mirror me

what follows is a complete fabrication. from any way you look at it. but it was fun to write from both sides.

I was sitting in my favorite spot at the coffee shop, (you know, the one, right near my house) which is the seat at the table right in the window, which is perfect for people watching. You can watch everyone who comes in, you've got a good view of the kids behind the counter, and you can even peek out the window at the bus stop right in front. Anyway, I was sitting there, drinking coffee and reading a book—or more accurately, staring out into the rain with a book on the table in front of me—when I noticed this kid walk up to the bus stop. Well, not a child, a young adult. A cute boy, in fact, which is what made me notice him. He had on grey tennis shoes, blue jeans, a black shirt under a grey hoodie under a blue jacket, and a black messenger bag all of which seemed to be getting pretty well soaked. The hood was up but his dark bangs were still wet enough to drip onto his pale cheekbone. His hands were deep in his jacket pockets and, shoulders hunched, he looked pretty miserable out there in the wet day.
He joined the small group of people standing in different attitudes of waiting, looked with kind eyes and a tiny half-smile at the lady nearest him, then backed up when her man kinda got in his face, leaning in and putting his arm around her, not so much in a marking territory sort of way, but more as if protecting her from something distasteful. I found myself frowning at this treatment, now too invested in random strangers to go back to my book.
I watched him check his phone as if it were a pocket watch, wiping the raindrops from his eyebrows, his starry eyelashes shadowing the tops of his cheeks. I averted my eyes as he turned towards the door and came into the shop, presumably to keep dry and avail himself of the bus tracker display screen mounted on the wall above the coffee grinder (This bit of technological brilliance was something I was excited to use as the winter progressed). He stepped up to the counter about 15 feet away from me and ordered a coffee to go. His voice was a husky tenor though it sounded like he favored the low end of his range, maybe in order to seem older. He looked like a student, though was almost certainly of drinking age. Maybe a grad student. I wondered if he was a TA and had a hard time maintaining authority.
His features were fine (like a pen with a fine tip), not to the point of delicate, but bordering on pretty. He had a straggly mustache and a congregation of hairs on his chin that were not quite the beginnings of a beard, as young, not particularly hairy, men sometimes do. His face was devoid of baby fat, but still had that 'fresh faced youth' thing going for it. His hands were long but not broad, showing strength without muscle, and stayed active without appearing fidgety. When he pushed his hood back I was somewhat shocked to see his hair was already greying.
“what's with the throwback jams? Every time I'm in here this week you are playing old-school stuff. Yesterday you played some Phish, today, it's OK Computer. Reminds me of college...” he addressed the shrugging barista as he received his cup.
“you are so not that old!” It came out of my mouth before I had time to stop it shut.
He looked over at me, startled, with a broadening lopsided grin. “thirty-three last week.”
“shut the front door!” I probably looked as shocked as I felt cuz he chuckled as I shut my mouth. I opened it again to say, “I would have guessed about ten years younger.”
“yeah, standard. My theory is that will happen to me until I go truly grey, which will be in just a couple years. Then everyone will guess ten years older.” he shook his head in a resigned but amused way.
“but how do you do it?” I wondered aloud.
“do it? I don't do anything. I just am. It's what you see that does it.” while speaking that pretty boy's entire face broke into the most radiant smile, white teeth showing, rosy cheek apples making crescent moons out of twinkling, laughing eyes. Her merriment was plainly beautiful and my flustered wonder was trumped by the contagiousness of it. I smiled back and laughed. Mostly at myself. We just looked at each other for a moment, then I received a subtle and, I must say, somewhat flirtatious wink as the damp hood was pulled back into place. And then a quick checking of the bus tracker one last time and a mumbled, “have a nice day” before the door opened to let out this random stranger and let in the cool damp outside air. As it hit my face I realized I was blushing.

half way point pep talk/exerpt

so, my absence here has not been a particularly conspicuous silence, but definitely a productive one. i managed to travel for 7 days and only get behind 3 (hoping to do 5000 words in one day to catch up, cross your fingers for me). i also managed to complicate my own emotional life enough to serve as a distraction from the emotional lives of my characters (something i had been eschewing tremendously well for a couple months now) .
however, i also have actually finished the first act. that's a big hurdle cuz there was a lot of backstory to get through. robin is eloquent, but long-winded, especially when talking about his favorite subject, henry. (but yeah, halfway = the month, not the book. i'm afraid i'm not even a third of the way thru the book...)
now comes the challenge of writing emails and blog posts and interviews and descriptions of film from other character's points of view. also, of trying to get inside sophie's (ophelia's) head. she is enough like me when i'm not doing well that i'm not actually excited to delve into her depths (oh pisces) and robin is even less excited than i am. but it's necessary. sophie is a weird lynch pin in the workings of the destruction machine that rolls over everyone at the end of the story. oh, sophie, your story is so painful, so full of that early-twenties-lost feeling, so immediate in it's love and want. writing you is the definition of going for the jugular, and i'm not actually ready for that yet.
but i can't just not write, or write slowly till i'm ready to deal with her. in fact, i have to write faster than before in order to catch up. i think this means it's time to start writing out of order on whatever scene or character strikes me at whatever moment. the idea of writing a book from start to finish is a foolish one. the point is getting the words down.
but if i'm not careful i'll just get words down about stuff that isn't the vital innards of the thing. the kind of words that immediately get cut in the second draft, the kind robin writes about things as opposed to the actual things themselves. some of that is good, cuz it shows you where he was and where he is now, but too much, and there is no story left.
it's time to remind myself of the quote i started this month of with:

