fact, in the approach, but i need to work out the details. i think that's why i'm here.

on SITI summer-part four OR the young man talking polemics in the cafeteria

2009-06-09T15:40:00.000-07:00

let's face it: theatre tends to breed hyperbole.

there is a young man in the program who is, well, young. he's very sweet, and seems to have a lot of knowledge. but one thing he does is go around talking in polemics. most of the time, he get's a laugh or someone talks around it or over it. today, i witnessed someone call him out on it.

it was fascinating to watch. at first. but then i found myself engaging in the discussion despite the fact that i didn't really care about the subject (it was about musical theatre, which i really don't care about at all). what ended up happening was basically four of us were giving him a bit of a tongue lashing. i felt bad for a second, but it made me think a bit.

i still talk in polemics sometimes. as a breed, us shorbs tend toward debate. and going to oberlin just pushed that gene a little further into outright huge general arguments. but i've learned about them. a shit load of people have called me out on the polemics, and i've grown to be a bit careful.

because polemics are potentially destructive. at the core, they can divide communities, cause hurt, or break down safe-havens. and because of this potential destruction, they are highly powerful. and that power requires responsibility.

i realize in hindsight that i engaged in this discussion not because i cared about musical theatre, or even whether or not this young man did anything about it. but more because i wanted to say: you can't do polemics casually. you need to account for it and commit to whatever outcome ensues. it needs to be specific. a polemic that doesn't lead to eventual construction or reconstruction is no more than another way to be witty.

commitment to construction, redefining, and creating new structures and communities has made me think of why i'm here. about my place in this community here and my place in my community back in austin and diasporically. i spoke with lovely partner last night about how i come from a very specific subject position, and my path is paved with the love and support of many individuals and a cohesive *community* of active supporters. training here does me much personal good, yes. and, of course, it will enrich my abstract future audience, yes. but ultimately my training here is not mine to keep. i have a long list of people for whom i am learning. people who might not have access to this information otherwise, or at least that access would be heavily impeded. so when i move through a certain solitude of training with strangers who have very different politics, aesthetics, individual purpose and life experiences from me, i think of the faces of specific people who gave me ten, twenty bucks. or who said, "hey, i can't spare any money right now, but i think it's really important you are going." not only do they believe in me as an artist, but they need me to bring back what i learn. i am a vessel. and after i've begun sharing with those folks what i've learned, we will regroup and reforge into the future.

this specificity gives me purpose and keeps me quite far from the casual. the first couple days, i was strangely needy and over-sharey with other participants here. in some ways, i wanted to "recast" the people in my life with the ones here. but that's not gonna happen. it can't happen. i don't want it to happen. because i remain accountable to what and who awaits my return. that accountability drives my work, and that accountability lead me here. i am careful. i have purpose. i was chosen to be here just as much by siti as by the people i've worked with over the years. and as much as i have chose them.

i am thankful for this reminder. and perhaps that's why i am trying to speak in hyperbole a little bit less.

on SITI summer-intro redux

2009-06-07T08:41:00.000-07:00

for our first viewpoints class, we just did introductions. we were asked to answer the following questions:
1. what is your first and last name?
2. what is your cultural background?
3. what do you do?
4. why are you here?

my answers:
1. my name is kt shorb. 2. i come from a ruling-class japanese mother, a middle-class white father, and an adoptive family of queer people of color [note: this last one confused many folks--especially international students--who seemed to believe i was legally adopted by two black lesbians.] 3. i make the invisible visible. 4. i am here to learn how to begin work in the body.

on SITI summer-part three OR collaborative revelations

2009-06-07T08:03:00.000-07:00

in the past year, i have worked almost exclusively with female-bodied people. all the stamp lab productions i've been in were female save for one gay man. and working at alma de mujer meant very little interactions with men regularly except for talking with contractors. so when i found myself standing with four men when we decided groups during compositions class, i was both apprehensive and excited. "this will be good for you," said a couple folks, including myself.

it's been fascinating. not only are they all men, they are all white men. two american college boys, one canadian and one from portugal. save for the one time when i firmly confronted one of them when he ran out of rehearsal to talk with someone in the hallway ("you drive me crazy! i feel really disrespected when you do that!"-- "oh, i am so sorry!"), most of my fighting has been within myself.

because working with men has brought many of my personal insecurities to the fore. partly because i've been battling those insecurities all along (i keep thinking, why did they accept ME?), but also because men (at least these men) don't really work to make sure everyone is okay, because they think that everyone SHOULD be okay. and i know that if i were to show specifically that i'm not okay, as i did for one discussion, they would meet it head on. i also have been working against an insecurity that what i have to say is fundamentally insignificant, but everything i've said has been met with openness and attention.

there are many reasons why i tend to work with female-bodied people. sometimes it's that our politics are aligned. or that, as a dyke, i tend to favor the company of other dykes and work out of that. but a lot of it is about degrees of comfort. and there is a certain shorthand that i can rely upon when working with female-bodied folks, especially female-bodied people of color.

but as productive as that comfort can be, it can lead to assumptions and misunderstandings and all-out conflict, just like anywhere else. sometimes the initial closeness makes the eventual conflict that much more painful.

what i'm learning on a very fundamental level is that really i can collaborate with anyone. and that anyone can collaborate with anyone. but what insures the collaboration actually happening is when the group decides to commit to the work and commit to each other. i've loved stamp lab because of that dual commitment. when we decide a narrative arch, casting, or aesthetic details, everyone thinks about "the work." when someone has an idea or a problem, we commit to believing that she does it for "the work" and to seeing her approach, even if we don't agree.

and even though the looks and shapes of the work i'm doing here is radically different, at the core, i still feel that commitment to the work and commitment to each other, and so i'm warmed and inspired--as slow-going and frustrating as it can be.

since i decided i wanted to be in performance for the remainder of my life, i have endeavored to pursue the frightening, the awkward, the uncomfortable. and this intensive is just pushing me to even more extreme levels of fear, awkwardness and discomfort than i had imagined. it is impossible to remain unchanged.

on SITI summer-part two OR revelations on my body being of this world

2009-06-04T15:48:00.001-07:00

today, i cried during morning warm-ups.

i woke at 7, ate breakfast and then did morning pages. i was sore and had very little sleep. i'm coming down with a cold. i was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. so when i arrived to the studio, i was in a place of feeling beaten down. like it took every fiber of my being to get out of bed and do some type of ritual. i was super vigilant and disciplined because if i hadn't been, i would not have made it to class. but i was fine.

or so i thought. i had just started stretching when barney (a SITI company member, and the teacher for that class) started playing bach's well-tempered clavier. i smiled and mumbled, "ah, bach." but then i felt this welling come from the pit of my stomach up my throat and out my eyes. before i knew it, tears were streaming down my face and one of the lovely australian women in the program was coming up to me and asking me if i was okay.

it was a cognitive glitch. i always listen to bach when i'm feeling on the verge of depression or frightened. arriving at class, i was hard and closed, trying to maintain my discipline and ignore my pain. but the bach sparked an emotional trigger of comfort and self-care that was too visceral and overwhelming to ignore. in short, i was confused. my mind was telling me that everything was fine (and it was, in a way), but my body and spirit and emotions were telling me that things were far from right (and they were). so i cried. and the only thing that i kept hearing in my head was: this is so hard.

and weeping helped me see that fact. by letting the pain and the doubt flow through me, i moved past it. whole and intact albeit exhausted and spent.

a lot about our training is about fear, pain, and even mortality. there is a moment when we stomp during suzuki class--every time i do it, in fact--when i literally feel like i am going to die. i actually believe that i will somehow cease living. the muscle pain and intensity is so strong that all i can do is concentrate on not letting myself die. and then--quite miraculously--that exercise ends, and i am alive and whole. often, i'm euphoric from somehow escaping the jaws of death.

this is what SITI summer seems to be about. moments in suzuki where the legs are trembling from physical limitations, viewpoints sessions where keeping up feels impossible, doing a compositions assignment that has so many stipulations, it would take at least a month--in a week. these have all made me feel like i'm going to die. like i'm going to crash and burn. like i will fail miserably. but then i don't. there are many failures along the way, but the resistence to death--both physically and metaphorically--pushes us out the other side with a new sense of purpose and spirituality. it's an acknowledgment that every moment we continue to live, we are actually cheating death.

anne bogart talks about how the creative process is violently destructive. how for every decision an artist makes, she is killing a myriad of possibilities. this tends to lead to stasis and creative block: we don't want to "kill our babies." and so it makes sense that our work here seems to bring us in very close proximity to destruction, but ultimately leads to amazing creative discoveries.

some of my fellow trainees still seem to be unscathed by what i see as this proximity to death. maybe they are tougher. maybe they are in denial. maybe they are not actually of this world. i, however, emphatically am.

on SITI summer-part one

2009-06-02T19:24:00.000-07:00

greetings from saratoga springs!

thanks to everyone's donations and a bit of support from the city of austin, i managed to raise enough funds for siti. i've been here since sunday. it's been an exciting experience. 61 "theatre-makers" of different kinds, coming from literally around the globe (28 are from abroad) to train rigorously for about 8 hours a day and make some pieces together.

it's only day two and already my body is revolting.

yesterday was relatively physically easy. viewpoints consisted of introductions. and composition class was all about exercises for "making" and directing, not so much physical activity. so it was only the hour and a half of suzuki. which did scare me for a second, when i thought my legs would literally fall out from under me from pure exhaustion.

but today was very different. viewpoints was mostly running. for an hour and a half. running and doing things in unison. but i could do viewpoints for hours. and then suzuki, which had me sweating and panting. the afternoon was speaking and breathing. easy, right? no. for "speaking," we had to learn dance moves and hold prop sword and swing them very fast. and for "breathing," we did suzuki stomps yet again.

my quads, groin, and glutes are very, very sore. arnica is my friend. and i have a blister waiting to pop on my big toe. lovely.

and then i met with my compositions group (all men, incidentally--how exotic!) for two hours after dinner.

this may all sound like complaints. but i assure you, this is what i'm here for, and i'm happy to report that it is exactly what i want to be doing. the pain is, well, pain. but it's an instructive and constructive pain. i'm learning my limits and being lovingly yet forcefully pushed to extend them. and there is a certain euphoria after crouching and stomping and "connecting with the ground" for hours. yes.

awesome.

on asking for help

2009-03-23T12:24:00.000-07:00

dear readers, i am asking you to help me.

i got into SITI summer, which is awesome! directed by Anne Bogart, SITI is at the forefront of physical and ensemble-based theatre. SITI summer focuses on Bogart's "Viewpoints" method, as well as her "Compositions" technique for creating original work, and Suzuki Actor Training. as a performer and director, this opportunity will enrich my craft and knowledge. (for more info on SITI summer go here.)

thing is, i'm broke. if i want to pay for tuition, room, board, getting there, and making up for money i won't make while i'm attending, i need to raise serious $$$. i have plans for fundraising, but even after getting money from the city of austin, my dad, etc. i still don't have quite enough.

yet!

i'm asking all my friends on email, facebook, my blog, and twitter to help me get to SITI summer! i humbly ask for a modest contribution of $10-$50. if all my contacts give me $10, i'm very close to paying all my tuition! if half my contacts give me $20, well, same thing! and so on.

if you would like to make a contribution, you can send it via paypal below:

or send a check made out to "katherine shorb" to:
2906 glen rae st
Austin, TX 78702

in return, i offer the following:
$10-$29 donation: a 5X8 postcard with original calligraphy by yours truly (see examples of my calligraphy here.)
$30-$49 donation: a postcard and a signed copy of the script to my solo show: "of chicks, dicks, and chinks."
$50+ donation: a postcard and a signed DVD of my award-winning experimental short: "task/in-progress"
please include a mailing address with your contribution.

your donation is an investment in art. it offers many returns.

on opportunity, doubt, money, and life

2009-03-22T21:47:00.000-07:00

what happens when the thing you've been wanting and waiting for for almost a year becomes *this close* to happening, but there are two things standing in your way: money and time?

i was accepted to SITI summer for this year. a year ago, when i spoke to the director of my solo show, friend and co-artistic director of the rude mechanicals, madge darlington, the first thing she told me was to do SITI. at that point, it was just not possible, the application deadline had passed. so i went to vancouver instead. which was fabulous. but really only a taste of the techniques and methods i wanted to learn.

since then, i've co-won two theatre awards, acted in two plays, a short film and directed a play. and now i've been accepted to SITI. all my theatre friends are super excited for me. it is, in fact, a big opportunity. and not one that is completely common. i was looking at the resume of scott turner schofield. he's one of those performers who gets enough gigs to support himself with art full-time. a tranny boy with income, if you will. he's done SITI.

i'm having trouble trying not to think it was some kind of clerical error. i mean, i've really only been doing this a minute. at the same time, anne bogart's (that's the director of SITI) who thing is that she is all about the inter-disciplinary. she always uses music and film as inspiration. or as part of theory. so maybe it's not such a mystery why they accepted me. i am a discipinary whore.

thing is. now's a tough time... i'm broke ass. and i still haven't won the lotto. the whole institute costs over $3000. which includes room and board. but still. and then, i have a mortgage. and i won't be making money while i'm stomping and viewpoint-ing. so. that means that in order to get to saratoga springs, pay for the institute, room and board, and my own mortgage, i would have to raise at least $4500. $5000, to be safe...

it's one thing to desire something. it's another to actually go and get it/do it. there are always complications that beg the question: what is your commitment? is this for real, or were you only having fancies about your glam life?

and what of this glam life? i've been an on-again-off-again artist since college. i've never felt particularly glamorous. seems that people see artsy life as such. maybe it is. or maybe i should let it be.

why is it that every time i accomplish something, i can't enjoy it? i'm always thinking about the down side. i get into SITI, i have to raise the money. i get a grant for the opera, i have to
raise a match. i get an award for a show, i have to split it with people.

what's up with that?!

(deargod: pleasehelpmemakesenseofthisandthejoyofmydesiring)

on jesus, my work is important! now what do i do?

