2019

((a little late in posting))

2019 in all its fumbling beauty. to moving you in to your new place, the aisles of target, the tumbling new objects up new stairs; the excitement of new carpet and a room that is yours. winter discoveries in big tan chairs; snuggles and laughter – we giggled at Matilda at the walnut street theatre; Aida, the cold chasing us up river rd to lambertville, Karl, singing in the car, false eyelashes, black wig, warm dancing feet — super bowl party in Manhattan stumbling out of a shower; 12 seconds to judgment at the arden and fabulous hot dogs; valentines day in philly in a dusty little comedy show ; to austin and roaming about, vegan ice cream cones and sunsets on the water while the bats nestle under the bridge; chasing buses and mapping uphill new city names;; march and the world beginning to unfurl slowly, slowly — key west and this bikeride i took across the island while the sun dipped under the horizon – when i chased it to try to find where the moon was hiding the stars; when i pulled myself out onto a dock deep into the water and watched midnight blue all around me settle onto the dust of the oceantop — open call equity auditions — my first extra work – marvelous mrs. maisel and the deuce, early morning crack of dawn arising; the pancake of makeup, the curl and rush of hair and costume, creation and waiting, huge spinning lights and wheeling cameras — our silly little lawyer commercial, on a cold day in the middle of nowhere: discovering jim thorpe on a magical st. patrick’s day festive day, the glow of a fire outside a beautiful set of buildings pulling themselves out of a mountainside matthew’s 21st birthday and our bareburger + bar extravaganza; rehearsing for judas iscariot and pure medea at the same time – flying my way to philly and back to the little shed at the edge of the delaware river back and forth as the sun peeled the earth back into spring; and the drop, the shock of Benny April 8th — the way the world spun on its head in the middle of the magic gardens and i could feel all the creation around me reflecting some sorrow i didn’t know how to digest yet – your funeral doused in music and covered in photos, laughter, tears; the tears, the endless tears that seemed to go on and on past the human body’s ability to make them // judas iscariot and the layers of beautiful planks that formed the beautiful set we all dressed ourselves with ; the words, the rich words, the beautiful people, the aching creation ;; the end of game of thrones and writing and writing endlessly;; pure medea and the rough-hewn brick room that housed our words, all our beautiful rehearsal spaces carved out of this precious city, the hollowing back of my projected monologues, the love of dancing in the street while you sang falling slowly to me, and i twirled around in a purple dress and a bow in my hair on my birthday – you gathered up the reasons you loved me and wrote them down for me; we laughed playing corn hole in old city – we danced on cinco de mayo in a fabulous whirlwind of mirrors and philly frills (we danced always); on father’s day too, in a little bundle of stones in the city and tossed our father stories into the wind; i flooded myself back to the city, in hot upstairs rehearsal rooms and in a tiny little blackbox in Mayfair – All This Intimacy – a helmet strapped to my belly to form a pregnant belly, thai food in the rain, and barcade + garage and celebration ; jamie turning 5 in a pirate party [hot tub laughter and secret hitler late in to the night] Bloody Bloody and friendship; laughter and cardgames and sleeping on haybales in a huge, hot barn; the july air wakening us in the morning to come to life – to sing, to dance, to pound our hearts into a stage we built, and unbuilt. to Church + State – our magical commercial, stuffing amazing meats into our mouths, dripping with sweat and tasting the view of bucks county from atop an old tower; to san diego, racing through dry hillsides, telling my dad to stop working over hard kombucha in a bar in ocean beach, to brother dan, to sunsets and shaking lemons from a lemon tree; to august warmth wrapped me like a pair of solid hands – langhorne players dancing around us, the old firmaments too solid to be shaken when you climbed inside the doorway that could barely fit you – the stonework and wood gone moldy still holding our laughter in, our good work, our good efforts and listening – the cohesion of us 4. to Photography. new work and scary work – facing fears, getting comfortable, playing the part until i was the part – of photographer, ready to create, ready to face any task. finding the light, finding myself in the strangest of circumstances – rising to them. finding myself unsure and answering the question for myself. finding myself delivering on promises, building myself up; taking risks, working hard, carving out my own career by myself — to vermont – skating up through the mountains, surprising casey with love, laughing in the rain with boxes full of vermont cider, giggling down the state to woodstock – to vegan ice cream cones and sweet bowls of noodles, wander feet and gushing streams over exposed roots, tumbling back home towards the sunset – no one needing us anywhere but the road — to september, moulin rouge and jeremy’s wedding, to jamie beginning school – a soft september walk up to the new yellow school bus, all new, so new ; to september rolling forwards like a bad dream, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and the amazing friendship of Matt, the blessed words i got to speak, the great work we got to do, the wonderful play we got to engage in, indian food and a room in the newtown methodist church, the beautiful newtown theatre opening up like a woven tapestry of wood and new memories — my phone getting stolen out of my bag, the emotional wave of fire and ice – the capsized boat – the turntable of reality — the words i got to wish out of my mouth – the head and the heart, nahko, the rennaissance faire, halloween come clean and glowing for me , tunneling down some lambertville street, laden in costume and taffy sweet jamie smiles — november come like a swarm of bees – tia’s party in all the glistening gold, Cabaret and this new set of souls to swim with ; old friends and new friends and new pants and laughter and strange ramblings through hun school gamblings – thanksgiving rattling down to pittsburgh, my brother and i singing songs all the way down the turnpike and back; to december, red hair, rolling wishes, dear evan hansen and jagged little pill and laughing fever-dreamed sleepovers, half-baked christmas cookies and josh over for christmas day; laughing and games and something framed by the word family, cold, hobbling and wind whipped searches for a tiny house; new year’s eve back in your arms, laughing all the while