"Go for the jugular. If something scary comes up, go for it. That's where the energy is. Otherwise, you'll spend all your time writing around whatever makes you nervous. It will probably be abstract, bland writing because you're avoiding the truth. Hemingway said, "Write hard and clear about what hurts." Don't avoid it. It has all the energy. Don't worry, no one ever died of it. You might cry or laugh, but not die." --natalie goldberg

sophie is waiting for me, jugular bared. i have to muster the courage to slice her open and climb inside. wish me luck.



enough of me ranting about my writing. here is an excerpt from the book, it's the scene where Henry gives a eulogy for his father at his funeral:

“Dad used to always ask me, 'do you see it?' we could be walking down the railroad tracks with nothing but cornstalks in our view, or driving in the car on the way home from the grocery store, or sitting in the editing booth loading some film, or he could be tucking me in at night, my eyes already closed. Once he even asked me right after we had a fight over my curfew.

“for the longest time I didn't know what he meant, but he was so involved in seeing it himself I didn't feel like I could ask. I just said 'yes' and tried really hard to see whatever the 'it' might be. His response was always, 'yeah, me too.' and we would sit quietly for a moment. When I was little I thought he meant a different physical thing every time. Then for a while there, I thought he meant God. I went through a phase in jr. high where I thought he was pulling my leg and didn't mean anything at all. I used to say 'no' then, just to rile him. He would just reply, 'that's okay, just tell me when you do.'

“it took me until halfway thru high school to have any idea of what he was talking about. I'd finally gotten my own super 8 camera and was still messing around with how it worked and how to get it to do what I wanted, and I was filming dad and uncle clay playing basketball. Horse, actually. I was gonna just film the shots they took, one after the other and then edit them down really tight to show how each went about the same shot differently. I was really into this idea and was keeping careful watch on the footage meter, trying to get as many shots on a roll as possible. And then, while clay was lining up to take his shot, and I was lining up my own, looking through the eyepiece and fiddling with the focus, I saw a big cluster of cottonwood fluff floating in a sunbeam in the foreground. I thought I could be really fancy and start the shot focused on it, then shift to clay just as he let go of the ball. So I started rolling on the fluff and was about to shift focus when dad walked into the frame, reached out his hand, and scooped the fluff out of the air. If there was sound on super 8 you would be able to hear my exasperated sigh. But I didn't stop rolling, just stepped to the side so I could still see clay in the background, even if he was fuzzy. The shot was complex and he made it, turning around triumphantly to dad, who was still focused on the fluff in his hand. Clay came over, into focus, and put his hand on dad's shoulder, checking his face to see why his head was bowed. If you look closely you can see clay mouth the words, 'you okay, georgie?' dad broke his concentration and looked up, his eyes clearing, his face opening into a smile and saying 'yeah, look.' clay looked down at his hand, then grinned at dad who held it out and said, 'happy birthday.” clay's grin broke into a huge, warm, indulgent smile, and he leaned in and gently blew the fluff off dad's palm into the air. They watched it for a second as clay's hand on dad's shoulder squeezed him into a sideways hug, then he handed the basketball over and said, 'your turn. Come on.'

“i'd gotten so caught up in watching them, I almost forgot I was filming. I let go the trigger to check the footage just before dad missed clay's shot, thereby ruining my intended project. The next night, dad and I reviewed the now developed film together. as we got to this scene he said, 'oh my god, hal, you saw it too!' I said, 'what, the fluff?' and he said, 'no, hon. The moment. That pure, true moment. Look at it, it's beautiful.' his eyes were shining at me, proud as i've ever seen them. He rewound the film to watch it again. I watched him watch the screen, trying to decide which moment he meant. When it was over, he hugged me and said, 'it's perfect, son. Well done.'

“throughout my college career working in film i've had a lot of theories about that scene and what he saw in it. I've seen many things in it myself and have sought to bring them out in my work over and over. But today I think I get what he meant that night, as well as all those times throughout my life. See the thing is, the 'it' he spoke of doesn't exist outside of the question he asked. Asking someone, 'do you see it' is like showing them a piece of fluff you found. It's asking them to take the time to enter the world you inhabit for a moment, to see with your eyes, to share a vision. If you ask it in the right way, or at the right time, you are rewarded by their willingness to join you, just as clay was when he let go of the game of horse long enough to share a moment with dad. It had nothing to do with the fluff. The 'it' was the moment when dad held out his hand and clay smiled and played along with him. And that generosity of spirit, that willingness to share something, that saying, 'yes, I see it', 'yes, i'm right here with you', that's love. love at its most powerful because it's felt by two people at the same time for each other. that's what I unknowingly captured on film that bright june day.

“and that's what dad was telling me every time he asked me, 'do you see it'. He was saying, 'I love you. please share this love with me'. And looking back, i'm so grateful that whether i was conscious of it or not, every time I answered 'yes' and even most of the times I answered 'no', I was right there with him, sharing the moment, and saying 'I love you' back.