2009-03-03T15:42:00.000-08:00

so. i'm slowly accruing cancer objects. slowly. but each one i get, i feel the gravity of my project deepen more and more.

i received the narrative of one object today. i will be receiving the object itself soon. it came from a person i knew a decade ago. i didn't even know she had cancer. but her 4-page story caught me up. her narrative was so thorough, so precise, so real. as i read it, i felt deeply honored that she took the time to share her experience with her. and that she will impart such a loaded object onto me.

it's a strange process. i've now structured "una corda" in a way that i need participation from others. to get this participation, i need to talk about my piece as significant. but i realize i only partly comprehend how significant it is. because every time a new person contributes to the piece, i think, "wow. my opera is so important. i can't believe i'm doing it."

of course, this gives me anxiety. how can i take this friend's story and objects and respect her contribution while ultimately using my own voice (quite literally)? how do i balance my innate earnestness with my conditioned critical eye and my somewhat wry humor?

then again, this anxiety is necessary. this discomfort. as tennessee williams said, struggle is part of being an artist. he was mainly talking about financial struggle (which, hey, i got that, too!), but i think most inspiring art is fueled by struggle. at least, the art that inspires me.

sometimes, though. it's like hugging a hedgehog.

on ten ways to become a lesbian

2009-02-18T17:20:00.001-08:00

(this is one just for fun. procrastination can breed such things)
1. go to every club, knitting circle, potluck, performance art happening, and slam poetry event you can find wearing a sandwich board that states, “free toaster.”
2. shave your head. the quarter-inch attachment is the most lesbionic. alternate action: change your hair color with henna or one of the mainstay manic-panic colors: bad-boy blue, hot hot pink, green envy, or red passion.
3. cut your nails. complain about how you have to keep your nails sooooo short now. loudly and often. even better, cut just the nails on your forefinger and middle finger (or middle finger and ring finger, if you’re like that) on your dominant hand. use this hand conspicuously: show off your cell phone, pull on your dykey stud or small-hoop earrings, point at your brand new copy of dykes to watch out for, etc. extra points if you put your nail clippers on your keychain or the zipper of your sufficiently sensible shoulder bag/backpack.
4. learn and actively participate in more than one of the following activities: softball; basketball; rugby; playing the drums or a brass instrument other than french horn; a martial art; cigar smoking; open mic nights (preferably at your local wymmyn’s bookstore or lesbian bar); camping; woodwork/carpentry; composting; and suddenly announcing disgust at the misogyny, homophobia, racism, etc. at awkward or inopportune times, the more awkward the better (points if these awkward moments include your birth relatives).
5. learn the lyrics to “both hands,” “closer to fine,” “ice cream,” “iowa,” “i kissed a girl (sobule version),” “i spent my last $10 (on birth control and beer),” “drag king bar,” or any major song by melissa ethridge, k.d. lang, meshell ndégeocello, le tigre, or tracy chapman.
6. stock your tea cabinet with at least seven different types of tea with at least one black, one green, and one herbal tea.
7. read one of the many canonic lesbian books (rubyfruit jungle, zami, tipping the velvet, written on the body/oranges are not the only fruit, stone butch blues, mrs. dalloway/orlando, etc.) and post on every social networking site you belong to how much you “loved” it and how it “opened your eyes” and how much you “identified” with it.
8. if you are a meat-eater, become vegetarian. if you vegetarian, become vegan. if you are vegan, become macrobiotic. if you are macrobiotic, eat meat again, but in a sexy, enlightened way. openly discuss all your food allergies. if you have none, make them up. "i'm allergic to water!" consume more legumes and whole grains. buy the moosewood cookbook. actually cook with the moosewood cookbook.
9. watch lots of fag porn, with fags and dykes (pot luck time! don’t forget your sandwich board!). balance your fascination and disgust. claim you own a dildo bigger than the biggest dick in the porn. vocally revel in how hot fag porn is. then complain loudly about how you can’t find dyke porn like this. or announce that you’ve seen “crash pad” and think it’s the beginning of a renaissance of dyke porn. loiter near an empty bedroom or the bathroom.
10. find a girl you like, romance her or entice her to romance you, kiss her, sleep with her, call uhaul. repeat.

on cycles

2009-01-26T16:18:00.000-08:00

smell of ink in the stone. "this is the character for 'health.'" an emerald green bustier bought on a whim, but still not worn. purple cane. no sandwiches. polymer clay. art days. "no guilt."

the lights are bright. i know not to squint. audience tense with silence. lungs full of phlegm, head sore, throat searing. just need first word. once it comes, all emerge as though connected by the same chord. rehearsal means producing good at your worst.

breath visible in the morning air. clothes reserved for "nice" occasions. packed rectory. who's who of austin. song of weary. thoughts are wary. holding hat in hand, head bowed, standing. anger, anger, anger. too many shoulders covered in liquid from my face.

stand up from squatting over the count of 20. speech. sit over the count of 25. use the pain in your legs to give intensity. speech. up on 10. close your eyes. on your toes in 10. stay on your toes. balance. balance. speech. resistance creates intensity. resistance creates meaning.

we had a couple of excursions. not as many as i would have liked. sometimes entailing hospitals, almost always entailing food. i already knew i found her pretty late. shyness can do that sometimes. but the main thing was the finding. what is it with me, cancer, and emotional intimacy?

new photo added to the altar. it's too full now.

look at this, sweet new child. auntie now, for the umpteenth time, but still wonderful. not my niece but lovely just the same. throat blocked.

i was close enough in which to confide. but far enough in which to confide. sometimes the ability to see the end inspires strategic confessions. someone close enough to want to tell, far enough that the telling won't damage or change or burden. i wonder what ma told that nurse who she bought lavish gifts for. or what other confessions i was too close or too far to hear. it seems that witnessing confessions is part of preparing. being prepared really seems like a state after one has released everything into the world--in mysteriously/mystically meted-out doses. i'm very certain they made it look easier than it actually was.

elegy. made as wrappings. beds of flower heads and satin. the right words never seem to be right enough. like uttering them is somehow demeaning. even repetitions of words once perfect feel unwarm. still a yearning rises. the yearning to rise. skyward voice and hands, earthy thoughts and moistened face. body still present, but no longer necessary.

the idea of love, last exchanged word--it grows to take on different forms. no longer bright and clear and smooth as it once was. scarred, weathered, tougher. like an aging tree, embracing the wind-swept molding of its limbs. still to weather even more. but like a hand-thrown teacup, or imperfect scribble on the page, the wabi-sabi of combined generations, combined ideas, combined bodies acknowledging each border and overlap. my younger love changed by one older, still changed by one even older.

whispers. whispers on feathers not even sprung from the throat of a dove. and flying.

on and out and up.

on memory and forgetting

2009-01-13T11:05:00.000-08:00

because i know you've surely forgotten about me.

every so often, lovely partner says, "you should blog about that." but i haven't been.

i'm a little jaded with the internets lately. i've stopped paying attention to my rss feed. and it began feeling like this sucking, demanding force that just had no business trying to take up my time. i've just had no patience.

and so i've been away from here. and so many things have happened. obama. gaza. the new year. my mother's death anniversary. i shaved my head...

and then this weekend i visited my good friend who is very weak with illness, preparing to cross over.

she is really the main person who inspired and encouraged my cancer opera. visiting with her was hard; it's always awkward, figuring out whether to show up or leave some space, what to say, where to sit, how to talk, whether to laugh or cry. it brought back so many memories of being with my mother in this same month, seven years ago, of sitting with my friend and sharing stories, of eating cheap but good chinese food at the back of a market, of telling myself, "just listen to her talk about what you fear. it's important to her now, and it will become important to you in the future."

and meanwhile, another type of memory nags at me. so comparatively mundane and trivial: my memory of words. the lines i must say in the play. it's going up on 1/23. usually, i memorize lines pretty easily, remembering about 70% just from showing up to rehearsal. and then only i need a few hours on my own to hammer it all out. but this role... not only is it very little dialogue--i'm mostly talking to myself--i talk under other characters, so i have to listen as i talk. in addition, a lot of what she says is nonsense or repetitive. i've been running lines at any spare moment, in my car, the shower, waiting in line, and just when i am by myself at home.... last night, though, the director followed along with my lines as we did a line-through (where you only say the words from memory as fast as possible to see where you need work), after we were done, she turned to me and said, "it's almost impossible to follow along, let alone remember and say your lines..." so, we've come up with some ways to alleviate the strain on my memory.

it's not lost on me that my lovely partner is an historian, and here i am writing about memory and forgetting. and as i reflect on what is behind, i see us on the cusp of what lies ahead.

forward ho.

on things lovely partner wants me to blog

2008-10-30T18:46:00.000-07:00

we do this on a fairly regular basis: one of us says something hilarious/witty/profound and the other immediately says: you should blog that!

here's one of them.

we were discussing the 50 state quarters that have finally all been released by the u.s. mint. and here are our favorites:kt's caption: "breaking news: space shuttles go back in time!"
kt's caption: "breaking news: saarinen design go back in time!"

on obama

2008-10-30T13:38:00.000-07:00

i voted yesterday. for obama, of course. it's interesting, i've always thought voting for a presidential election in texas was futile, but recent polls have put texas in the "tossup" column in some cases, which is-like-CRAZY! anyway, as with many folks i know, i've been a presidential news junkie these last few days. time magazine ran a photo story on obama. this photo really made me a little weepy.

maybe part of my sensitivity to this photo has to do with a dream i had last night that involved all the little boys of color in our neighborhood becoming our friends. one of them was a piano prodigy, one of them played violin, but was also a dj. one of them was a poet. the boys in our neighborhood are real. their abilities may just be my imagination. in the dream, i was negotiating with lovely partner on how to make our piano available to the prodigy. and then he came by the house and asked me what i meant on my blog when i said *something i don't remember here.* somehow this pic really spoke to me, tho'.

call for donations

2008-10-24T15:13:00.001-07:00

Performance artist (me, kt shorb) seeks donations of material objects associated with cancer:

Hospital wrist bands, printouts of blood test results, x-rays, empty prescription bottles, needle caps, brochures, canes, skull caps, wigs, etc.—these are objects that surround cancer treatment and institutions. They are evidence of the pain, time, anticipation, transformation and rituals that cancer demands of patients and caregivers. To some, these objects are badges of honor—proof of survival; to others, they are reminders of things and people lost; still to others, they are mere refuse, waiting to be disposed.

I am looking for donations of such material objects to serve as inspiration in my upcoming solo performance opera, “Una Corda.”

The Project:
“Una Corda” is a journey through the spiritual affects and effects of cancer. Using textual and musical influences of the Catholic Latin Mass and the Buddhist Heart Sutra, “Una Corda” digs beneath the sentimental and condescending notion of cancer as it exists in the popular imagination and instead explores how cancer effects us as a lived experience—visceral, complex, messy, and unresolved.

“Una Corda” is a deeply personal piece. It is a way through which I explore my own grief and mourning of watching my mother die from cancer. It is also a way to mark the many survivors of cancer. “Una Corda” is a meditation on how cancer creates survivors and tries the soul. At the same time, it is a rigorous aesthetic exploration of what cancer implies, what it destroys, and what it makes.

Use of Objects:
The donated objects will be the physical connection to the experiences surrounding cancer. They will be used in multiple ways: as props, set, images, parts of sculpture, or sources for borrowed text, sound, and imagery. All objects will be treated with respect and reverence.

How to Donate:
If you are interested in donating materials, please contact me at: ktshorb@hotmail.com . If you live in the greater Austin area, we can set up a time for me to pick up the goods. If you live outside of the greater Austin area, we can set up a way for me to send you postage or reimburse you for postage via paypal. International donations are welcome. If you wish to donate postage costs as well, just send the materials to:

kt shorb
“Una Corda”
2906 Glen Rae St
Austin, TX 78702

For all materials, I request the following information.

Object:
Your Name:
Your contact information (email, address, phone):
Name of cancer patient(s), if not you:
Current state of cancer patient:
Would you like your name or the name of the cancer patient to be anonymous?
Do you wish to receive information via email regarding “Una Corda?”
If you are comfortable doing so, please share a story or information about this object and the patient:
May I use this story as inspiration for material in the piece?
Your signature acknowledging the below statement and date of donation:

k. terumi shorb solemnly promises to treat all donated materials with respect and reverence. By donating the materials, donator relinquishes rights or materials to k. terumi shorb, to be used in any way shorb sees fit for the purposes of the solo opera, “Una Corda” and any works of art, writing, music, video, performance or promotional materials associated with “Una Corda.” All information will remain strictly private except where donor and cancer patient appear in the thank you section of the opera program. Donors who wish to remain anonymous will not appear in any materials associated with this project.

on voting

2008-10-23T20:01:00.000-07:00

okay, kids. this one should be a no-brainer, but just in case, if you live in the following states, please be sure to vote NO:

Proposition 8 in California
Proposition 2 in Florida
Proposition 102 in Arizona
Unmarried Couple Ban in Arkansas

UPDATE: Question 1 in Connecticut

again, the point is to vote NO. as in: N-dot-O. unless you hate the gays. and if you hate the gays, please go away.

on youtube bombing

2008-10-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

hey y'all. um. so i know that a lot of you have looked at my youtube page. and you've told me that you like my shit. so. um. i was just wondering. could you possibly leave comments and ratings? that'd be great. it seems that the only people who have bothered to rate me really have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL MY SHIT IS ABOUT. i mean, if they paid attention, they would realize that they are precisely the people i'm satirizing... but anyway.

check out my youtube channel here.

on writing exercises

2008-10-22T07:30:00.000-07:00

"write for 5 minutes. never put your pen down. use only three-word sentences."

the above exercise is one deb margonlin gave us at a writing workshop i attended three years ago. i'm looking for more exercises.

in working on "una corda," i have many ideas, but i'm having trouble putting it down on paper and parsing out the themes and problems. then i thought: hey, maybe my writer friends could help me!

i want to do a series of writing exercises. i know i could google some, or think up my own (i already have). but there is something particularly inspiring about being "set to" an exercise by a teacher, friend, colleague, etc. i sent an email to a bunch of my writerly friends about a week ago asking for writing exercises. some responses were a whole page, some were one line. i invite you to leave writing exercises in the comments of this post. i plan to do every exercise i receive, and the more exercises folks leave, the more there will be for folks to use!

