What did she want to be when she grew up? Not this. She plucks a gray hair from her pubis. Compares her legs to other legs, longer, leaner varieties. The lady on the cover of the art catalog looks firm and impressionable. She’s only interesting once, after the right hand is shaken. What have you been doing lately? Grilling chicken, bedtime routines, scouring mold from the bathroom drain. Pushups on knees. They say days pile up onto other days. They begin to go faster and faster. But she thinks, days, if they are filled properly, if they contain vivid color, wild sound and nuanced flavor, they will obliterate the illusion of slow-or-fast time. She’s working on this. Today she will go into the office and observe it like a performance. Cubicles and vacuum sealed lunches in the refrigerator. Meetings about meetings about meetings. False smiles. The disappointment of summer’s sun bidding us all farewell. Talk of rain to come. She considers answering questions about weekend plans using the horn of a narwhal. The flop of blubber on the Pacific coastline. The hollow ring of gargantuan bones. We didn’t fuck this weekend, but I did sniff packs of wild humans in malls. Her new favorite pastime. There isn’t a need to share. Or is there? Trees share sound. Psithurism. Trees drop leaves. Abscission. It’s not happening, she says to herself as she sees the greening of the leaves still affixed to their branches. When they fall will they still consider the branches theirs? The Korean future teller holds her head in her hands. You think very much. Maybe you can soften these thoughts a bit. Cotton candy and clouds, memory foam, rabid froth. She used to write letters to a long ago lover, but now they are buried inside a machine she no longer has access to. Watch what you say. Endings can happen faster than beginnings. The spirit lady sends her an email with hearts and prayer hand emoticons and she can’t help but think the spirit lady is concerned about her well being. So she drives with added space between herself and other cars and opens her eyes like she’s underwater on the lookout for predators.
Last night's Dreaming Dirt was a tremendous success. A perfect balance of words, images, body, motion, sound, humor, noise, heart and absurdity. Mary Edwards opened up with a virtual performance of her song Time and I . Stevyn Llewellyn made some rather beautiful discordance as microscopic details of waves and blooming flowers flickered behind. Gabriel Liston did live sketches (see below) of both the audience and the performers while sitting in a chair at the corner of the stage. Juliet Gagnon read a stunning prose piece all the way from Eindhoven. Lindsey Allgood considered feminine intimacy with the squeeze-pop of balloons and hand painted eggs. Shane Paulson screened an autobiographical animated video/sound work. Arielle Adkin discussed a new work in process in relation to post-breakup dreams. Stephanie Lavon Trotter looped and weaved operatic vocals through microphones and distortion pedals. Jay Ponteri read from Robert Walser, Mary Ruefle and Jay Ponteri. Gary Wiseman and Hannah Mickunas harmonized with a makeshift capo, eyes closed. Justin Oswald lubed up his body with lotion then climbed in and then out of a giant balloon. Jason Hughes went acoustic with a beautifully quiet folk/pop tune. My co-host, Stephanie Brachmann read two hilarious flash fiction pieces. And my wife, Felicity Fenton with the help of several whirling vacuums, read a list poem about dust.