“if you watch George Dean's films, you will notice these moments all throughout them. Film is the best medium to capture these bits of fluff and hold them out to be seen and shared. Dad knew that well, maybe better than anyone, and I believe each of those moments he presented to his audience was a love letter to us. It's our job now to acknowledge each of them and to say, 'I love you too'. it's also time to follow his example and make sure to experience these moments in our lives with everyone we care about. Don't let one pass by without engaging in it with someone you love, please. think of George Dean and the time and energy he took in his life to give of himself to all of us. And then remember how short life is, how short his life was, and how he knew that the shared experience of love just might be the only thing worth achieving before we leave this world. Now tell me, folks. I wanna hear your answer. Do you see it?”

it's been a while...

hi, blog. i haven't forgotten about you, i've just been working on this one story that has taken me over. but a couple days ago i was explaining to a friend that i pay attention to things, try them out, in order to be able to write about them better. she laughed when i said i was attempting to be a smoker, mostly so i could write about a smoker. and then yesterday i wrote this. just to see if i could:

I was sitting in the library writing in my journal, but really avoiding human contact, when I caught myself spacing out thru the window. As I regained focus and actually looked at the place my eyes fell, I noticed a girl sitting on the low wall just outside, smoking a cigarette. I looked closer and recognized Sally, all alone, seemingly unnoticed, enjoying her solitude and her solitary act. I meant to look away to maintain the privacy she believed was hers, but I found I couldn't. Why, you ask? Because she herself was so focused on smoking, it couldn't but draw my attention. I was entranced, as if I was watching an absorbing film. Because hers was not the focus of someone who was unsure of what they were doing, nor of an addict single-mindedly feeding their fix, but of a connoisseur reveling in a distinct pleasure. I had the feeling she only smoked in private. stolen moments with a lover couldn't be more enjoyable.
Let me illustrate: between drags she seemed to meditate on the trail of smoke that drifted lazily from the tip, seeing signs in the curls it made of its own accord on the windless day. She would then bring the filter to her lips with intention, slowly drawing breath, her cheeks sucked in, till she was full. Replete. She'd then pull the cigarette away from her mouth, allowing a little puff of smoke to escape, but only for a second. As she inhaled it back, her lips pantomimed a kiss [muah]. She'd hold her breath for a few seconds before relenting, her tongue flitting to her lips during the pause. then the long slow exhale, in which her shoulders settled, her chin tilted up, and her mouth formed a tiny 'o' allowing the narrowest stream of smoke to flow in a straight line toward the middle distance where her eyes had been trained throughout. This same ritual, over and over, never once lost its appeal for her. or me. I marveled at her fingers as they trembled slightly, holding the cigarette at an angle to keep the elongating ash in place. My eyes were held captive by the way the smoke would curl around her lips in a tight billow, wanting to stretch further, just as it got sucked back in and reformed with a purpose, then expelled to be traced into dissipated oblivion.
At that moment, watching her there, I fell. For the length of time it took her to smoke that cigarette, she had me, utterly and completely. I was her creature. More accurately, I was her cigarette. Or at least I was burning to be treated as dearly, in her possession, under her gaze. But then she crushed it out, tenderly, and threw it away. I stared after it, feeling its pain, wracking my brain for ways of avoiding such rejection, vowing to last longer in her affection, unsure if I would be regarded as fondly, willing to strive to give as much pleasure.
She walked away without a backward glance and as she passed out of my sight I shook my head, squinting, getting the smoke out of my eyes. I looked down at what I'd been writing five minutes before with incomprehension, disdain, a troubled frown marking my features. I flipped the page, and started writing. this flowed out.

this thursday is for the birds.

still four days till tech week and already i feel like my brain is stolen away from me every waking hour. there *must* be time to write, but sleep is so important...sheesh.
i thought writing these blog posts would help me with my writing, and they have, in the way that i know i have to make time to do it everyday, but they havent on the level that im deeply missing the characters in my story and have no time to spend with them cuz the tiny bit of time i have late at night to write is devoted to these random posts. a lot of good writing practice has come out of these posts, but they dont feed me in the same way that getting to live in my story world and work with the people in my head does. (next year, nanowrimo)
so, i guess that means im now going to tell you something about my characters. there are five of them currently, tho i think i might have just found a sixth. all five of them are good friends and live in the same neighborhood. i dont use pronouns for anyone in the story, tho some of the characters gender presentations get referenced.
in order of appearance they are:
1) jacky (jackdaw) fox--the narrator. somewhat new to town/scene/west coast. doesnt mention preferences in gender or sexuality. family is from italy, but grew up in the midwest. goes by jack or fox. casual kid, short dark hair, brown eyes. medium--thin build. self employed writer who works from home. plays the guitar and sings. hasnt dated anyone in town yet.
2) jay--fox's best friend / roommate. raven's ex. a small town bird moved to the city 4 years ago. biz casual, slightly taller and thinner than fox, short sandy blonde hair, bordering on fauxhawk, light blue eyes. works for a newspaper, acts more profesh/older than fox, but isnt.
3) wren--the 'dykey' love interest and robin's ex. west coast city kid thru and thru. take-charge charming, just shy of bossy. slight build, but strong. a drummer (and a bicyclist) with a stellar voice. thrift-shop-punk-hip. brown hair, short in back and longer on top, chunky cut and spiked up, usually part of it is dyed a bright color. green eyes. is a barista. just broke up with robin after being together for 2 years.
4) raven--wrens flaming diva bff/lover. jay's ex. raven is how everyone knows each other, mostly cuz raven knows everyone in town and is a community organizer. has also been involved with most everyone in the scene at one time or another. tall, broad shouldered and narrow waisted, black hair long enough to show some curl, dark eyes. talks about sex a lot. works really hard, plays even harder. impeccable attire, good labels. also owns some flashy costumes for fun. used to be involved with both wren and robin, took wrens side in the breakup.
5) robin--the femmeboy love interest and wren's ex. from midwest but has been out west for 8 years. hates the name 'rob'. hipster-meets-PNW-diy. (lots of cozy sweaters) dark brown gets-in-your-eyes-and-tickles-your-neck-shaggy hair, bright blue eyse. is a stellar musician/songwriter. rides a bike. works at a record store to feed the habit and tries to make money off their recording studio in the back of the house. not very tall, very thin. not handling being broken up with very healthily.