UPDATE on incompetence

2008-09-25T18:22:00.001-07:00

sprint just called me to say they will be refunding me for the crazy international roaming bill. thanks harold! have a good vacation!

why does it take several competent people to fix one person's incompetence?

ah, well. that's $600 bucks i'm happy not to lose!

on why incompetence is the social blight of america

2008-09-25T13:34:00.000-07:00

please indulge me. i must vent on the serious incompetence that has plagued me recently in my creative life. they are two tales that converge in the physical location we know as vancouver. but they belie the evilness that a combination of technology and incompetence can manifest on a poor, struggling artist.

the first instance of incompetence happened surrounding my lodging in vancouver. as you know, i ended up staying at a lovely furnished apartment run by a local b&b. it was everything i needed, and i loved the fact that i was supporting a local business woman who says things like, "okee" and "eh." but before i found those lovely grand manor accommodations, i had booked a room at holiday inn north vancouver through continental.com. i did this because i was on a frequent flier mileage kick, and wanted to accrue miles. the holiday inn was very close to my workshop (walking distance, actually). i had booked the room online, thinking i had just made a reservation. it was way over my budget, though. i thought this was okay because i mistakenly thought that a friend of mine was going to share the room with me. after he clarified that he had made other (much cheaper) arrangements, i set to find cheaper arrangements myself. i noticed that holiday inn had already charged me for my room. which was upsetting. so i called the hotel to ask them about whether i could cancel. the undoubtedly bright-eyed young woman who answered my call said, "our cancellation policy is 24hrs notice." "really?" i said, "but you've already charged me!" "our records don't indicate that," she said. but when i pushed her to look for it, she finally found that info "on another computer screen." okay. so i asked, "is the cancellation policy the same?" and she said, "yes. 24 hrs notice."

cool. so i went about searching for cheaper accommodations. and i found them at the above-mentioned lovely b&b apartment. i paid for the apartment up front knowing that's how local businesses work. then i called back holiday inn. this time, i got a manager. "i'm calling to cancel my reservation," i said. she pulled up my info and then said, "this is a pre-paid reservation. you cannot cancel it."

what transpired after that was a series of phone calls (all on my bill, incidentally) where i was basically yelling at this manager. i told her the situation and she pressed me for details. do i remember who the woman was who i spoke to? no. there is no record that i called in the system. you mean you're expecting someone who is oblivious to policies to follow the one saying that they need to make a note for every phone call made?! the manager was reasonable but firm. finally i had to mention that this event would "permanently affect my impression of holiday inns and very probably discourage me from staying at them ever again." she started to budge. first she tried to charge me for the first night. i said, "no, that was not the arrangement the woman told me. this is a lot of money for me, almost a month's salary."

when she finally agreed to give me all my money back. yay! i thought. when i checked later, i found that holiday inn had refunded me twice and was now trying to get a hold of me. i also noticed that due to the ups and downs of the canadian dollar, my refund (both of them) was actually roughly $50 less in u.s. dollars than the original charge. after holiday inn recharged me for the second refund--guess what?! the u.s. dollar was weaker on that day, too!--i was in the hole close to $100 bucks just because of exchange rates. i've considered tracking down holiday inn for those charges as well as the roughly $10 worth of international phone calls i've been making. but i am just plain too tired. $110 in the hole is better than $1700, right?

the second instance of incompetence finally reached my door today.

before i went to vancouver, i called up sprint to inquire about phone coverage and policies for me while i was in canada. the woman i talked to said, "well, that would be in a roaming area, but your phone plan includes roaming." i was surprised. i said, "so i can make calls in vancouver just the same as everywhere else?" "yep."

so i was stoked. i called kim every night for an hour or so, thinking it was just like using my regular minutes. nervous, i logged into my sprint account while i was away and it didn't show any extra charges.

or so i thought. my $650 phone bill that arrived this morning proved that i was right to be surprised at the customer service woman's claim. she must not have known that canada is actually another country and therefore part of "international roaming" that charges a hefty $0.59/minute. had i known that would be the charge, kim and i would have probably only used about 30 roaming minutes and communicated the rest of the time on facebook instant messaging. i mean. i'm not that stupid!

so i called customer service today. the first person i talked to said, "lemme check your record. if there is no note on it, i can't refund the money." again. people who seem to want to rely on misinformed people to suddenly do everything by the book! i told her, "are you telling me that if this person didn't write something on the account, you can't refund me? don't you record these conversations for quality assurance?" she sighed and put me on hold several times. then she said, "i have to transfer you to international roaming." i stopped her, said, "what's your name?" "amy." "so, if i get cut off and call back again asking for amy, i can talk to you again?" "no." "well, i don't want to have to keep calling back over and over saying the same story over and over." she sighed again and then agreed to stay on the line in a conference call until i got the right person. she did. and of course, she first transferred me to the wrong department, which i totally wouldn't have known if she didn't stay on the line. when i finally did get to international roaming, she unceremoniously hung up without letting me know. i was lucky that the person i got next was very sympathetic. he looked up all the records and saw that someone had put a roaming note on my account. but then he said, "this is way higher than i'm authorized to refund you. i have to send a memo to the finance department." and then he told me he was about to go on vacation until 10/2. i got all of his information and the number of the memo. and he seemed to be putting every single thing about the case into this memo. he said that he would keep an eye out for my case today, but if he can't contact me "someone" will contact me within the next couple days. i'm nervous, but that's the best i can do for now.

i looked at my phone when i hung up and saw that i spent 50 minutes on that call.

let's say that they refund me for the roaming charges. let's hope and pray that justice exists in the world. even then, i'm still in the hole.

for my day job, tutoring, i charge $40/hour, when i tutor through an agency, i make $26/hr. i've spent 50 minutes on the phone with sprint and probably roughly the same on the phone with holiday inn. that's 100 minutes. let's call it 90 minutes for easy math.

$110 for the exchange rate discrepancy and international phone calls+$60 for my time=$170.

all thanks to incompetence!

what would i have to do to make that money back?
1. tutor for 5 -7 hours
2. sell roughly 30 used books on half.com
3. write an application for any myriad of grants that expect you to spend hours just to get piddly.
4. produce a performance at the off center, charge $15/seat and get at least 50 audience members, and not pay the actors (but i would have to pay to rent a lighting board, pay a lighting designer, and pay a board operator--these are things that rarely come for free)

what could i have bought with that money instead?
1. website hosting and domain name for four years
2. use of the off center for one night
3. a very nice evening of food at conversation the dai due supper club (not including wine).
4. a months worth of health insurance premium (on the cheap end. no i'm not currently insured).
5. Mac OS 10.5, leopard for my household

those would have been nice things to have. but instead, i have relinquished my precious resources to the incompetence demons.

A POX ON THE DEMONS OF INCOMPETENCE! BE GONE, BE GONE!
I HATE INCOMPETENCE!

on a poll

2008-09-22T19:41:00.000-07:00

please go to this poll. right now, more than half the country seems to think that sarah palin is qualified to run the country. how? how i say?!

on money again

2008-09-18T14:08:00.001-07:00

now that i've finished out the year of playing the lotto, i'm thinking differently about money.

specifically, i've been thinking about all the things i wanted when i though i might score a wad of cash, and how i can get them regardless. it's been humbling.

because if i've learned one thing by working in higher education for seven years, it's that money can be found, you just need to learn where to scratch. now the question is really about how much i need for what. i keep returning to this question every morning.

more later.

on alases and other things

2008-09-18T14:08:00.000-07:00

alas--
i just got word from creative capital that i'm not moving on to the next round. alas! but i'm glad i made it this far. i kinda knew based on the MAP feedback that if i want to be more competitive at a national level, i'm gonna have to generate more recent work samples that show my growth and masterfulness-ness. that's what this year is all about.

other things--
i just got word that i've been cast in a short video by hybrid vigor productions. i don't know much about the script, but i do know i'm playing a laid-back ftm/butch. i was pleased when i went to audition that there were three people there to see me instead of one--generally a good sign with film/video projects. it indicates a certain degree of people power behind a project. also, the name of the production company is not lost on me, though i did not talk with bug (davidson, the director) about what kind of hybrid vigor s/he is talking about.

also, we have decided to enter HUSH into this year's fronterra fest. right now our biggest worries are raising the $500 to enter (which covers four performances, lights, sound, and people to run both--a pretty good deal, but $500 bucks just the same) and revising the script. but it's more work and more things to think about including in my work samples for future grants.

i've begun working on una corda in earnest now. i'm back doing morning pages and pretty much every morning i begin with the idea of "what can i do with this opera now?" i'm looking at the world through the lens of the opera.

i'm finally cleaning out my office/studio. i've had a heap of lumber on the floor for over a year now. it's taken me this long to acknowledge that i'm not going to create all that pomo furniture. at least not at this point in my life. i posted "free hardwood lumber scraps" on craigslist and got over 15 replies. hopefully the heap of lumber will be gone by the end of the weekend.

a clean workspace reflects a clear creative mind. and i'm working toward that. i've also been working on my body a little. not too hard-core, but trying to walk or ride the bike or swim or do a little something (3 minutes of stomping?) almost every day. i've given up caring about my weight or my looks or whether or not i "feel good." although those are fine concerns, you know, abstractly. what motivates my attention to my body is more about 1. building up stamina, because an evening-length show of singing, acting and movement all by my lonesome will require it; 2. being conscious of my physical presence and 3. carbon footprint (surprisingly).

more later.

on anne bogart, part I

2008-09-14T18:51:00.000-07:00

i am reading anne bogarts' and then you act.

here are some lines from the book that i have found very relevant to where i am right now:

"The frustrations of living do not need to make you ill; rather, they can be transformed into the energy necessary to articulate well." (pg 20)

"Fundraising is action. Consider the pursuit of support and raising money as a part of your artistic process." (pg 27)

"If you have an idea for a project, by the time that you have described it to forty people it will be a better idea." (pg 28)

"There is really no need to come up with anything new. Redescribing what you have inherited will engender all the novelty and originality you crave." (pg 28)

"If you do not commit fully to the people with you now, like-minded others will never show up." (pg 31)

more soon!

on two more things to brag about

2008-09-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

1. publication
this happened while i was in vancouver, and i just wasn't organized enough to tell folks about it. i was just updating my CV and realized i haven't yet bragged about it.

eileen tabios's new anthology, The Blind Chatelaine's Keys: Her Autobiography Through Your Poetics which features two of my essays/blog posts is now out. pick up/order your copy now!

2. funding
the city of austin just awarded me $4250 for Una Corda. Woo! In case you forget what Una Corda is, here are my previous posts where I wrote on it.

the money is awesome. now i can actually begin working on the piece in earnest. i try not to let it plague me that in order to touch the money i need to match it (i.e. raise at least another $4250). i'm just trying to bask in the recognition. though, if anyone has any suggestions for where i might find $4250 lying around, you have my attention.

as of this award, i have officially earned roughly $8000 through my art this year. i know, i know, i've spent it all before i even used it. and that money prolly comes out to less than $3/hour of arts work. but whatever! if i go by the "double yer money" policy per annum, i'll be a millionare in less than 10 years! yes. um. i know. it's very difficult to double one's money. but gotta stay positive!

what have you eaten? meme

2008-09-08T22:16:00.000-07:00

from curate:

What have you eaten?

somethingchanged:

From the food blog Chocolate and Zucchini:

1. Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2. Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3. ~~Cross out~~ any items that you would never consider eating.

via forwhenifeellikesharing: (via grayandgreen) Chocolate and Zucchini

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
~~75. Roadkill~~
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
~~100. Snake~~

on why i take the presidential elections personally, or, three reasons why not to vote for mccain

2008-09-07T19:41:00.000-07:00

okay,
so i'm back in the u.s. of a. now and right away i became engrossed in the presidential election. not surprisingly to people who know me, i already know who i'm voting for. no, he is not the messiah as he is being touted. and yes, i have beef with many of his platforms. i think his healthcare platform is weak and his foreign policy is not the best. and, there is no way he won't let us down. come on! he really is too good to be true.

that said, i have been looking at the mccain/palin ticket. with palin on board, many moderates are actually entertaining the idea of voting for mccain/palin. if you are one of those people, i'm including a few reasons why voting for mccain/palin would offend me personally. if you do vote for them, seriously, don't tell me.

1. the arts
obama supports the nea. big woop, right? well, the last 8 years have consisted of arts funding being slashed and burned, including complete elimination of arts education in public schools. obama has promised increased funding to the nea. he also has recognized the positive influence arts education has on raising general scholastic aptitude and has sat on arts boards. his platform also promotes arts-based cultural diplomacy (something most first world countries invest pretty heavily in), deeper tax breaks for artist, and health care for artists (which is included in the national healthcare plan. i don't believe he has singled out artists as a special group that will get healthcare or anything).

mccain has not published an arts policy, but has a record of voting for cutting nea funding. he is on record stating that he is against government subsidies of the arts, stating that tax payers shouldn't have to pay for "obscene" projects. he has stated that he supports giving money to states so that they can fund arts education programs (not necessarily in schools, however), but that's it.

nader, mckinney, baldwin, and barr do not seem to have any platforms on the arts.

2. the gays
if you know me, hell, even if you don't, you prolly know i identify as queer. i am legally female and have been with a female partner for over seven years. i have mixed feelings about marriage. if it were up to me, i would do away with the institution on a governmental level and leave it to individual religious institutions to sanctify monogamous relationships. instead, i would want the government to recognize domestic partnerships, which could include: "gay" partnerships, "straight" partnerships, sibling partnerships (where siblings live together and share household responsibilities/childcare, etc.), inter-generational partnerships (i.e. grand parents live with a parent and all adults care for a child or children--one of the most common forms on "non-traditional parenting"), non-blood partnerships (two friends live together for a long time and share bank accounts, parenting, etc.) and multi-party partnerships (polyamorous family units where three or more people share household responsibilities). these domestic partnerships would enable any parties involved to receive tax breaks, inheritance rights, citizenship/green card preferential treatment, visitation rights, and common-law privileges. but alas, only the leftest of the left queeroids are thinking of such institutions.

none of the candidates comes even close to thinking about this. however, i should say right here that i plan to marry my partner of seven years. we will most likely go to canada to do it. in canada, if either of us gets a job, the other will receive health care, be eligible for permanent residence, have visitation rights, etc. even if we don't get lawfully married! (i KNOW!)

the thing is, so-called "gay marriage" is a civil rights issue. it's about saying, "hey, you love that person and you want to profess to god or whoever that you plan to be with them until you die? well alright, then. here's a goodie bag full of privileges that we've given other people who have said the same!" if straight married people can get shit-loads of resources (shared healthcare plans, spousal hires, free usage of spouse's facilities), money (tax breaks and non-taxed inheritance rights), and recognition (visitation rights, and just plain empathy and love), then FUCK YEAH, I WANT THOSE THINGS, TOO! even if i have qualms about the institution. straight people who don't think gay marriage is an issue, or who think it is wrong, or who don't understand it are basically saying: love between people of the same sex is inherently inferior. this to me says: queer people are inherently inferior to straight people. ergo: queers are subhuman.

i don't like that.

obama says he supports civil unions. yes, it's kinda like the whole "separate but equal" thing. not nearly enough. that said, the mccain/palin ticket supports introducing a CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT BANNING GAY MARRIAGE. now and forever more. did i say that loud enough? according to my pristine logic outlined above, that means mccain/palin supporters are saying: queers are subhuman. incidentally, sarah palin's church minister believes prayer can "un-gay" people. yes, i know she has not said that (publicly) herself. and we've already gone down a dark road of slandering people because of their pastors. i'm not sayin'... i'm just sayin'...

nader supports gay marriage. mckinney says its "an important issue." baldwin is anti anything giving rights to queers. barr was a sponsor of the clinton era DOMA act and sees same-sex marriage as a state issue.

