Back in action!

Two months after my truck was burgled next to the Laurelhurst Theater, I have finally received my replacement laptop. ¬†I’m re-establishing command central on what turns out to be a slightly better laptop. ¬†Finally insurance did some paying out.

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Holy Shit! I’m fucking done.

It’s the end of an age for me. I was awarded my Masters degree today after my thesis defense. It was funny that it offered few insights for improvisers, but it was the bomb for anthropologists and a few people from other disciplines. I’ve forgotten how much improvisers take what they do and know for granted.

One of my thesis committee, who was assigned as an outside observer to insure this was above the boards, asked me where he could see long-form in Portland after my defense.  Another convert to the cause.

What now? That’s the real question. School has been my life for the past 7 years. Back to work to pay off the $65k in education debt. <sigh>

Old Poetry

The Forge
And in it’s dreams
It heard a roar
A bellows beckoning
The roar of a forge
And when at dawn
It did awake
It saw the sea
The sea forging stone.

Its full of stars
Looking upward
Seeing sky awash
With stars
Awe and possibility
Dancing in the blackness
Between scattered sparkles
Then eyes drop
Back to earth
A gaze across
Still waters
There again
A depth of stars
The reflection deepens
Something hints
What is without
Also within

Whisper
Something should be said
For the sensual qualities
Of a whisper.
A delicate breath of air
Like a shiver,
The passage of petals
On a breeze
Between lips.
The loam of body
Dedicating itself to the scene.
A movement behind
The eyes,
Leading to a softer place.
Where the realms
Of flesh
And Dream
Entwine.

Here comes the thesis.

After about 5+ months of writing work, I’m fast approaching a submittable edit of my thesis. If anyone is interested in reading an anthropological study focused on looking at the social effects of long-form improvised theater, shout out. It would be nice to get some feedback from folks. It’s 95 pages long, but it documents the ups and downs of two different groups in Rochester NY as well as the thoughts of their audiences on the long form shows.

I’m hoping to be defending this work in a few weeks. Cross your fingers for me.

Enough Winter already

I’m frustrated with my thesis proposal.  It’s pissing down rain, and I’ve reached this feeling of general malaise.  I need a sunny day where I can lay on the grass in a park, listen to the breeze and nap lazily.  If anyone can arrange that for me, you’ll be my hero.

Rochester

Everyone I’ve asked as to what there is to do in Rochester has answered “not much”.  OMFG, and I’m thinking about spending 4 months here doing my fieldwork.  Although, that part has proved interesting.  There’s a dynamic here that is an echo of the friction between CSz and the Brody in the early days.  It’s an interesting conflict that centers on smaller fledgling theaters sniping at the improv giant in town. 

Why can’t they all just accept that ‘resistance is futile’ and ‘their perfection will be added to a greater whole’?  Oops, did I just reference the borg?  So sorry, my implant is a little buggy these days.

Suffering

I’m in the midst of a life lesson on suffering and attachments.  I like to think of myself as someone who seeks to reduce the suffering in others, but I’m sorely lacking sometimes in dealing with my own suffering.  I’m also recognizing that I also act to increase the suffering of others when they threaten my sense of attachment.  Then I look at the losses of others, and I think that I can’t hold a candle to that.

The suffering comes from the space where something once was.  It is the breaking of a circuit, a shifting of a neuron, a loss, a change.  My heart feels heavy, and there is no relief.  It comes, it goes.  Over the past couple of days, I have laughed with friends and stolen away quietly to cry in solitude.  It is when I am alone that it is the hardest because being alone again was how this ball got rolling.

Time heals things.  Hurry up, time.