all i really know about the 'love interest' part is that robin inspires a more masculine presentation from fox and wren creates a more feminine response from them.

if anyone has some good plot ideas for these kids, lemme know.

back up in my brain

its already thursday and i havent started my wednesday post cuz i just now finished my tuesday post and its close to one am. and i promised myself id work on editing that lobster essay to submit to a literay journal. so im just going to give you another short meditation on dreams affecting my writing life before going to dreamland myself.

two nights ago i had a dream about a friend of mine from seattle. well, friend is a strong word. we are friendly acquaintances. we were a part of the same scene a couple years ago and ended up at the same functions, but only had a few interactions that were beyond simple hellos. i had wanted us to get to know each other better, but it just never happened. yet for some reason, this person has captured my imagination and has now hijacked my dreams. and yes, hes good looking, and yes, i am attracted to him, but they arent those kind of dreams, really. and still he has popped up twice or maybe even three times in the past two months. why? i have no idea. I think I need to write him down into a character somehow. if i knew him better i would add someone like him into the robin story. I wonder if peoples pheromone sensors dont have memories and miss certain people that used to be around us and made us feel good...
and maybe he has just shown up in my facebook feed and my mind makes him into a character in my dreams cuz i dont know him that well. like when a song gets stuck in your head cuz you dont know all the words to it.
I always fall into the trap of trying to find more meaning than actually exists in things like this in my life. More connection than is actually possible, more things to pay attention to than a normal person could ever find. Ack. At least im aware that im doing it and can pull back from being totally insane around whatever (or whoever) it is so i can see it as something good for my art but not my emotional life. sorta like that post from october--put something in writing and be aware of its narrative draw to keep it from drawing everything inside me into an overly conscious vortex. Its at least a step in the right direction...
dreaming about someone is weird, tho. cuz i have in the past had two vivid dreams that stuck with me upon waking about a good friend of mine who ive known since i was six, and each of them has happened at a really important time in her life. i knew, before being told, that she had news right after she got engaged to be married. i also knew there was something in her life worth preparing for on the day she found out she was expecting her first child. and we had been living halfway across the world and a few states away, respectively, at the time. (i just realized the baby dream was set in a house with a very similar floor plan to the house she and her family live in right now--creepy)
however, i am aware that not every dream about someone i know has to portend something going on in their life. and there is a big difference between having a connection with someone i have known since i was small and have grown into adulthood with, and having a couple random dreams about a person that has caught my attention in the past.
still, dont be surprised if you ever hear from me and its something like, 'just had a dream about you, hope all is well in your life right now.' remember that most likely we did not have sex in my head, and im really hoping that whatever brought you to my subconscious attention is positive, but whether its good or bad id love to share in it in waking life too, cuz i love you.

lesser of two evils...?

good lord this day has gotten away from me. i have done a ton of writing, just none of it is blog-worthy. lots of long emails. lots of thought about projects and ideas that arent mine. i dont have the wherewithal to come up with something this evening. seth and i stayed up till 3am talking about the house idea and making a timeframe of getting things done and then we were up at 9am having breakfast with the fam before work. and tonight im running lines with paul.

so ill give you a choice:
you can either read my friend j. hunt's blog from last week that has spurred some amazing discussion (some of which is mine) about experimental music and the place of art in entertainment *here*, which i have been thinking and talking and writing about a lot and i highly recommmend, or you can read an excerpt from something i was writing in october (part of which i put on facebook back then), below. (or both)