3. the gooks
let's not forget that mccain refers to asian people as "gooks," both in his head and in public. as a member of the racial group of "gooks," i find it really difficult to not get angry. it's true he said it long ago (in 2000), and he apologized for it since. but really. REALLY. think if someone said the "n" word in an interview. i'd take that personally, too.

so. really. mccain/palin makes me mad. particularly palin scares me. for a while i had some respect for mccain, thought that of the republicans, he had the most integrity. however. with the choice of palin as running mate, he lost that. considering that according to life insurance calculations, he has a one in three chance of dying during his presidency, voting for mccain as president is a one-third vote for palin as president. and really, i want to scream: they hate queers! they hate immigrants! they hate people of color! they hate artists! they want to kill us all!

i have other reasons why mccain/palin makes my skin crawl. but those are merely ideological. i don't take them personally. but really they go against what i do (art) and what i am (queer/asian american). and that's why i take a vote for them personally. really. if i have to emotionally blackmail you to not vote for mccain/palin, i will. vote for nader, vote for mckinney. hell, write-in hillary, if you want. just please, please, please: don't vote for mccain/palin.

thanks. us queer asian/asian american artists thank you.

on endings and beginnings

2008-08-30T10:30:00.001-07:00

so, as one might have surmised, i couldn't even bare to blog on thursday and friday because i was just that tired. oof, i say!

but now it's saturday. i'm preparing to meet with an old friend of lovely partner's to see some more sights and eat some more food. woo-hoo to seeing more of vancouver!

i'm in a bitter-sweet place about ending the workshop. my body was so obviously beginning to break down. i got a sharp pain just above my knee-cap on thursday morning, and on friday during our suzuki training, my ankle started acting wonky. but that said, i was actually very sad to be ending this week.

i feel like it's only just begun. spending 7 hours a day working on physical theater with a small group of people really clarified what i need to continue working on. and my mind wanders to all the possibilities. do i want to go to australia to train with zen zen zo? do i want to apply to train with SITI next summer? do i try to find some other venue to do another intensive? do i try to partner up with an austin group to bring someone to train us to austin? it's all craziness in some ways, but also intensely necessary. it's been a long time since i've taken to a training method so quickly and fully. i remember running in a circle yesterday, doing a version of the 12/6/4 viewpoints exercise (where the group running in a circle somehow magically decides to change direction, jump, or stop simultaneously 12, 6, and 4 times respectively) and thinking, "hey, i could do this all day long, for a long time!" even the suzuki, which is designed to make you twitch and grimace (but you resist this urge) had a certain quality that hailed my deepest level of concentration.

on saying our last impressions of the week yesterday, one of the women in the group said, "i realized i don't want to rehearse anymore, i just want to perform." she was talking about how you can make "rehearsals" into performances, bringing the same amount of intent and energy to the rehearsal space. it was a wise thing to say and one that i plan to bring back to stamplab rehearsals.

having finished out this week, i'm still trying to figure out how to continue. i found myself walking down the hallway of my rental apartment as slowly as i could, heel to toe, upper body not moving.

i am transfixed.

on bodily fatigue, creative vigor

2008-08-26T22:40:00.000-07:00

maybe it's being in a strange place, or me not being used to sleeping alone, but the past two days i haven't been able to sleep until 1. and waking at 7. it's not a lot of sleep for me. but for some reason, i've managed to make it through two 7-hour workshops. i'm so tired right now, though, i'll be really surprised if i make it much longer. still have to journal about today and go over some more macbeth and dante.

today we stomped twice. i can't really go into what stomping is right now, but just know that it is very physically demanding. there is always a moment of fear midway through the exercise where i actually think i'm going to die from pain and exhaustion. this is usually the time when simon (the australian instructor) says, "relax your faces and shoulders" and i can feel my face try to unsquint. i think, i'm gonna die! but i continue stomping. and it ends. and i wipe my thoroughly wet brow and realize that i can actually get through it. it's a very powerful realization.

god, i wanna write more, but my eyes are so droopy. i don't know how i thought i would be able to watch theater in addition to doing this crazy work. but i'm gonna try tomorrow night. a whole bunch of folks from the workshop are going to see eric bogosian's "suburbia." i'm gonna try to tag along.

g'night.

on canadia/sur le canada, part two/deuxième partie

2008-08-25T23:18:00.000-07:00

okay. i have to memorize some macbeth and some dante's inferno by tomorrow, and i need a good night's sleep, so here are the highlights since my last entry:

kintaro ramen on denman: very good, hand-made noodles. the ramen guy had a rhythm and precision that was awesome to watch in mouth-watering anticipation. it was also cute how he kept squinting to read the orders because he's too vain to get glasses. i got the rich (read fatty) broth with moist (read fatty) pork in shoyu flavor. mmm.

don't underestimate vancouver theatre. just because you go to a show on sunday night in the middle of an industrial district doesn't mean it won't be sold out. this isn't austin where people beg you to come see their show.

abdominal breathing + an intent/present listener/audience = an intensely intimate and vulnerable dramatic experience.

the suzuki acting method will make your thighs explode. and then you have to collect your thigh bits, piece them together, and get up and do more.

viewpoints is like montessori for adults. but with intention. and if you don't share, everyone looks bad. don't let the egalitarian, consensus-like, oberlin-esque ethos of viewpoints fool you: slacking off and cheating show. lack of generosity shows. it's not for the physically or emotionally timid.

note to self: canada is really a different place. it's not just the pretty money and the funny accents. you may, in fact, really like it here.

on canadia, on performance

2008-08-24T17:34:00.000-07:00

i'm in vancouver right now. i had resolved that i would resume blogging while here.

what i've been doing for the last two months:
once i got back from japan, my time was consumed by artspark. i believe i was spending nearly 30 hrs per week on the production, going to scriptshops and rehearsals at 6, getting home around 11. writing lines, learning lines, editing lines, trying not to fight, watching people fight, etc. and then.... we won! yeah, baby! you can see pictures of "hush" (the production) and stamp lab (our theater collective) at the stamp lab website.

so yeah. did you get the part where we WON the ARTSPARK FESTIVAL COMPETITION? yes. it's been a while since i've won stuff. i even sent a short email to pretty much everyone in my address book, bragging. (if you know me and didn't get the message, it's likely i don't have your current email address. leave a comment and we'll figure out a way to exchange the emails.) i had to do it. i just had to. we won. and... and.... and... wow!

so that's a very short note on artspark. in the meantime, our director was hospitalized, three of our performers threw their backs/necks out, i got stung by wasps, one performer got bronchitis, several peoples' cars broke down, two of us lost our central AC (which is deemed an emergency in 100+ degree central texas weather), lovely partner made a huge, wonderful, exciting and challenging life decision, and we had to put down our older dog of seven years--a companion who has seen us through many, many trials.

it's been a crazy, crazy, crazy summer.

the reason i'm in vancouver is for the vancouver stomp intensive. i mentioned it earlier here and here. we will be training in vocal techniques, the suzuki performance technique and viewpoints (another performance technique developed at SITI theater with ann bogart). i just got back from the meet and greet. most of the folks there are younger than me. most participants seem to be local and/or college students. it's small. the main instructor talks in australian and the organizer talks in canadian. i'm excited. i hope my body holds up.

this is really my first time in canada as an adult. vancouver has been really cool over the past couple days. some college friends came up from seattle and we spent yesterday tromping around, talking, and comparing our american selves with the canadian folks. people who think canada is really america-lite just haven't been paying attention. my friends left to return to seattle this morning.

this trip marks a moment in my life. i'm not sure exactly what that moment is, but i'm figuring it out. i realize as i write this that it has been almost exactly one year since i started the lotto project, writing all of you about being an artist, trying to make ends meet, and thinking through my identity as a creative person. this pilgrimage of performance training and this trip to a new city by myself is like the capstone seminar in my last 18 months of personal study. i raised money to come here. i will be spending my time immersed in performance training, seeing theater, and having conversations with myself. everything is new and awkward, but oddly pointing right toward the center of my soul. i am expectant, open, curious, and afraid.

it's where i'm supposed to be.

on rejection

2008-07-02T16:43:00.000-07:00

so, here i am in japan, waiting to meet with my dad and bro to go to my mother`s memorial ceremony, and i got my feedback from MAP on my rejected proposal. it's generally encouraging. sigh. i realize that the creative capital app i just sent in will prolly get the same critique. but, ah well. i won't have a more recent performance example until late august...

here it is:

Technically, the proposal was well put together. The project description was both personal and lucid in its thinking. It painted a clear picture of the proposed work (with the exception of how artist will work with collaborators — see below). The budget was sound, and you made nice use of the Artist Statement section (often overlooked, but can be a really important piece of the proposal). Evaluators were intrigued by the idea and impressed with the thoughtfulness of the concept. They felt the samples were uneven — showing a lot of promise, but not yet “landing.” One suggested that submitting a more recent work as a sample might have strengthened the overall proposal. Evaluators felt that the musical element was particularly strong.Based on evaluators response, the proposal moved on to the panel. Panelists loved the idea of this artist working within allgo, and remarked on the organization’s general success at combining art practices with its mission. Panel felt this project would push this artist, perhaps even taking her into a new and exciting direction. Strong enthusiasm for the Latin Mass aspect of the concept. Panel felt more could have been said about how the collaborators will work together. Since the driving artist is so strong, it would have strengthened the proposal to hear how she will integrate the ideas of the other artists involved. And, more important, why she is choosing to work with these collaborators in particular. If the collaborators are not co-conceivers of the work, but rather supporting the Ms. Shorb’s vision, it might have been stronger to leave them off the proposal as lead artists.

privilege meme

2008-06-30T23:02:00.000-07:00

meme: privilege

Bold the things that apply.

If your father went to college; If your father finished college; If your mother went to college; If your mother finished college; If you have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor; If you were the same or higher class than your high school teachers; If you had a computer at home; If you had your own computer at home; If you had more than 50 books at home; If you had more than 500 books at home; If you were read children’s books by a parent; If you ever had lessons of any kind; If you had more than two kinds of lessons; If the people in the media who dress and talk like you were portrayed positively; If you had a credit card with your name on it; If you have less than $5000 in student loans; If you have no student loans; If you went to a private high school; If you went to summer camp; If you had a private tutor; If you have been to Europe; If your family vacations involved staying at hotels; If all of your clothing has been new and bought at the mall; If your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them; If there was original art in your house; If you had a phone in your room; If you lived in a single family house; If your parent owned their own house or apartment; If you had your own room; If you participated in an SAT/ACT prep course; If you had your own cell phone in high school (note: I’m too old for this one); If you had your own TV in your room in high school; If you opened a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college; If you have ever flown anywhere on a commercial airline; If you ever went on a cruise with your family; If your parents took you to museums and art galleries; If you were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family.

from here.

on round two

2008-06-02T15:39:00.000-07:00

just got word that i've been invited to submit an application to creative capital! woohoo! out of over 2000 applicants, 687 have been invited to submit. it's a big deal. i'm chuffed. really chuffed. some creative capital alums include: kristina wong, daniel alexander jones, and the rude mechanicals. i'm just really honored to make the first cut. i'm hoping to make it through the next. i'm trying to just stay listening to the voice saying, "good job, kt!" and telling that other voice that says, "yeah, but look at all the work you have to do now" to just shut up for a little bit.

good job, kt!

on youtube even more

2008-05-30T15:28:00.000-07:00

i've been so busy, my head is about to explode. firstly, i was accepted to the vancouver stomp, which i mentioned earlier. thanks to the city of austin, half of the expenses accrued visiting vancouver will be paid-for.

secondly, i started meeting and working on the artspark festival. when we interviewed, they all told us it would be hectic and crazy, but even then, i think i underestimated! gotta work work work!

thirdly, i'm in a performance art piece next week about the death penalty. i'm still trying to rake together all the details, but it will involve going around austin in a van and conducting various "happenings." yeah. i'll post more as it comes.

and then i've been editing some video y'all. here are two videos that have existed on the internets prior to now, but i've re-uploaded them to youtube. i still have about five more of these babies, so keep on the lookout. if you want, you can subscribe to my channel. it *should* alert you when i upload new stuff.

on the ball? (knock wood)

2008-05-21T23:43:00.000-07:00

1. just was awarded $1500 from the city of austin to attend a workshop (now i just need to get into the workshop!)
2. was invited to be in a performance art piece about the death penalty in texas (for pay!)
3. finished a draft of a book review
4. am revising my story
5. am redesigning my website, will post update here once uploaded

on youtube part quatre

2008-05-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

this is a video of "dean," a semi-autobiographical tranny boy who thinks about performance and gender.

on youtube part trois

2008-05-20T13:12:00.000-07:00

this video is of "norman," the uber-masculine rice rocket boy who i based on my impression of certain asian american college students.

on disaster

2008-05-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

just a note about all the crazy disasters happening in the world. first myanmar, then the tornadoes through the U.S. midwest, then the earthquake in western china.

i posted briefly before about being in japan when the earthquake happened in kobe. i watched the city burn and resolved to organize my high school to send aid. we raised several thousand dollars and sent a dozen volunteers to help rebuild over spring break.

something sinister is happening in the world. i can't help but feel like the earth is taking out her anger on humans for fucking with her for so long. the fucked up thing is, it seems the disasters hit the people who aren't really to blame: poor folks, rural folks, people of color, children, people of the third world.

as first world citizens, it's times like these that it's really important to at least attempt to account for our role in chaos. i don't know how possible it is to be completely accountable. when oe kenzaburo wrote about okinawa and post WWII, he talked about how it was a type of sacrificial lamb. about how japan was trying to use it as a perpetual indulgence, rather than grin and bear a full-on confession in search of absolution.

somewhere between absolution and perpetual indulgence lies charitable donations.

the first and easiest thing we can do as first world citizens is provide capital. and so, in line with kristina wong's post, i am requesting you readers to please donate. kristina follows the l.a. times in donating to unicef. i am following suit. unicef seems most strategically placed to provide for aid in myanmar. but now that there's so many disasters, the red cross and doctors without borders would lend tremendous help, too. funds are tight in my life right now, but i have a home and food and my health. i'm asking you to at least match kristina's donation of $20, as i just did.

bloggers, please re-blog kristina's call for matching donations. as individuals, many of us don't have the funds to give what we would like, but as a collective, we can raise a substantial amount in micro donations. let's do this, y'all!

on training

2008-05-12T00:21:00.000-07:00

so. in the many weeks that i was absent from this blog, something happened.

i went to see the rude mechs perform "the method gun." it was a crazy production. but it was stunning. it's the play that won the rudes both a creative capital and a MAP grant. the city of austin produced it in their newly finished long center. it was a crown jewel. it had all the elements: acrobatics, stage crying, scripted improv, swinging lanterns, guns, a monologuing tiger, actors acting "actors" who are acting theatrical methods, and, of course, "a streetcar named desire."

i, of course, saw it a week before my own play went up. i was in that mode where i could see the stage and the performance from a new angle with a different focus and a clear lens. something about seeing the "method gun" and then being a part of a production with an awesome script clarified everything i've been ruminating over for the past year: i want to perform. and i want to perform forever.

of course, this realization didn't come to me so clearly at first. i just saw the show and immediately thought, "i wonder if i could become a company member of the rudes." having rehearsed weekly at the off center on my solo show a few years back made it seem really, well, doable. so i stopped by the off center and talked to folks there. i was looking for madge, the person who directed my solo show. but in the mean time, i talked with other folks. and they gave me vague answers. "if ya hang out a while, we start to get the feeling you wanna be a company member, and then we vote." or "get us drunk, then we'll spill the beans."