but who knows your soul like i do and who writes fire like i do / whose eyes see the magic in you and the magic in me and how our minds touch just so – how our bodies line up just so – the way ours do when we press into each other in the midnight light — because ours do; ours do

nashville, tn

Nashville rotary, motor, hull-mumble guitar pick-stumble — rattle shack cold and flecks of Tennessee snow through the slits in the neon lights — the river pulling up to bridge light, now ancient swing pulling the future towards the endless sound of music,, now the music pulling is towards the endless sound of the south pointing north by northwest ; now a sequence of hipster gold leafed, fine calligraphy, bulbed, flecked, rusted wood ornamentation – now floating , now rushing , now playing an old song through a new bedazzled vision – crushed red brick and the manufacture of sound, a commodity sandwiched between magic and craft beer — now the reverberation of applause stretches it’s tinny sound towards the reflection of the sky ; turned butter grey with January smile,, now I hunker towards the isolation of freedom – i grasp it with both hands – and pull. And listen

when the sky turned black

rapture fire wrapping up a continent in the consequence of constant careening away into carelessness — the charred fragments of millions of years, the indecency of the sky to relent; the tumult of gum trees ; and silent afternoon sounds i still remember, the hum of insect choirs bouncing across the land – the sun a little more golden, a little more holy than anywhere else;; the air a little more clean, a little more rich with sensation than anywhere else — a country that still calls to me in my deepest dreams, some songline screaming out — some prophet, some shaman of aboriginal dreamtime singing this is what you always had coming, when you turn your back on what is holding up your feet;; when you rip the ancient names away from the hillsides, when you tear the ancient knowledge from where it is hiding – in the cracks in the dry soil, in the windswept tumble clouds of dust that swell over the plains – when you plummet into the soil to suck what magma has turned fossils of old magic into your profit ; when you tear through the great barrier reef with ships that slice through coral like so much flesh being peeled — when the conquerers conquer nothing but stolen forgetting / when catastrophe rings like a thunderclap ringing back – no lightning here, but enough smoke to smell who lit the fire in the first place ;; no names for these forests anymore, the ancient or the new ones – now they blend into the night sky, all ash and charred root systems gone silent, no longer speaking, no longer singing the songlines through the continent — where are the songs now — do they travel as deep as the fossil fuels? baked in to the crust – are the songlines safe? can the singing be heard? is it escaped now – pluming up into the great cloud of smoke (the size of europe) — reaching its filthy hand towards the southern cross? caught red-handed, caught black handed – wretching towards the ones who stuffed a pipe into the songlines’ ancient throat, until it gagged, burst up singing flame — and sang until the song ran dry and the sky turned black – the notes drifting back into space like so many stolen stars returning home