...i was excited to soon have time alone with her and I basked in the similarity of feeling coming from her in the way she drew me in--to confidences, to the couch, to her gaze. Oh, those eyes. The word hungry was never far from my mind when I looked into them. She seemed to want to satisfy some deep unquenchable hunger simply with looking. It seemed she could feed whatever part of herself was so needy by casting her eye upon anything, the city streets, the ministry buildings, the stellar graffiti, works of art, but it seemed people filled her up quickest and most satisfyingly. And i felt as tho it was increasingly at me, and into my own eyes that she wanted to look—to be fed upon. And it was at once both a pleasurable sensation, to have such a concentrated gaze turned your way, and a bit painful, as if she was able to search out and peer into the deep things inside me that one tends to hide from others' view. As if parts of your childhood you thought you'd outgrown showed up in the way you reached for the sugar to put in your tea. And she'd make an infinitesimal gesture or noise when she detected it, one of delight at the discovery, but smacking a bit of triumph, and one that made the subject immediately feel so very exposed. Ravaged, almost. Which, for me, was delightfully gratifying, as I hadnt truly been seen by another person in a very long time. Before traveling I had been living at my parents house in my own hometown, where every single person had known me from a tot and half of them saw my father when they looked at me, the other half saw my brother or mother. And diana and I have known each other for so long we dont even have to look to know what the other is thinking or feeling. And simply by virtue of being a tourist in many places in europe, certainly the ones you dont have language skills in, you are almost always made invisible. So, to be regarded with such fixity of purpose, even if that purpose was unknown and coming from a veritable stranger, was shockingly, and possibly dangerously, delicious. Like a well-mixed manhattan made from such smooth whiskey you might not even notice its power after a few.

I feel like I spent most of my time with her watching her struggle to figure out how to be so deep inside herself and yet to reach out to another person, and waiting to see how far she would then be able to let me in. it was like watching a young child learn to walk, but this wasnt her first time in courtship. I knew for a fact she had been with others before me. Nonetheless, like a child's first, each step was approached tentatively, but once the movement was made, the resolve to see it thru was firm. And once a step was taken it took a while to approach the next one. Which was fine with me, because it was fascinating to watch her work up to each one. I actually enjoyed it immensely, and the anticipation was great. The steps were just very small and I knew I could not make any of them for her, especially because I wasnt always sure exactly what they were going to be. The thing that kept me from being impatient was that she would never step backwards. Once we got to each level, she was happy to indulge in it with abandon. When we started holding hands, she couldnt be near me without doing so. Which was marvelous because she was an incredibly good hand-holder. That might sound odd, but even the simplest things can give one fabulously sensual pleasure. The thing that got me was when she would do it with two hands. She would come up next to me and slide, say, her left hand down my right wrist and along my palm so I would splay my fingers for hers to interweave themselves with mine, and then we would be quietly holding hands, at our sides, (her shoulders were shorter than mine so her hand was on the bottom) and this would be quite enjoyable in and of itself. but then she would shift herself slightly to stand just that much closer, and a fraction behind me, so our hands were bumping her left thigh, and then she would lean in just a bit and reach with her right hand around my arm, tracing the inside of my elbow, slipping her fingertips under my shirt sleeve, to cup my bicep with her palm, her long fingers reaching to the tender inside of my upper arm, her thumb gently rubbing my deltoid. (I am an extremely thin man, it is not as if these muscles were at all large or well defined. But she knew how to caress them to bring all of my attention to each one of them.) Sometimes she would do all this while resting her chin or temple on the very tip of my right shoulder. And all the while we would be standing in front of a work of art, or an exhibit case at a museum, thinking of nothing but each of the few and specific places our bodies were touching. It was exquisite.

drama bug

for the last three days ive woken up with lines from hamlet in my head. this is not surprising, ive been re-reading it non-stop since i saw the play last wednesday (and watched a film version i hadnt seen the week before to gear up for the performance) and yes, im fully aware of how weird/nerdy/dorky that is. some of you might not know (tho i dont know how you would have missed this) that i was an english lit major in college and was kinda a closet theatre major, which manifested in many ways, not the least of which was that i took at least 3 shakespeare courses (one of which was taught in london where i saw 6 of the 7 plays we studied on stage). this after having read at least 6 shakespeare plays in high school and growing up going to 'wayne v-- patron of the arts night' every summer since i was 10 years old which entailed attending whatever performance of shakespeare oak park festival theatre was presenting that year at austin gardens. so, yeah. i cut my teeth on this stuff and have spent a lot of time with a few of the plays, whether seeing them, reading them, or writing papers about them. twelfth night (for obvious reasons) king lear (for no special reason) and hamlet (for reasons to be divulged below) are the three i know incredibly well.
somehow in all of this, you might be surprised to know that tho i have been a part of quite a few theatre productions over the years, i have never once acted shakespeare. i say this as a form of transparency. i dont have first-hand knowledge of the language in my mouth for hours at a time, nor the embodiment of a shakespearean character in my self. truth is, i would love to. viola has always resonated strongly with me (that should have been a clue at some point), and when i stop lying to myself and just come out with it, hamlet is my dream role. (yes, im aware of how self-dramatizing and exactly like every stereotypically-full-of-themselves actor that is. i know, i know. [insert slight self-deprecating head shake here]) but its true. i would kill to play hamlet. or maybe i should say i would wait to kill until the very last moment possible when im practically already dead, to play hamlet.