finally, i tracked down madge and we met over coffee. i asked her. and suddenly things got pretty awkward. because madge knows my limitations. madge knows the demands of local theater and the rude mechanicals. and madge doesn't bullshit. which is why i loved her as a director and why i knew she would be the one to talk to. we talked about what the process would entail. logistics. and finally she said, point blank: "well, how serious are you about this?" i hemmed and hawed for a second. and then i said, "i don't think i can help it, madge. i want to perform..in some capacity... for... ever." she smiled. and then frowned. "i just wanted to know whether or not you were, you know, dabbling." that madge is astute. so i said, "i think i'm addicted." and she said, "yeah. sorry. it's an affliction." and then she said, "well, kt. if that's how you feel about it. i think you need more training." and then she proceeded to tell me all the different ways the company members had been trained. where i would wanna go, etc. it's because of that conversation that i applied for this week-long intensive in vancouver.

training.

it's a tough word. i've undergone a lot of training. i've been trained as a musician since i was five. i was trained as an academic in grad school. i was trained to be an administrator at UT.

but i still can't shake that feeling. that i'm a dilettante. and i suppose i am. and i enjoy my broad knowledge. but when madge told me i needed more training, i though i would feel discouraged. but quite the opposite. i felt inspired. i felt like i could actually undergo much discomfort to train as a performer.

and i like that i don't have to go back to school, necessarily, to train. there are many intensives offered throughout the year all over the world.

this weekend, wonderful partner and i went to a birthday party for the child of a former colleague of mine. the crowd were mostly older than me, mostly with children. all of whom were professors or other professionals. before, i could just blend in, say "i'm a lecturer at UT." and that was the end of it. but this time, I felt challenged. they would say, "so what do you do?" and i would almost apologetically say, "i'm an artist." to which they would reply, "what kind of art?" and i would say, "oh. (sigh) many things." in the past, i would go on some long, convoluted thing about multi-disciplinary stuff, etc. etc. but this was the first time i came out decisively and explained, "my main focus is performance and writing. i'm working on a solo show for myself and i was recently in a play."

it's a big step. to focus. people still don't get it, unless they are artists themselves or are really into art. but i'm slowly amassing things to show for my past year.

and something keeps telling me that there's another thing, just around the corner. you know those little clicks you hear, just before a bell tower chimes the hour? i feel like i'm hearing those clicks. and the chime is only a little bit away.

i'm excited. and this time, i think the excitement actually eclipses the fear.

on, damn, y'all, i been working!

2008-05-07T21:23:00.001-07:00

what i done did:
1. submitted a CORE grant application with the city of austin for "una corda" (last week)
2. submitted an auxiliary grant application with the city of austin for attending the "vancouver stomp" (monday)
3. submitted the application for "vancouver stomp" (today)
4. shot a cooking video *in japanese* for demand video (who post to expertvillage)
5. was invited/solicited by eileen tabios to include this blog post and this review in tabios's next book manuscript--and accepted! (today)
6. applied for six job jobs at UT (over the past ten days)
7. worked at alma for six hours, finishing apps for the lmcc residency and the out on the edge fest (today)

many more things to do (like send off the shit i finished), but for now, i'm just gonna go ahead and pat myself on the back.

on kt

2008-05-06T17:12:00.000-07:00

(photo credit: michael sullivan)
just some updates from kt. as the image above shows, the play, "why koreans don't hug" went off without a hitch. in fact, one night, we damn near knocked it outta the little lab theater. this is the photo of me playing a 65-year-old (male) korean reverend kissing on a 19-year-old girl. but seriously, it was an awesome production. my fellow actors were great. and the script was brilliant! ima actor y'all!

in other related news, the theater collective i'm in was accepted to this year's artspark festival. my theater collective (which was formed to apply for this festival) consists of myself, ana-maurine lara, cheryl coward, and florinda bryant. wheee!!!!!!!! i'm super psyched. oh, and the collective name? stamp lab: a theatre group

hee hee hee.

on youtube part deux

2008-04-18T14:38:00.000-07:00

this is the monologue, "karl." he's a crowd pleaser. i based his character on research i conducted on representations of asian american men in gay porn. one of my friends, who happens to be a fag prof says he has a crush on karl. do you?

on youtube

2008-04-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

at the behest of my p.r. person (her name is felice, isn't that auspicious!), i am in the process of putting my solo show up on youtube. it's taking a while (sometimes it takes over an hour just to change video formats!), but here is one of the clips. i will post them here as i upload them.

my solo show is called "of chicks, dicks, and chinks." i wrote and performed it as part of my graduate work in radio-tv-film. it's about masculinity, race, asians and asian americans, and queerness. enjoy.

this monologue is called "the doctor." i based him off my research of masculinity and franz fanon.

you can find out more on the show or see nice photo stills of the show on my website here.

on employment

2008-04-14T16:22:00.000-07:00

dearest readers,
please help me find a job. if you know of a job that you think i might be able to do, please send it to me. part time is good. full time is good. stuff i can do from home is good. stuff that requires a certain creativity or reflexivity is good. stuff that requires a masters is good. kt needs to start bringin' home the bacon. please help me.
(you can email me at ktshorb(at)hotmail.com

on money, that's right, money

2008-04-12T15:19:00.000-07:00

i came to a realization last week; i am working under the assumption that i will:
1. get a MAP grant
2. get a creative capital grant
or
3. win the lotto

i told ana this, and having read my proposal for MAP, she said very sweetly, "that's a fair assumption." i told kelly this, and she said, "it's a possibility. and staying positive can only invite more positive." linda, a cast mate from my play said, "this is excellent. you should live the way you want to live and the money will follow you!"

okay. that's all good and all. but it really is a faulty assumption. really. i don't know how my brain keeps doing this to me. the likelihood of getting either the MAP or CC is very low. i have a pretty thin resume. and, as much as i think my project proposal is pretty damn good, there will be at least 100 others just as good. it helps that i've included really awesome collaborators in one of the proposals, i'm sure. but still.

yet, i can't shake it. i'm full of anticipation of that next windfall.

to tell you the truth, my life has consisted of windfalls. i grew up solidly middle class, in a town that was too wealthy for my family. we were always running out of money, yet my folks insisted on living where we did and on sending all of us to private high schools and colleges. when i lived in wellesley, i was acutely aware that my family could not afford the clothes or stuff that my peers had. but i had a violin. and a piano.

when i was 15 or so, my grandparents started doling out their excess money. they were making twice as much being retired as they did working. and they were paying too much taxes for money they didn't need. they gave money to my father and aunts and then smaller sums to me, my brothers and my cousins in the form of mutual funds.

i didn't touch the money until college. i used a fair sum of it to pay for tuition. and even then, i still took out loans and my parents took out loans. oberlin was expensive. i am still paying for it. but there was something very special about having that chunk of change.

after college, i took a very low-paying job at oberlin. 16k a year working at least 50-60hrs a week. i used more of that windfall money from my grandparents to put a down payment on my car. but i mostly just got by with that 16k.

after my mom died, i received an inheritance. one from her insurance and one from my father downsizing his living quarters. i used that windfall to pay off about 10% of my student loans, put a down payment on our house, and try my hand at buying and selling stocks.

i've always been ambivalent about this money. on the one hand, i haven't forgotten what it's like to always be around people who were richer than me. on the other, i realized at oberlin just how lucky i had it. you know, befriending other workers in the dining hall, learning about "class" in class, someone "calling me out" as a "wellesley snob," those endless "privilege" workshops and whatnot.

money is power is responsibility. i had capital and i think i've used it relatively well. i used it for education, "stability," and family. i even gave a few friends some chunks of startup money or rent money with it.

but now, it's running out. wonderful partner finally confronted me about it earlier this week. she has noted that she wants a little more stability in our life. that's one thing that these past 14 months have not been: stable. i agreed that i would begin applying for jobs. as in, job jobs. full-time with benefits jobs.

so i bit my lip and combed through jobs at UT. there are four that i'm qualified for. at least one of them i would enjoy doing. if pushed to the limit of my earning potential, 50k would not be out of the question. but i have to start applying now. i can't wait for the money to run out and then scramble around, waiting to see if i can get something.

stability: she deserves as much. i deserve as much, too. but i'm torn. i spent my 20s domestically stable, though losing a parent and working through grad school was hardly emotionally stable. part of me feels like i missed out on the "finding yerself" part of the 20s.

now, i feel like i'm just on the cusp of figuring something out, about my art, about my life. but i also feel like i know how to keep working for myself even if i pick up a "day job." and then, i'm racked with guilt: i squandered away this past year. i squandered away my money. what, exactly, have i accomplished in this time? am i just a bum?

and then that thought--that assumption about two of the biggest grants someone at this stage in an art career can get--crosses my mind. maybe, it whispers, we WILL get it. maybe, it says, we DESERVE it. maybe, it cries, we're due for a windfall any day now. every tuesday and friday evening, i open up the lotto site with that taste of anticipation. maybe, just maybe....

the question is: am i naive? is my life charmed? or am i just a whiney middle-class brat who has nothing better to care about? fuck if i know. i suppose the next six months will tell.

on return

2008-04-06T14:33:00.000-07:00

fuckitall. i've been sick for the past five days, literally spewing my guts from every orifice, appreciating just how disgusting and amazing the human body can be in one fell swoop. i spent one night cradling a bucket while cleaning my own waste off my bathroom floor. then crying while i puked and exclaiming: oh god, how gross! i feel so much better!

again and again and again.

of course, being an artist with a certain liking for the absurd and scatalogical humor, there was one moment as i moaned and knelt on all fours over that bucket that i thought, "jesus. this is so painful and humiliating! this is so fucking hilarious!"

and, shit, it really was. i mean, c'mon! bucket? rolling around on the floor in your skivvies! running from your car to the bathroom sweating so hard because you're afraid you'll shit your pants? things can't get much funnier than shit and puke.

except when you're in it. even then.

i'm finally feeling better now. today is the first day in four that everything that should be solid is firmly solid, and everything that should be liquid lightly flows. a functioning vessel is really such a gift.

so, despite my bought with diarrhea, topics on this blog are stopped up. gonna have to play catch up. so please be patient. i've been having certain epiphanies in my delirious hazes and other revelations that have come to me through conscious conversations: with wonderful partner, with other artists, with my pasts, with my self.

so this is just one of those place holders: you know, like how they always show five seconds of studio 8h during a really long commercial break on snl, and you're all like: what? and then you're like: aw, whatever. this is that five seconds. a little long, tho'. more soon.

on kissing

2008-03-24T20:50:00.000-07:00

mmmmmkay.
so. i had written in the blog of my former production about kissing on stage. but i deleted it when i left that show. so. for those of you who read that post, here's a recap.

in the last show, "nighthawks (nh)," i was in at least two kiss scenes. and it became a huge drama in my head. i obsessed over it. i tried to choreograph it. man. it was hard. most of the reason why it was so hard is that ever since wonderful partner and i came together, she was the only one i kissed for over six years. that's a big deal, i think. and here, i was going to kiss another.

in addition, maybe you might know this about me, but i don't usually like being touched. especially by strangers. touch is actually really really important to me, so while i give it out to those i love, i'm pretty stingy about it to those i don't. i also have a sordid past that involved kissing way too many people--sometimes literally within seconds of each other--and it all becoming a hot mess. i had a "reputation" in college. i broke hearts, yeah. but my heart was broken many many times, too. i learned to pay attention to my physical intent. to be responsible. to care and be cared for. this led me to monogamy. with wonderful partner.

so kissing became huge. like HUGE! and i had a little private nervous breakdown that included me crushing on my kissee and then acting funny and awkward at strange times. and when we finally did kiss, it was the most awkward, awful thing. yeah. so awkward, we had to be "coached." which is even more awkward. and this kiss was supposed to be, like, HOT, so we had to really talk and process and stuff. my kissee was/is a great person, who was patient with my freakouts and respectful of my need for boundaries and my sacred monogamous relationship.

and then, as you know, it never came to fruition. so my freakouts were for naught.

or so i thought.

this new play i'm in, "why koreans don't hug (wkdh)" also has a kiss scene in it. when i found that out, i had a mini freakout, but it subsided quickly. i realized, i've done this now, so good.

today i show up at rehearsal and we're set to do the kiss scene. and i was ready. i was trying to reassure my kissee and tried to make it comfortable.

the thing is, unlike in nh, when the kiss is all sex-positive and celebratory, the wkdh kiss is super fraught. actually, without giving too much away (since i want y'all to come see it) it's just plain creepy. so that made it very difficult. the acting for this character is super hard. trying to find intention while being extremely conscious of the character's dubious nature is hard. and then throwing a kiss and a charged embrace into the mix--wow. but i persevered. and i thought i did okay. but this kissee (who is a first year undergrad, 18 yo and straight) suddenly ripped herself away from me just as i was trying to act it out. i saw fear and confusion on her face and i felt sorry for her. and then i felt gross.

which is hard. here i think i've overcome my fear of stage/screen kissing, and i get kinda rejected. i know i *play* a dirty old man in the production, but that moment made me, kt, feel like a dirty old man. even though, i wasn't.

it's so difficult. because on the one hand, actors are an insecure, vain bunch. i want to build up the other actors, let them know they are pretty or beautiful or attractive. but on the other hand, i don't want to come across as wanting more than i actually do. i really don't care about whether i kiss this person or not. but the script says i do. and i want to convey to her that, you know, she's not gross or anything. but it's so weird. it's like a dance that's un-choreographed, but everyone knows when you misstep.

sigh. i've been playing around with this idea in my head of shooting a short video called "kt learns to kiss." basically, it starts with a confession of me talking about how i freak out when it comes to stage/screen kisses, and then the rest of the video is just me kissing a bunch of people. some would see it as ulterior motive to kiss a bunch of people. yes, i was once a "mouth whore." but i'm not anymore. i really believe that i would be happy, content satisfied kissing only wonderful partner for the rest of my life. the thing is, i hate being so scared of kissing that i want to overcome this fear. and it's a skill: kissing on demand and making it convincing. that is what this video would be about. i don't know if it will ever happen.

so i post this now. i feel like my soul is raw and vulnerable. that's probably why this post reads like a high school kid's journal. i just want to curl up with wonderful partner and spoon.

on: seriously folks, there are REAL predators out there

2008-03-23T23:19:00.000-07:00

so, wonderful partner read to me this story about how the fbi has been planting links in message boards to try to catch down-loaders of child porn.

the main reason she read it to me in the first place was she had only today told me about the phenomenon of rickrolling, that basically means putting a link on something (email, blog, IM, website) saying that the link is "x" (a kitty, a cool site, something...) and then it actually being a link to a youtube video of "never gonna give you up." yeah, i'm late to the scene, people.

so, the thing is, it seems that people have been (inadvertently or not) duck/rickrolling childporn links into some of their messages and thereby trapping unsuspecting link clickers in fbi snares.

sigh. i was gonna rickroll all y'all (yes, that IS the plural of y'all). but now i'm determined not to rickroll you or duckroll you in any way. because i don't want no errant child porn to somehow find itself in your cache, thereby subjecting you to unfettered fbi molesting. (not that i even have the slightest idea nor do i want to know how to find child porn.)

so, this story is pretty sad. wonderful partner and i just became speechless and agreed: why would they spend so much time and energy and money on these cases when there are REAL children being molested and put into porn? i just hate it. really.

real people. real children. our "justice" system can just get things all wrong. too often.

on my horoscope for this week

2008-03-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

scary? smart? i don't know who the good-looking monster could be...

