My short play "Gods of the Earth" ended its reign of terror this last weekend, lots of people came to see it, including my friend Fritz and our long lost high school friend Patrick Wilmot, so that was cool. Fritz said, in a subsequent e-mail that it's impossible not to associate fall with theatre in one way or another, because that's when we used to do plays in high school. There's a lot of truth in that, in general I associate fall with the warm rush of "new school year", which of course, the last few years have not brought, but it's so deeply conditioned that it's almost a biological trigger. I remember well the feeling I first had in 2002, Summer's over, I should be going back to school... But you can't go home again, eh? I've never accepted that actually. Home is where you're free. And you're free whenever you can find the strength to be. One of the things I don't like about this "real world" jazz is how the significance of the passing of the seasons, the significance of the moment, is in no way marked. Everything just bleeds together...I've always laughed at that "real world" phrase, "Someday when you're out in the real world, and you have to work for a living..." as if a world consisting of office buildings is somehow less an artificial construct than a university campus. What would you do if "reality" ever caught up to you, my pompous interlocutor? What will you do when it does? You'll gasp, I'll smile. Blood and mud and bone are real motherfucker, everything else is just the Dance.
Hm, that seemed to take a darker and more abstract turn than I planned.