the point that i started out to make is that ive been living and breathing this play recently and i think i have a pretty damned good idea of how i would want it to be done if ever i were a part of producing it. (i promise you now that i will never ever propose directing and starring in it, tho id like to do both, separately...) right, point being: i want a queer hamlet.
i want a hamlet who used to be with laertes, then moved on to ophelia when her brother left the country, has had a thing going with horatio for some time that comes to a head (pun intended) during the course of the play, used to mess around with rosencrantz (whose new boy is guildenstern), flirts with guildenstern out of spite, has probably played with at least one of the players, and generally runs the whole show by flirting with everyone.
i want the nunnery scene with ophelia to be a coming out moment, i want his speech to horatio about how good a friend he is to end up in a make-out session, i want all of his interactions with the players to impress the fact that he is playing all of the time with everyone (and is a ham himself), i want the closet scene to be like sisters talking about the men in their lives, i want every interaction with R&G to be lewd and dirty as hell, i want ophelias madness to also stem from her discovery that hamlet and her brother used to do it, i want laertes' anger with hamlet to be partially fear of being outed, i want most of his 'antic disposition' and wordplay to be more along the lines of being a diva, (with lots of camp, even queening) and flirting, all of that coming to a peak with the osric scene. the point being he knows how to control people and when there are a lot of them paying too close attention to him for any actual revenge to happen. therefore he 'speaks daggers but uses none' and flirts with those who enjoy it to get what he wants, and with those who dont to make them uncomfortable.
and the best part is, i promise im not just making shit up. i mean, kinda, but everyone is allowed interpretation from the text. but honestly, the text can support all of these things. there are so many cock jokes in this play i cant even count them.
do me a favor. re-read hamlet with these things in mind and tell me if it isnt one of the most fun and biting and dramatic shows you can think of.
signed,
ray i-wish-shakespeare-could-be-my-boyfriend van fox

already im cheating

this is an excerpt from a story ive been writing on since april. this scene i just read thru on the train this weekend and cleaned up to be exactly how i want it. its about a couple roomates coming over to their friends house to make dinner for them cuz the friend just went thru a difficult breakup and is kinda lonely. i feel like it works well (and reminds me very strongly of seattle which im already missing) and am still in the middle of two other posts that arent done yet, so this is what im posting for today. (dont hate)

We are just sitting down to eat our thrown together dinner when robin jumps up and says, 'lets serve ourselves and then take the food into the yard.' we oblige. I turn the stereo speakers toward the open window and raise the volume while robin grabs a bottle of wine and three glasses and jay stacks loaded plates up a well-trained forearm. We step outside and I arrange the lawn chairs under the tree in a tight circle and robin brings the low table into the center. Jay sets the table while robin opens and pours the wine and I marvel at the simple beauty of this moment together. The sun is a hand's breadth from the horizon, but it'll sink fast, and the horizontal glow is catching everyone and everything just right. The color and aroma of the food, the glint of the wine glasses, jay and robins tawny and dark heads both catching a bit of red fire in the golden summer sun. we are all relaxed, comfortable with each other and the mundane interaction around this thrown together meal. But it feels so very precious. Special in its sameness to so many other evenings, the habit of sharing our lives together so engrained. Im shocked by the swell of gratitude in me, warming my chest, filling my throat, my eyes for just a second. I turn away so the others don't see and I hear them giggle about some small clumsiness with the bottle opener. I hear a squeak and a smack and turn around to see the wine already poured and robin's face coming away from jay's, both of them smiling. That was a kiss, not the cork.
'my sincere thanks, dearest jaybird.' robin almost whispers to jay. Then turns and comes close to me, putting a hand to my cheek. 'you too, darling kit. This is marvelous. really.' turning to grab jay's shoulder with a free hand, the other now on my neck. 'I couldn't have asked for a more lovely evening. Or more lovely people to share it with.'
'its just mac and cheez, rob.' jay says with a laugh.
'I know, but look at this. Its vegan and homemade, with fresh, organic asparagus and a smoked paprika garnish. And the salad has such exotic things in it, and practically everything is from what I had lying about the kitchen. you two are wizards.'
'ill admit to being pretty good at pulling somewhat inspired meals out of even the most mediocrely stocked cupboard...' jay's pride here is well founded.
'which is all ours ever is anyway.' I concede with a smirk.
'however you succeeded, i'm infinitely grateful. Eating alone is second only to cooking for just myself in sure-fire ways of depressing me beyond belief. So again, thank you, my loveliest of neighbors and dearest friends.'