This is one of those rare times when your empathy could undo you unless you adhere to the following guidelines. 1. Squelch any attraction you might have to fascinating ruins, sexy decay, or appalling beauty. 2. If you have been sucked into the sphere of a good-looking monster or seductive tyrant, yank yourself free. 3. Break your gaze the instant you sense you're falling under the sway of a flaming narcissist. 4. Suppress the temptation to think this thought: "I'm bored with my hell; I want to hang out in your hell for a change."

on being someone to "perv" on

2008-03-21T12:47:00.001-07:00

time has been a strange thing for me lately. it feels like what doctor who (ten) said about it being not so much linear, but like a big tangle of a ball. anyway, beside the point.

i'm just late in posting (bragging) about sugarbutch posting pix of me. i was flattered when she said she would. she's been working on a semi-loose archive of "butch" pix--aka "eye candy." although i sometimes have trouble with the moniker of "butch" per se, i feel totally cool and okay being called as such by SB. some time, maybe, i'll talk about my gender identity in relation to my art as well as money and the lotto. that would be a huge, multi-part post! (perhaps this whole blog is about that anyway...)

so, the link to the post is here. thanks, katerina for "perving" on me. to see it written down does, uh, stroke... my ego.

on apologies long overdue

2008-03-18T09:09:00.000-07:00

when i was in college, i had a roller coaster ride of a time. politically, emotionally, socially. i started off as a good little mixed girl from japan, just trying to write music and learn biology. i ended up as a necktie-wearing, semi-militant, protest march attending, rip-roarin' radical queer of color.

at oberlin, this narrative arc isn't as rare as one would expect. in fact, it's really a rite of passage for all those who attend with some idea of moral and social justice. but man, what a ride.

so, during my third year of college, after my *race epiphany,* i became uber confrontational and sometimes mean. i made white women cry and wore it as a badge. i lost friends who i deemed to be "fucked up." and i made new enemies with people who were equally as outspoken as i was, but "wrong."

with one "enemy," i don't remember the circumstances too well. i think i've blocked it out of my memory. but i know it involved me confronting a white friend of mine about violating "safe space" for people of color; a huge campus-wide skirmish over the whole thing; and said "enemy" (being a close friend of my white friend who then became a non-friend) yelling "cunt" at me in the hallway of the conservatory. i think that made me cry.

i've hated him ever since.

but this morning, i received an apology from him in my inbox. i was shocked. floored, really. it seemed that he was starting to understand things that i never thought it was possible for him to understand. and he told me as much. i was so shocked, i thought someone sent me the message as a joke, posing as him. really, it was that shocking.

and i was moved. i don't see myself as becoming buddies with him or anything, but his change was moving. it also showed me that i've changed as well. i'm not as hard as i once was. and i like to think i'm not as stubborn. and i now know (all too well) that i am not always right.

this hasn't been the first email i have received from a college friend or acquaintance trying to reconcile about a burnt bridge. but this is the first one i've responded to with forgiveness, or mutual reconciliation.

maybe i'm more open now. or maybe i have a certain hunch that this message is part of the "making amends" step in a recovery program--and i've become so much more empathetic to recovering addicts. i've only recently written out a whole list of "amends" i want to make with people myself.

i wish i knew. but it's got me pondering a lot of things. here, after only four hours of sleep, under a dark, cloudy sky not unlike the one i lived under for seven years at oberlin.

story? done?

2008-03-17T02:58:00.001-07:00

okay. just a note. that story i've been writing? is done--at least this draft is. revisions, here we come!

kt gets cast!

2008-03-16T21:28:00.000-07:00

eeeeeheeheeheeheehee!
this time, laughter of joy, happiness, excitement!

i've been cast y'all! i'll be playing the korean reverend in soo-jin lee's new play, why koreans don't hug. this will be part of this year's UT New Theatre.

heee heee!

for more info on the show and the showcase it's in, go here.

here's to breaking legs!

pictures! pictures! pictures!

2008-03-16T19:49:00.000-07:00

okay, so wura told me she likes looking at my pictures. so, w, this post is for you.

for a while lately, whenever i look at my art supplies (of which i have many, since i inherited all my mother's old oils, watercolors, and pastels...), i get drawn toward my japanese calligraphy brushes and inks. so i set it all up. the thing about japanese calligraphy is you don't usually redo a stroke. so it's all about practice, practice, practice and then you decide to finally do one on "real" paper and hope it goes well. for last night's session, i just used scrap paper. i started with characters. then i moved onto figures. here are my attempts at making whippets:

the bottom one is my favorite. i think i tried to do about a dozen whippets and these were the best ones.this was a short study of color gradients using water mixed with ink. it was HARD. it looks so easy when the masters do it...
the main exercise all master calligraphers do first is to write "ichi"--"one." this is one of the "ones" i did last night. it was out of several. this is my favorite.

then i saw i had lots of ink. and when you make the ink, you wanna use it, because it's actually pretty labor intensive to rub that ink stick in the ink stone. so i thought, hey, i've never done self portraits in ink! so here are some i did:

self portrait 1: pretty simple.
self portrait 2.
self portrait 3: as a dyke, i have many many many many drawings of my own hand. this is the first time i've tried it with a brush. it looks pudgy, but the pudginess is pretty idiomatic.
self portrait 4: a surprisingly accurate version of my body. the head, well. sometimes i get heavy-handed. yes. this is really close to what my body actually looks like. (i'm a hairy boy.)
self-portrait 5: this is one of those japanese school children drills where i drew my face using hiragana characters. it's called "henohenomoheji." they say that one always tends to draw "henohenomoheji" to look like oneself. how'd i do?

(the scrap paper i used was actually old scripts from that play i was in. [insert silly emoticon here])

on auditions, on requests

2008-03-15T19:52:00.000-07:00

i'm auditioning for a part tomorrow. it's for a 60-ish, korean male minister part. this makes me smile. i'm nervous (i always get nervous before auditions), but if i get cast for this, i'm super excited. because how much will my chops get honed?! old? korean? minister? i've done male before, but this is a very particular masculinity that i'm very interested in embodying.

uncomfortable, here we come! woo-hoo! i love it!

(wish me luck, or rather, to break a leg.)

in other news, i actually saw, in person, some of you lovely readers yesterday. which was wonderful. it really means a lot that what i write here connects with people i love and respect. one of you mentioned that you like looking at the pictures. so. i'm gonna try to get back to more drawings. and maybe photos. yes. that's a promise.

on creative buddies

2008-03-14T17:29:00.000-07:00

i have a writing buddy. i met her a couple years ago. she curates a salon for artists of color. a while back, she sent out a call for people wanting to present at the salon. i wrote back something like, "i have a short story or two that i would love to present, but i'm shy." i ended up not presenting at the salon for many reasons, but she said, "i'd love to look at your writing, tho." and thus began our relationship as writing buddies.

i've been very flattered that she is my writing buddy. i feel like she's way ahead of me. she's pretty well published. and in a lot of ways, she is more serious about being a "writer" than i am. and she could easily choose someone else as a writing buddy. (actually, i'm pretty sure she does. i think she has multiple writing buddies. which is okay, since we are in a non-monogamous writing buddy relationship.) every time i meet with her, i feel rather lucky. she's picked over my writing many times, to the point that she has corrected my GRAMMAR and even hand-written suggestions for rephrasing. all this from a lambda-nominated novelist. but the feelings seem mutual. at the end of our meetings, we thank each other profusely: "wow! you've given me so much to think about!"

and i'm realizing i need more of that. after writing my post of "wants" i have thought long about my ideas of failure. i realize, i need to push the crap more. and i need more eyes and ears. to me, this means, i must write more, and i absolutely MUST start putting on in-progress performances. i need feedback. which is always hard. i have memories of some in-progress shows that still make my ears ring out of humiliation. but i think humility is in order.

i've started asking more and more people to look at my work. i try to take a large swath, for three reasons: 1. i want to see how my writing "reads" to different demographics of people; 2. i want as many suggestions as possible; and 3. if i get really harsh feedback from one person, it will be put in perspective--kinda, sorta.

so here is the thing. i'm asking you, my readers, to become my creative buddies.

i'm not going to post in-progress writing or work here, per se. that's a bit too vulnerable for me. instead, i ask that if you would like to read my work (some of it finished-ish, some of it in-progress), please leave a comment or email me. i will then send my work to you via email. in return, i would be willing to read/look at any of your work and will give my best constructive criticism. if you are not an active artist, i can offer you a hug, or a song, or an acknowledgment in any possible future publications.

credentials (you know, so that you can know i would be worth your time and that my critiques might be helpful) : i write music, performance art scores (sometimes referred to as "scripts" or "plays") and fiction. most of my fiction takes place in japan. most of my music is minimalist or experimental. i've also been called a filmmaker and have screened works, but my lack in the video camera ownership department has hindered this particular medium for three years.

so, here goes. i'm taking a big breath about this post. it could be really awesome, or kinda dramatic, or disappointing, or just... anticlimactic. well. we'll see!

on genderqueers and those who love us

2008-03-12T12:23:00.000-07:00

sugarbutch posted an entry on a craigslist personal by someone who basically derides all butches, non-op trannies, genderqueers, "bois," etc. it hit a note with me, so i'm linking to it here.

if you're not so interested in gender, gender performance, queerness, etc. then it prolly won't be interesting to you. then again, if you're not even the slightest bit interested in the above, why are you here again?

oh yeah, 'cause you want me to win the lotto, right.

until then, tho'. mosey on over to what SB has to say.

please sign this

2008-03-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

please consider signing this petition supporting u of mich giving andrea smith tenure. if you want more info on the case, go here.

i want, or, erotica for myself

2008-03-09T09:24:00.000-07:00

big wants:
1. i want to experience life as nam june paik described. with all 10 holes. ("Male human body has nine holes. Female body has ten. When all holes are filled, you have satisfaction. Purpose of inter-media art is to plug all holes as fast and efficiently as you can." though, he really miscounted. we technically have 12 functioning holes. bio-men, sorry, you still only have 9.)

2. i want my hands to be the source of the world. to build, to destroy, to love.

3. i want to sift and cull and eliminate: bullshit, boredom, and all things that tell me i should not exist in this world.

4. i want to fail miserably, in front of many people, with my heart and soul distended and raw. i want to pick up those pieces, reassemble them, and make anew. i want my successes borne of failure. exquisite, perfect, disastrous failure.

5. i want slow fucks. i want fast fucks. i want mind fucks and heart fucks. i want to fuck and be fucked. i want to fuck until i cry. i want to fuck until i laugh. i want to fuck alone. i want to fuck the world. fuck fuck fuck. don't stop.

6. i want to defy death but pass peacefully. i want to end war but never stop fighting. i want to conquer disease but never stop healing.

7. i want to know my fears. i want to live with them. i want to talk to them and learn about them. i want to wallow in my fears and learn to be brave.

8. i want to learn to live in my body. i want to know every inch of it and what it can and cannot do. i want to love its limitations and push its potential.

little wants (specifics):
1. i want to be working in my body with the opera by april. i want yvan to show me how to do that.

2. i want to finish this short story by next week.

3. i want to spend at least an hour every week by myself with my thoughts. no people, no dogs, just myself.

4. i want to show my work, my unfinished crap-ass work, to many people and listen to what they say.

5. i want to go to a show, reading, gallery, movie, at least every week.

6. i want momoko to visit me in my dreams and tell me why she became what she did.

7. i want to hit a home run every game. i want to sink 10 free throws in a row. i want to climb five flights of stairs and still breath easy.

8. i want creative capital to to invite me to apply. i want to write the best application i know how--specific, clear, persuasive. i want creative capital to award me a grant.

9. i want to book a space, advertise, and perform an in-progress show of my opera music. before the peaches in my yard become ripe.

10. i want to know who you are.

preview

2008-03-05T14:54:00.000-08:00

this is what my horoscope says according to two sources:

free will astrology:
In his book Starbucked, Taylor Clark claims there is a woman who goes into a Seattle Starbucks every day during the morning rush and orders a "decaf single grandé extra vanilla two-percent extra caramel 185-degrees with whipped cream caramel macchiato." Maybe her request seems overly fussy and demanding, but in the next 12 days I encourage you to be equally as exacting in asking for what you want. You have a poetic license to be extremely specific as you go about your quest for fulfillment.

tarot.com:
Apparently unsolvable issues can slow you down at home today. But when you realize that you really do have choices now, things can move along. You may not be thrilled with the possibilities, but any decision is better than none, for it's crucial to bring forward movement into your life. Even if you're unsure about your new direction, change will do you good.

this tells me two things: i should figure out what i want, and be specific; i should pursue that desire and go, go, go!

i'm blogged out for today, what with the memes and such. but tomorrow? it's all about what kt wants. yeah.

archive meme

2008-03-05T14:22:00.000-08:00

la rebelde posted this meme a while ago, and i've been trying to figure out how i would respond since. but she tagged me, i mean, really tagged ME, so here's my best attempt:

meme:
Go back through your archives and post the links to your five favorite blog posts that you've written. ... but there is a catch:

Link 1 must be about family.
Link 2 must be about friends.
Link 3 must be about yourself, who you are... what you're all about.
Link 4 must be about something you love.
Link 5 can be anything you choose.

family: i realized that i don't write about my blood family very much in this blog. not that i don't have plenty of material. but, that's another story. i do write about my chosen family a fair amount. here's a recent one: on portraits. i like it because i drew pictures. and it includes the dogs. and wonderful partner.

friends: i talk about two of my dearest friend in on procrastination. i talk about my oldest friend in on happiness.

me: codex to my rage and on cartography.

something i love: well, it's a combination of love and lust, really: on music crushes

other: this is the post that really connected me to this blog and to a lot of readers. i cried when i wrote it, and i was happy to have a forum in which to share it: dirge.

i'm tagging jenifer wofford, wonger, and ana lara.

Prof BW's meme

2008-03-05T13:21:00.000-08:00

here is a meme posted by professor black woman, soliciting info on women of color feminists.

when she wrote back to a comment i posted saying, "you know you want to, kt," i couldn't resist.

here is what she wrote:

I am asking that each of my readers point to one or more books, articles, poems, and/or key female figures of color who have discussed feminism from 1492 to the present. Please choose: one historical figure, one from 1960-70, and one from the present from the U.S. Please also choose at least one from outside of Euro-America.