johnny depp's eyeliner

been listening to nirvana and hole and the soundtrack to 'about a son' all day. been talking to saunia about how much kurt and courtney queered gender roles and what it means for a man take on the trappings of beauty usually reserved for women...and yes, johnny depps hot self and his penchant for wearing eyeliner came up.
it started with the question (by saunia) of whether i felt the queer gender performance by kurt (and courtney) was more an expression of themselves, or their desire to say 'fuck you' to the dominant paradigm in every way and so they destroyed gender norms as well as sobriety and cock rock and all sorts of things. i thought this was a very insightful question and said that i could really only speak from my understanding of kurt (as i havent studied courtney as much) but i feel she might have been operating from more of a fuck-you-to-everyone sort of place. that i felt maybe kurts actions (more so than his art, but that too) started out as dealing with his own gender expression, but possibly due to being in the spotlight it became more of a 'fuck you'.
that you start out understanding your gender and understanding that its not what people want from you, so you repress it. then you realize its who you are and no one has a right to tell you to repress it, so you let it out. and when you do that, the feeling of defiance that comes from going against what others wants can get you high and so you go really far with it and say 'fuck you' to anyone who cant handle your (albeit in-your-face) expression. hence kurts defensive tone, but his insistence on doing things like wearing a pink ball dress to the 'headbangers ball' [for those of you too young to remember this, it was this weird show in the 80s and early 90s on MTV about music and musicians moderated by this weird (kinda effeminate) long-haired headbanger type who was totally into heavy metal (cuz wasnt everyone back then?)]
but male expression of feminine beauty is much more acceptable in the mainstream now than it was then. if it werent for kurt, antony couldnt exist in the mainstream. and [this is where i need saunias help with reconstructing the conversation] somehow, this led her to mention johnny depp and his fantastic eyeliner. how its subverting gender stuff, but definitely making him super-hot. i think the point was that his visual appeal is tied up with his androgyny. that his cheekbones lend themselves to something really femininely beautiful and his use of eyeliner can accentuate this. the thing about JD is that his form of hotness is also really tied up with a tim burton-esque aesthetic, so its kinda dark and either depressing or smoldering, or both. and that has a sense of danger in a not very effeminate sort of way. well, i guess it depends on the character. edward scissorhands was kinda effeminate, he was even a hair-stylist...
saunia was using the word ambiguous to describe the use of traditionally feminine beauty products to up the hotness of a male. that subverting the dominant gender-role was hot because it wasnt clear what the purpose was, whether it was necessarily to make the male person look feminine. i had a hard time with the word ambiguous. i felt like this action is sort of obvious in its queering of gender and still showing how fucking gorgeous someone is, no matter if they are male or female, no matter if they are performing masculinity or femininity or something in between. i think we were arguing semantics about 'ambiguity' and 'androgyny' and 'queering gender', but i also think there are distinctions that we couldnt really articulate to each others satisfaction.
and its funny we even went to johnny depp cuz we could have stayed with kurt in this argument. he wore eyeliner a lot. and changed his hair color and length all the time (even got extensions). and was always kinda defensive when people brought it up. and a lot of times was beautiful, but also (i think he worked at this) at times was scary. not so much in the tim burton way, just in the 'i dont fucking care what you think, im gonna have 3 day old stubble and eyeliner and keep my hair in my face.' and that could be super-hot. and it could be grotesque. and i think he wanted to have both of those affects. i think sometimes he specifically wore a dress with a beard to highlight peoples belief in the absurdity of men wearing dresses and i think at other times he wore a dress to look beautiful, with spaghetti straps on those thin, muscled shoulders. (im thinking of the footage from the concert in brazil very late in their career. sure, he stuffed, and you could tell, but hell...lots of drag queens make quite a bit of the difficulty of keeping up the facade...)
speaking of drag queens, saunia brought that up in her defense of the word 'ambiguous'. that when drag queens put on their eyeliner, they arent trying to queer anything, they are specifically working to perform the feminine gender. i am assuming she was saying this is as a shorthand to say that drag queens go all the way to be specifically not ambiguous by adding all the other trappings of feminine beauty so that there is no doubt as to what they are doing. and when johnny depp and kurt cobain put on eyeliner and dont do anything else to specify feminine beauty, they are being much more ambiguous with their choice of gender expression. and i guess in some ways i agree with this, but i think i still dont like the word. i think they are very specifically and unambiguously showing their gender performed as they want it to be seen. as not fully masculine, and not fully feminine, but with an androgyny that they (or at least i) dont want to be thought of as synonymous with vague. who knows what they think, really.
i also have a problem with the word androgyny, by the way. prolly cuz the dictionary has multiple definitions that i feel are very different. therefore its confusing to use the same word to describe 'having both masculine and feminine characteristics' and 'neither clearly masculine nor clearly feminine in appearance'. i dont think having both cancels out either and it kinda disturbs me when people make that leap. i have striven hard in my life to imagine what genderless would look like. and maybe to figure out how to portray it. but i dont know that that is healthy for anyone, cuz im starting to believe its impossible and unnecessary (no matter how much i might still want it). at this point i might be getting into another whole set of things that this blog wasnt supposed to hold, so i think ill quit.
quick post script: i am not, in any way, against ambiguity when talking about or performing gender. i think its awesome, and as much as possible, i try to take advantage of it in my own life. its partially why i love michael stipe so much. he stayed within the ambiguous, even vague sometimes, in his descriptions of himself and his gender identity and sexuality. i appreciate people who dont feel the need to be specific in their choices to all and sundry. and most of the time, i dont fucking care who you are fucking. okay, maybe i do, not cuz i want insight into your psyche, but cuz i might know them...(at least in this town, sheesh!)

kurt's a girl

[this is the first draft of my first time writing about something that i kinda, not so secretly, think about writing a thesis on....gimme yer thoughts, but be generous. its written more like an inflammatory stranger article than a thesis prospectus.]

(deep breath) Hi, my name is Ray Vanek, and I'm obsessed with Kurt Cobain. (there, I said it.) Maybe that's not so weird. What's weird is that this all just started a year and a half ago. Very notably not 17 years ago. Or even 14. Nope, this obsession started the spring I was 28 years old. Not 14. not 17. or even 27, for that matter. You might wonder how a disaffected and angsty sophomore in high school could get away with not becoming obsessed. I do. I can't remember why he didn't grab me and pin me to the floor back then. I think he was too angry. And I was too goody-goody. Listening to the Beatles and (gulp) Phish and (double gulp) Dave Matthews Band. His snide interviews and violent performances did not amuse me. I was much more into decorum and innocent fun.
I was in the closet and not really even aware of it. I was bound by the strictures of society's gender role for me and had somehow managed to turn a blind eye on the chafing. I think I resented his showing the burns.
Because this is the premise of my obsession: I think Kurt's a girl. Okay, lemme rephrase. I feel like there is quite a bit of evidence, from his life and his work, to theorize that his gender identity was quite feminine. (is that blasphemy?)
There is the story about 'Kurt smells like teen spirit'. This doesn't bring up images of pep rallies, like the music video, but scents of the girlie deodorant 'teen spirit' that came out the same time as Bleach. Kurt smelled like a girl.
And how about the commercial that played on Mtv when In Utero came out? (how about the name 'in utero' and all the fetuses in his music videos and the babies on the back of the album?) Do you remember this video? You can youtube it, but you have to sign in to make sure you are 18 or over in order to view it. Its the three of them in dresses, lying on a classroom floor with their legs in the air, giving birth to copies of the cd. Popping them out like seahorses do. Yep. Kurt giving birth.
Speaking of which, he loved the seahorse image. Which by the way, is the only animal that the male 'gives birth' to the young. Its really an incubation thing, but the image of a male seahorse popping little seahorses out its protruding belly is really striking. And Kurt drew it in his notebook and used it as a t-shirts design.
Okay, how about songs he wrote? Rape me. Heart-shaped box. Penny-royal tea. On a plain. Been a son. Dive. Listen to the lyrics of these songs. For reals. 'Dive in me.' 'She should have been a son.' 'I love myself more than you' (masculine) 'I know its wrong but what can I do' (feminine). 'I drink pennyroyal tea to still the life thats inside of me.' (you know that shit is a natural abortion inducer? And dont tell me those are courtneys lyrics. he still sang them.) 'umbilical noose?' lets be real here. He was always talking about birth. How is it no one is talking about this? I know it wasnt a big thing to talk about back then, but for pete's sake.
I mean, im not trying to move to the northwest and tell you I know more about your dear boy than you do, but maybe it takes an outside perspective? I mean, im not saying, im just saying...
He was so fucking excited to have a baby. So excited. He said it gave his life purpose. I mean, come on. Why do you think the media were so freaked out by him and courtney? Cuz it was a beautiful example of gender role reversal that I feel fit their identities really well. He is actually smiling in the photo shoot where they had him sitting on her lap. He liked it. I mean, im sure they had their share of dominant-culture-stereotypical-gendered situations and fights and whatever, but who was wearing the pants in that relationship? Kurts been quoted as wearing a dress around the house all the time cuz it was comfortable...
yes, fine. He also said that he wasnt gay. That he wished he were gay. That he stood in solidarity with gays. There has been endless supposition around this. Fine. Im not saying he was gay, im saying he was genderqueer. Which has very little to do with who he wants to sleep with. Tho, if he identified more as a woman, and was sleeping with women, then, actually, he was stealth-gay.
Dont tell me that no one who identified as a woman would write such heavy, intense, violent music. Dont make me laugh in your face. (and please dont make me mention courtney again.) He wrote about pain. Deep, personal pain. He got angry at his lot in life. He threw tantrums when people wouldnt listen to him how he wanted them to. Ladies, sound familiar?
okay, okay, have I pissed you off yet? Well good. Kurt was pissed off most of the time. Im pissed off most of the time. Oh, and please dont even pretend to give me a 'youre queer, you were looking for this kind of thing'. Cuz I wasnt. Its been since coming to this realization about someone like Kurt that I have been able to come to a lot of realizations about myself. Maybe it took someone who has felt his specific kind of pain (albeit in reverse) to hear it. Someone who didn't have every nanosecond of In Utero memorized before this sort of analysis was possible for them. And yes, im defensive, of course im defensive. This hits really close to home. And sounds kinda crazy. And im writing this in seattle, of all places. Jesus christ, who wouldnt be?
Certainly not Kurt. He was always defensive. If you listen to some of the things he says, you wonder why he sounds so annoyed/passive- aggressive/pissy. But if you think about a response being something that he would say as a girl, but is misinterpreted as being a boy, it makes more sense. There is a great example on the unplugged album. I think its after penny-royal tea. He plays it by himself, which he was obviously nervous about doing, and when he's done krist (I think) says 'that sounded good' and kurt responds by saying 'shut up' in what sounds like an aggressive, bullying kind of way. But imagine it was a shy female up there, one who cant figure out how to take a compliment and so goes kinda coy on you. You would know she doesnt mean 'shut up' but a grudging 'thank you'. Thats what kurt did there. See it? am i right or am i right? (Im not crazy, I swear...)