1. historical figures
murasaki shikibu and sei shounagon. late heian (10-11c) writers and two of japan's best loved, known for "the tales of genji" and "pillow book." i include them as a pair because they compliment each other. they held a rivalry while they lived and to this day, many lay people passionate in literature will fall into "shikibu" and "shounagon" camps. shikibu was about narrative, nuance, and emotion. shounagon was about affect, rawness, and sex. shikibu accused shounagon of overstepping her bounds by writing in the "masculine" chinese texts. shounagon thought shikibu was a weak pansy. i include them as feminists not only because they have stood the test of time, but because they had strength and power in their own rights, during their own times. they were not coy, they were vocal. and they lived in their sexuality and were not afraid to use it. it is because of their two main texts that we know about the heian period as one full of polyamory and pansexuality. not just for men, but for shikibu and shounagon as well.

2. from 1960-70
ntozake shange, for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf: a choreopoem
audre lorde, "the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house"
mitsuye yamada, "invisibility is not a natural disaster"

3. present from the U.S.
ana lara's novel, erzulie's skirt
kia corthron's play, "cage rhythm"
kristina wong, "wong flew over the cuckoo's nest"

i could keep going, but i think that this is good for now.

introducing myself

2008-03-04T20:16:00.000-08:00

i wrangled my way into this blog. kt is so whipped! i'm here to spread rumors about her just for shits and giggles. first up: i wrote a paragraph of her creative capital grant. that's okay because i also wrote part of a paragraph in her graduate school application essay. (hee.) but that's it, honest. i haven't written any of her masters thesis. god knows, i don't have the goddess-given balls or talent to write any of her short stories. you should read them. i'd scan them in but there are copyright issues. and lesbo co-dependency stuff. did you know our lesbo couples therapist spends hours and hours telling us to stop dressing like twins? just kidding. in truth, i end up dressing a little like her -- not kt, but the girl-mo therapist. weird, huh? hey, have you checked out the blog girlfriendisahomo? it's my new find for today. i'd link to it but i'm really tired today. i stayed all up night writing kt's creative capital grant. did i mention that already?

xoxo
wp

on pink slips, creative capital

2008-03-03T22:08:00.000-08:00

so, wonderful partner said to me, "maybe you should clarify with your readers about you getting fired."

my thinking was, oh it's clear enough! but then i realized, maybe it would be helpful to disclose some of the circumstances, just so it's absolutely clear: this had nothing to do with me or my skills as an actor.

last week, one of the main cast members quit. he was one of the lynch pins. even though other folks have left the cast, their characters were usually minor. one part was written out. the other part had been played by three actors.

anyway, main cast member quit. me and another actor spoke on the phone and agreed, "this is dead in the water." i was terrified, disappointed, but a bit relieved. only the week before, i had a tense conversation with the director about rehearsal space. i vouched for the play to my mentor in order to get new rehearsal space at UT. i had been trying to write a grant for the show so that we actors would be guaranteed some sort of compensation. i had mentioned the grant at least three weeks ago. but i was frustrated because it started to become something that i was about to start running around at the last minute to finish.

i was doing a lot for the play.

but i was taken aback by my relief when main cast member quit. i realized that this project had become an albatross. it felt like i was thinking about it more than, well, more than the creator. and i began to feel as though i wasn't getting very much in return. as a cast, we were scolded. as an actor, i was undervalued.

so i started thinking, maybe i should leave. but there were multiple reasons to stay. i really enjoyed the friendships i was developing with my cast mates. i was looking forward to performing, the first time in a couple years! i was actually beginning to grasp my character. really, the only reason i wanted to leave was my relationship with the director.

so i talked with her. she initiated the meeting. i told her i was considering leaving. she tried many tactics. she told me about what other cast members had said about me when i first signed on, about how they didn't like me. she told me about specific people saying that certain of my skills weren't good enough. she was tearing me down so she could build me up with that, "but you bring a depth and sincerity to slick that no one else can do."

one thing she tried to do was guilt me into staying. she said, "if for nothing else, stay for the time and energy the other actors have put into the play." that wasn't gonna fly with me. i've stayed in projects because i didn't want to let others down and i've ended up resenting them. if i was gonna stay, it had to be for my own reasons. on my own terms. so i said, "no, if i stay for them, i will hate them. i have to stay for me." to which she said, "you haven't played many team sports, i see." how fucking condescending. i told her, "i only play team sports."

even though i had gone into the meeting wanting to negotiate ways i could stay, a lot of the conversation ended up being her gossiping--something she always discouraged us from doing. somewhere in the conversation she asked me, "so, do you know what happened between [so-and-so] and [such-and-such]?" i did actually know, so-and-so had told me herself. but something about that moment made me lie and shake my head. maybe i was trying to tell her, i don't want to know. maybe i was curious what she would say. then she said, "well, you should ask so-and-so yourself, but it was basically [a very offensive thing to say about anyone, and illegal.]" at that point, i thought, just get through this meeting. just get her to agree to be the director. just tell her, i will stay, but i am going to distance myself from everything but the acting. and i did. at the end of it, i told her, i don't wanna know. i just wanted to be an actor. not a confidant, not a problem-solver.

the meeting ended and i was ambivalent. i felt like the director had not completely heard what i was saying, but she had heard enough that when i said, "i want you to only be the director to me. so i can be an actor. to insure this, if i find myself complaining about you, i will talk to you directly," she said, "good, okay." then she said, "in return, i want you to promise me you won't leave the production." after some thought, i agreed.

that evening, i called so-and-so. she has been my confidant. she has been the person in the play who i felt closest to. i talked about the meeting. i told her about how director couldn't stop gossiping in response to all my critiques. then i told her what the director had said about her and such-and-such. so-and-so said, "what the fuck?" and we bitched a little, but concluded, "well, that's [director] for you."

the next morning, i woke to realize, "jeez, i'm already complaining about the director. is this gonna work?" i saw that i had a voice mail from her but put off listening to it because i thought it would be her asking me to do something. finally i sighed and listened to it. on it, the director just simply said, "your services as an actor are no longer needed. we're recasting the role. please cancel the rehearsal space at UT."

i was floored. i didn't understand. what? huh? wha-hah?

i called the director back, but she didn't answer. i just said, "i got your message. i'm very upset. i think it was really disrespectful of you to fire me over voice mail, especially in light of our conversation yesterday. thanks for that."

it was just plain cruel. ask someone to promise to stay just so you could fire them? offer them no explanation? what the fuck?

the day continued with a flurry of phone calls. i called a couple other folks on the cast just to say, "i've been fired. i don't know why. i want you to know i respect you and i will miss working with you." i cried. i felt deeply ashamed, but i wasn't sure of what. i was angry. i was worried that other cast members had conspired to fire me because i had second thoughts. i thought the director had found someone "better" than me to play the part.

then i got a message from so-and-so saying, "oh my god, kt. i did not think that [director] would fire you. this isn't about you. you just got caught in the crossfire. if you're mad at me, i totally understand. i wish you the best in your future endeavors."

wha? when i finally reached so-and-so, i said, "now, WHY would i be mad at YOU?" turns out, so-and-so slept on what i had told her. the next morning, she realized she was livid about what the director had said to me about her and such-and-such. bless her brave heart, she decided to confront the director about it. basically calling the director on her shit, something like, "i don't appreciate you talking about me to other members of the cast. it's my story to tell. you always criticize us for talking about you behind your back, but i think you're a hypocrite. if you want, i will tell you everything i think to your face once the production is over. i'll see you at rehearsal."

then what happened was, the director fired so-and-so right there, no discussion. and then, apparently, she called me and fired me. even after so-and-so narrated this, i told her, "again, WHY would i be mad at YOU?"

it was a bad decision on the director's part. the next day, the director informed the rest of the cast that she had fired so-and-so and myself. i don't know what planet you would have to live on not to feel threatened and angry when two of your colleagues get fired for no apparent reason. another cast member decided to quit. then another. as far as i know, only two out of eight cast members remain. it's a rapidly sinking ship.

after those two quit, i got another call from the director. i couldn't bare to talk to her. when i listened to her message, she was super conciliatory. trying to explain her way out of her actions, and finally wishing me the best on my projects. i am convinced that had i answered the phone, she would have asked me back. i would have said no.

because the director is a crazymaker. i think that is what i was trying to tell her at last week's meeting. i was trying to say, very gently and professionally, you're driving us away. you're creating drama where it doesn't belong. you're triangulating us. you're discounting our realities.

but you can't reason with a crazymaker. because they deny they are crazymakers. because nothing is their fault. i've been tempted out of pity to send her a message saying, look, [director] you should know you are a crazymaker. until you resolve your crazymaking ways, nothing you do with other self-respecting artists will come into fruition.

but i won't. even though i'm deeply saddened all that work and emotional energy has been squandered, i'm glad that i have eliminated a crazymaker from my life. to engage with her would bring her back into my life. i absolutely don't want that.

part of me wishes she reads this post and realizes she is a crazy maker. but that's all it is, wish.

i had high hopes for this production. in case it isn't obvious, we genderqueers rarely get a chance to act. there are hardly any roles for us, that's why i write my own stuff. it felt like such a good thing, for a while. a gaggle of queers acting queer and human and playing out dramas on stage rather than in life. for a short while, that is what the production was. that is what we all wanted it to be. and then, literally overnight, it crashed and burned. now, even if the play does go up, it won't be that queer ball of goodness it once was.

so, now you know. thanks for reading.

on a completely different front, i submitted my creative capital application. i've grown a little. through all this drama, i managed to preserve a little bit of myself in order to finish something that could really and truly benefit me and nurture me. i'm thankful for that.

on crazymakers

2008-03-02T16:26:00.000-08:00

in the artist's way, julia cameron spends a significant section on "crazymakers." here is what she says:

"crazymakers are those personalities that create storm centers. they are often charismatic, frequently charming, highly inventive and powerfully persuasive. and, for the creative person in their vicinity, they are enormously destructive."

in addition, she lists the following bullet point descriptors. crazymakers:
break deals and destroy schedules
expect special treatment
discount your reality
spend your time and money
triangulate those they deal with
are expert blamers
create dramas--but seldom where they belong
hate schedules--except their own
hate order
deny that they are crazymakers

she doesn't go so far as to say, "eradicate those crazymakers from your life," but rather says instead that we should ask why we still tolerate them. why we let them block our creativity.

i have spent a lot of time with crazymakers. i once tried to direct a show where half the cast were crazymakers. of course, that show never happened.

i know that i have been a crazymaker in the lives of others. i think we all have the potential to be crazymakers. but we actively choose not to be. it's an act of vigilance.

lovely, wonderful, sage-like partner has encouraged me to allow my anger toward my recent crazymaker to blossom. i am angry. but i can't let it go completely. i see the crazymaker in myself and falter. but i think i need to embrace the rage. because i've worked so hard to not be a crazymaker to others. i deserve the same courtesy.

i do. i really do.

on inappropriate laughter

2008-03-01T11:59:00.000-08:00

ahhhhhh, hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

i've been fired, y'all! from the play that i've spent many months working on. from the play that i had to get over my kissing anxiety with. from the play that i've worked very very hard to promote and act and understand!

i started crying, but then i just kept laughing. laughing and crying, crying and laughing. like the borderline crazy that i am.

the first time i really started laughing like this was when my mom died. now it's just second nature to me. uncomfortable? laugh loud. sad? laugh loud. mourning? laugh loud. livid with anger? laugh loud.

i can't even write here what all the reasons and problems were that have led to this. i'm tempted to slander a certain someone and sit back and enjoy the carnage. but there is a part of me that just can't do that.

so i laugh.

aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh! hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

you should know that only yesterday i was pressed by the producer of the show to *promise* to stay on, because i have brought "such a sincerity and depth" to my character. you should know i was considering leaving but after yesterday, i decided to stay on anew. you should know that i was fired over voicemail.

there are other details, but really, that would just be too much.

i'm an unemployed actor, y'all!

Hah. Hah. Hah.

i'm still here

2008-02-28T21:50:00.000-08:00

so, i'm stressed out. jiggling my leg impatiently as i inhale the bad cancer-causing smoke that i told myself i would quit by the time i was 30.

this is the first time i've wished i had an anonymous blog. because i'm working through a certain stress that i wish i could vent here. but i worry that someone relevant to the stress may read this blog. i doubt it, since one of the things about the relevant person(s) is that they seem very clueless to my life. but i can't risk it.

i don't have an anonymous blog. i've been tempted, once or twice. but since part of writing this blog is about putting my voice and therefore "name" out there as an artist, i've signed on to everything with my real name.

so i'm wound tight and i don't know what to do. not only is there this unbloggable stress, but there is also the creative capital "letter of intent" deadline one tuesday (3pm EST) and at least one if not two city grants due monday. and a book review. and some web stuff. haha.

lovely partner has been encouraging me to think for myself. to prioritize what is the most important and to fight for what i need. she rarely gives bad advice. this is no exception.

on other newsfronts, i'm midway through a story that is haunting me. it's another rude one that bound itself in front of other ideas in my head. spilling from my pen until i realized it would prolly be the next of my finished tales. i decided earlier this evening that i will bite the bullet and include a certain taboo that creeped into my mind a couple days ago. i'm worried it will "taint" the story. but it actually lends itself to the plot. so, we'll see.

okay. wish me luck.

i just wanted to shout out to two folks. ana l, have a good trip. i'll miss you. kw, you're beautiful. just keep performing.

on stasis and equilibrium

2008-02-24T01:08:00.000-08:00

feeling okay right now. my head isn't about to explode. part of it is that i'm tired. i should go to sleep. part of it is that i'm on autopilot. or something. found a stupid game on the internets that i won't even link to here because it will suck out your soul like it has been mine.

not quite even-keeled. but really kinda bored.

dearest readers, i have one deadline next week and two grant requests to submit by 3/3. please help me do them. i will link to them later on.

for now, i think i need a cigarette. oh yeah, blood relatives, forget that you just read that. i don't smoke. really.

blerg.

on neediness

2008-02-19T09:11:00.000-08:00

i am reaching for your hand
i am looking for your eyes
i am straining my ear to hear your voice

i know what it feels like
i know how they look
i know what you will say

because i am eating
with my senses
while i'm starving my stomach

i consume everything
all the time
voracious and not easily sated

give me give me give me
your every secret
the essence of your very soul

i want to suck your life
just so i can sustain mine
i am a vacuum

what i have is more than enough
but i want more
much, much more

i will take it from you
you won't even notice
in the tone of your voice

the sigh of your breath
the pauses between words of significance
and as you walk away

i will lick my lips
with that crazed glint in my eye
searching for the next one to consume

so, is this the answer?

2008-02-16T23:00:00.001-08:00

what seems like ages ago, i was on myspace requesting friends like crazy. one of the myspace accounts i requested was the "arundhati roy supporters." i don't know how i came across them, or why i requested them as a friend (they are, after all, merely supporters of arundhati roy and not roy herself). they took a long time to accept the request. but today they did, and as a comment, they left this quote:

"The only dream worth having is to dream that you will live while you are alive, and die only when you are dead. To love, to be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of the life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget."--Arundhati Roy

i feel like it was an answer to the entry i posted only a few hours ago.

dammit, AR, you're good.

on mistakes, starvation

2008-02-16T16:16:00.000-08:00

i'm not the most careful person. it took me a long time to realize the best way to combat this is through thorough editing. but alas, i keep reading stuff i write, over and over again, and still, i find mistakes in every single go. everything i have been doing lately has felt laced with sloppiness and imprecision.

i know, i know, i only recently wrote a post about failure. yes. yes. thanks for reminding me.

but it is unnerving. i think that part of it is my starvation. both physical and emotional. i'm still having trouble eating. i am happy to report that i did just eat a bowl of soup. but i know that my sudden reduction in caloric intake has probably taken its toll on my brain cells (i remember at a student life meeting at oberlin, the nurse practitioner stressed that anorexia can actually cause weightloss in the brain. i don't think i'm nearly that far yet, but it still bothers me). i've also been pretty starved in sleep, and in rest. getting to bed after 3am has been pretty standard in the last weeks. and then i'm not really taking the time to "stock my pond" if you use a julia cameron term .

i did take a quiet moment on wednesday to visit the altar they had set up outside resistencia to pay my respects to raulrsalinas. i had gone there to give him my energy, but i feel like i came away from it taking his. i couldn't help but hear his voice telling me--in that ever so mellow yet robust tone--to chill out and take care. raul, i'm here to say thank you. i would pray. but losing my concentration in a mix of grief and fatigue.

i've spent a bunch of paper time mocking myself. you know, writing, you're an asshole, you're a fool, what a fucking shithead you are, stuff like that. and this attitude has bled into my interaction with people around me. beloved people around me, actually. i've been mean. i've been distant. i've played strange games that make sense to no one, including myself.

it's a spiral, this. because after i posted that note about raul a couple days ago, i had resolved anew that i would live. not just live, but live long and fat. i would be like my uncle, that 85 year-old codger chain smoking and handing out pithy advice. i would be the one who people would look to for survival skills. i will be the one to live and live and live and show people that you can be colored and queer and strange and creative and you don't have to die before your time is due. you don't have to be sick, you don't have to always be living on the edge of survival. i would make it look easy, so no one could question my existence. and i would laugh and laugh and laugh, even when it was sad. laugh long and hard enough that no one around me could help but laugh along.

i resolved this but two days ago. and now? i want the darkness to envelope me and comfort me. i want to find a hole in the ground just cold enough that i will begin to shiver. i want life to run away from me, so fast that i can't help but let it go.

so i go back and forth. despair. then i berate myself for my despair. i see kristina wong's show and i'm inspired. but then i go home and create problems in my head. all alone, just drama after drama unfolding into the blackbox that is my brain. i write and write, here in the blog and in my self-hating journal. but my stories have been untouched and they call out--grotesque and demanding. my mom visits and looks at me sympathetically, but she knows she can't quite stand me up. and i take her visits not as the loving omens that they are, but as some type of guilt trip--you should be working on the opera. she would never say that. she would never think it. she would just say, you're doing your best, ke-to. that's all you can do.

mistakes, kt, mistakes. i know i need to nourish myself. my body, my mind, my soul. but what do you do when the patient refuses to heal. when all she has to do is take the pill and swallow, but she won't even open her mouth?

i want to open. i want to take it. i just don't know how.

on our people dying

2008-02-13T12:11:00.000-08:00

so it goes, yet another beautiful person of color is gone. raulrsalinas has passed.

i only had a couple of conversations with him. but each word was laced with a fierce warmth that would both unset and console me at the same time. didn't know him nearly as well as i would have liked. but then again, i have never known anyone as well as i would have liked; i often realize this after they are gone.

and so that bespectacled, pony-tailed, poetry speaking man who showed up, invited people to show up, who brought so many together, thousands and thousands of people together...

i wish. i wish. i wish.

old enough to have been an elder, but a bit too young to move on.

i know he wouldn't want me to be angry, not on his account. maybe on account of everything else, or the context... but i am. because i'm sick of losing amazing people of color--artists, community builders, nurturers--far too early. far too early. i'm angry at death. i'm angry at disease. and i'm angry at what it is that takes them.

sharon and ana have also written about him, with words so powerful and consoling.

go in peace, Tatooed Teacher, Mentor of Many.
but dammit, you will be missed.

on portraits

2008-02-11T22:31:00.000-08:00

ever stay up late at night, talking with your bedmate, and then you realize the silliest things...

lovely partner and i were up late one night insulting our dogs. lovingly, of course. mila was a tiny little puppy when we got her. but she had big paws. we've always called her "man-hands." and then there was the name her breeder gave her, "smudge," which we liked, but couldn't quite adopt as our own name for her. shota also has a name his breeder gave him, "pinstripe." we refer to this as his slave name (since his breeder did engage in some....dodgy...uh....practices).

we realized that we could all have various nicknames.

we also realized that we haven't taken any family portraits since mila arrived. so i thought i would draw them.

the image above is us with our "mob" names--based on our faces. from the left: shota, mila, kt, lovely partner.

this left image is obviously about hair. i suppose this would be our bloodhound gang personas. or something like that. although, could be mob-ish, too.

and then there's this right image. it's more about our bodies. poor shota. he's been having this eating problem for over a year now. he gained a lot of weight back recently, but when he's thin, it's pretty sad. you know, whippets being naturally prone to thinness. and, if you haven't guessed, he's tan. and, since i did post a whole entry on my cup size, i hope you can infer correctly which one of us "boobs" is.

on comments

2008-02-09T21:39:00.000-08:00

just a quick note letting everyone know that you no longer need to sign up for blogger to post comments. i apologize for not addressing this problem sooner. i was, in fact, ignorant that this was the default setting. now you can comment to your heart's content, with or without a blogger account! so, comment away!
kt

123 meme

2008-02-09T14:38:00.000-08:00

la rebelde tagged all her readers with the following meme. since i've been itching to be tagged by someone, i took it personally.

here it is:
Pick up the closest book of 123 pages or more (no cheating!)
Find page 123
Find the first five sentences
Post the next three sentences

these are my three sentences:
"I wake at first light, even if I have blacked out every window in the room, no matter how late I got to bed the night before. It is as if I had slept myself out, used up that talent in that long terrible dragged-out yhear, and now I'm doomed to come awake early every morning, suddenly, completely, my heart pounding in my ears as if someone were screaming in the next room. [para break] 'It's your circadian rhythm,'Anna told me."

the passage is from dorothy allison's trash. i've been reading this book a helluva lot slower than i want to. mostly because the time before sleep is a bit more, uh, unpredictable than usual as of late. every time i open the book, i jump in and want to be drenched, but usually i have to emerge sooner than i would like. my reading has taken a toll in the last couple weeks or so. whereas i used to devour, i now mostly nibble. but there is something about this particular book that is so immediate and gripping for me. i think it's because it is allison before she became established, before the benchmark bastard or the breathtaking cavedweller. the writing is raw, unslick, and not nearly as virtuosic. and that is what is so compelling for me.

there's been a lot going around in the blogs i read about "failure." profacero and prof black woman among others. it's funny because i had only realized recently--while i was writing the MAP grant--that ideas of "failure" have been a part of my creative aesthetic for a very long time. of course, the other thing about these posts on failure is (at least with the academics) they will often reference judith halberstam's scholarship on queerness and failure. this is where i'm very happy i am not longer in academia because i don't feel obliged to analyze or block quote halberstam. (besides, prof bw does a good job of that anyway.)

and, i do take issue with some of halberstam's argument. something i discussed with her at length about two years ago when i met her. but in this creative moment, it does give me pause. i always thought i was steeped in failure (or imperfections) because i wasn't rigorous enough, or i was lazy. but i have come to realize that some of my most rigorous work is predicated on inevitable failure (my female body enacting icons of masculinity, obsession with "almost" unison notes, etc.). perfection in flaw. success in failure.

if halberstam's argument about queerness and failure is really true, does it mean that my aesthetic is that deeply rooted in my queerness? am i "hardwired" for failure? would my parallel universe straight kt twin be slick as slick can be? this reminds me of another theory i discussed at length in college that said that queerness is performance, and all performance is inherently queer. part of me shakes my head, and then part of me nods emphatically.

reading allison has brought me back to this. she is such a stunning writer. she creates intricate and nuanced sentences with deceptively simple words and prose. clear yet precise. and just beautiful. yet, especially in trash, there are moments of rupture. little specks of ugly mixed into the beauty. and i love those moments, even though i can actually feel allison trying to will those moments out of her writing. she eventually succeeds; it shows later on in cavedweller, where the language is so smooth and polished, it's butter.

anyway, thanks for the tag, la rebelde. i'm tagging everyone who wants to do this meme. it's fun, ya know?

on quantity

2008-02-08T23:02:00.000-08:00

whatever people tell you, becoming a good artist is really about quantity.

no, hear me out.

in the artist's way, julia cameron talks about creating as an act of working through block. her two pillars of the artist's way focus on morning pages and the artist's date. morning pages start everything. the idea is, you let yourself write three pages of anything--ramblings, recipes, lists, or just plain unadulterated crapola. (the artist's date serves a different purpose, and one day, i will explore it here again.)

the artist's way has helped me a lot over the past year and a half, even though i have only gotten through the first five chapters. but that's okay.

because i've been "making."

the thing is, the difference between a working artist and a weekend artist is that the working artist knows and accepts that she will make crap. and lots of it. lots and lots of crap. and somehow, we decide to let the crap spew forth and then we cull and sort and sift to come up with "projects," to come up with "pieces." because in actuality, everyone, EVERYONE has the ability to create a masterpiece--so long as the stars line up. the difference is the working artist is continuously upping our chances and hedging our bets. the more we make, the more likely we can find that nugget of genius trapped in some dark corner of our cerebellum.

i see rigor, practice and craft not as a continuous search for my inner masterpiece, but rather a means to make my less masterful things more palatable. because "practice" and "craft" are just code words for, "i've worked really hard at this thing so that when i make crap, it seems more acceptable than the crap i made before i started working really hard at it."

in college, i once asked Mentor (who i will dedicate an entire entry to, i promise) whether i should continue editing a piece or move on. he said, at your age, just move on. write as much as possible. i followed his advice and for that winter term, i wrote one melody a day and kept a journal about it. almost all of those melodies were crap. i mean, super poor. but there was that one melody, i'm sure it was only 12 bars that came back from Mentor with the word "nice" written in red right next to it. and now, i know that even in my worst moments, i can write a decent, solid melody.

so i've been trying to concentrate on this "quantity" aspect of creating. it's a good exercise, because i have been known to be perfectionist to the point of paralysis. in fact, taking a page from cameron, i have a large piece of paper on my office wall that says, "dear god, i'll take care of the quantity, you take care of the quality." yes, a bit hokey, but something that i need.

i realized this evening that it's been a while since i've written my morning pages. but i'm okay with that. because thanks to this blog (and the myspace mistress), i've been writing pretty much everyday since the new year. and i see how that practice has seeped into my language, both written and spoken. it's tighter, it's smarter, it's closer to what i imagine in my head.

but of course, as the smart ones of you might have surmised, this means that the blog is my crap. yes, it is. and i thank you very much for reading my crap. or perhaps, i thank blogger for allowing me a venue to make things that i THINK people will read. it's really the same diff to me (although i admit that it strokes my ego oh so nicely when folk post comments).

here's to pure, unadulterated crap! long live arts and crap!

r.i.p. my ipod/natural disasters

2008-02-07T16:22:00.000-08:00

i believe it has died. it was a hand-me-down from wonderful partner. it's at least four years old, if not five. so, as electronics go these days, we've had a good run.

but i am distraught. being that singing along to ipod has been one of my ways to convince myself i'm not steeped in mania or depression. i never even got a chance to name her. poor ipod. now you will be a very expensive paper weight.

as a stop gap, i have dug up my old discman. listening to cds in their entirety is so very different. SOOOOO different. my "shuffle" mind gets a little confused when the same voice comes on, yet again! i think, wait a second, my computer isn't "random!" oh, yeah.

i was tempted to set up a fund on here to beg for money to buy a new ipod. like a mental health thing. "gimme money so i don't go crazy listening to my thoughts!" but i can't do that in good conscience. i will endure with my out-moded technology for my car travels. it's okay. i'm okay!

i will be fine. so, instead of giving me money for my ipod, i thought, hell, peeps should shell out to help all those folks who have been hit by those damn tornadoes. (this post now takes a different turn.) i once lived through a tornado. it tempered my fear a bit. but ever since i was a child and up to this day, tornadoes are the most terrifying natural disaster to me. and i used to live in super-duper earthquake country. i watched kobe burn in 1995. still, tornadoes are the scariest.

i wish i could be a well-informed blogger and have info here to tell you where to put yer money. i don't, just yet. i do want to link to professor blackwoman's post on the matter. if i can find out a local somewhat obscure yet awesome org, i promise to post it here. (if you know of such orgs, please post in comment.) but for now, i've sent a meager, meager amount to the red cross. you can, too.

just wanted to finally note: this is too many huge natural disasters in too few years.
in my logical mind, there are three possible reasons for this: coincidence, armageddon, and global warming. i've ruled out coincidence because, it's just really too much. and i'm not a christian, and even if i were, i'd be the kind that didn't believe in hell or blanket events full of wrath and judgement. so that rules out armageddon. so, global warming (and i use that instead of the stupid term, "climate change"--"climate crisis" is okay, tho'). hot enough?

and that makes me think about how i was listening to japanese news today at the store and they had very robust coverage of the storm/tornado damage. just as much, if not more/better than our own media. and then theres that solipsist dipshit in the whitehouse who has watched this happen. fucker. i wrote a few weeks back that i love america. that's what makes it hurt so much when i hate it like i do now.

i wish ipod was still alive, so i could sing yuka honda's "god bless america" really loud.

"in this pile-of-waste-filled land."

arts stuff

2008-02-05T18:21:00.000-08:00

it's super-fat tuesday, but we here in texas aren't voting, so. i'm taking a cue from wofflings and sharing this link. the dumb-ass monkey in the white house is proposing massive budget cuts in the arts (except for museums), including arts education (which is actually being eliminated), nea, neh and public tv and radio. look at woff's post for a good analysis. arts funding has been eroding for decades now. we artists feel it. and one day, all the visionary artists will suddenly realize that this country hates us, and we will stage a mass exodus to anywhere else--australia, japan, belize. that will be the day art dies in america. it would be nice to prevent this. please write stuff to your congress people.
tenks,
kt