Sunday, August 24, 2014

Layer Cake...

I serve a loooooooooot of cake over the summer.  Almost every Saturday somewhere in Malibu. Usually the view is killer, the sun sets brilliantly and the rental fee is sweetly over $20k.  I'm serving up this wedding cake that has been snagged from public presentation to be cut covertly in the kitchen and dispersed in perfect portions by sweeping the room. Trying to fill the hands of a swaying Aunt who has wandered aimlessly near. Also, maybe a bartender you've been ranting with all shift. 

All day today I have been responsible - not without restless Cheetah syndrome round my room, but hey, good things come to those who slowly chew on them while chewing on other things way too simultaneously and inconsistently and it ends up taking an inefficient amount of time.  Did I mention I'm sometimes like a befuddled physics professor / octopus that is reaching around myself for answers and actions to pair? 

I have tormented myself all afternoon by trying to complete the homework assigned: find a final scene with which to audition (in this specific intensive I have mentioned previously).  The FINAL scene. That means, the most dramatic? The most meaty? The most hilarious? Of the highest standards? Layer by layer, the pressure builds albeit like a bunch of heavy blankets, but suddenly I'm sweating and there's clearly a fan directly over my head - the only soundtrack I have for hours upon end searching online. I can't concentrate on reading scenes while listening to tunes. Lessen the distraction for Professor Octopus. 

So many options to consider when beginning a search (which subsequently began Thursday): Film or television? Well that question will never get resolved until I look at all actresses I resemble/aspire to - and how far back in history should I go - oh I love Carole Lombard but dated material and lofty ambition? Well, no I should be funny and sophisticated and this IS a comedy office, but wait what about Meryl Streep's resume, something from when she was younger? Is that too hopeful or too foolish? Make it your own. Dear God, there's so much television and I watch many things but not enough like Homeland - um, Claire Danes is too award-fresh for me to take a scene from that show, especially having never really seen it - again, who am I? Jean Valjean?  If I can't choose from drama or comedy, there's a problem when that intersects with film or television and maybe I should have chosen that genre first but I didn't want to discount anything. 

You can understand that I might black out in front of a wall of soup cans at the grocery store from the pressure. 

Regardless, I've made headway. In other news, I saw a seamlessly gorgeous film today (also a part of my "homework", heh heh) and was pleasantly surprised: Sin City (A Dame to Kill For). Stunning cinematography, perfect transitioning of a graphic novel brought to life, tons of terrifically dramatic voiceover by Rourke and Brolin with gritty, whiskey-sodden words. Blood lessened in its grotesque nature by being often white - I appreciated that, Rodriguez, nice touch. 

I do have a small bone to pick with Eva Green, however. I love... eighty-five percent of her. But that fifteen percent is what bothers me each and every time I closely survey her performance. Something is missing that sells me entirely.  With certain lines and moments, she seems to be skimming the pond, intention lost, point of view less seasoned and suddenly you realize you're eating tofu. Still, she is beautifully shot (no pun intended) and often completely naked - something for you boys to look forward to. But the scenes in the pool are devastatingly pristine and her career is going swimmingly as of late - a more resonant path of roles in an actress's career is nice to see after a slew of big-budget deflations. 

As I continue to mull over my own branding - which roles are most appropriate for moi at this time - there are some wonderful examples of casting today, especially on television. Higher grade actors being cast as repeating leads, carrying the weight of a season rather than a snippet of an afternoon. Also, unknown actors surfacing and adding butter to decadent cake mixture. Now, there are way too many delicious cakes to try.  A good problem to have as an audience member and a good one to pollinate with as a bee in the industry hive. 

We are most alive when we work - actors. We should be drawing energy and excitement from what we love and then pouring it right back in. The choices TO make become clearer and clearer the more time we spend ruminating on what they might be then seeing what sticks. Hold up - hey, this scene has a wholeness and points of view, relationships, moments - are all so clear to live. Trust me, it will become a piece of cake. "Preparation should free you to the unexpected." And fearlessness will quickly expand your understanding.  

The other day, on a break from work (oh I have interesting jobs) I shot an actual bow and arrow onto an archery target for the first time, Hunger Games style, yo. With some professional guidance and fifteen arrows, I stabbed those hay bales to death. But four wobbly sticks made it to the target and even punctured it. That's four more than I ever had before. #closertobeingapro

Let's make this a week of accomplishment, growth and strength. Aaaaaaand cake. Throw a piece of cake in there for yourself. Work a wedding or something. Make $. Get by. Hustle, hustle, hustle, hustle, hustle....


Friday, August 15, 2014

Building the Bicycle (in Reverse!)

Last night, I audited a fabulous scene study class. 

A marvelous quote about the importance of research uttered from the whip-smart lips of our class leader: Preparation should FREE YOU to the unexpected. 

Yes, yes, YES!!!!  I am Meg Ryan in the diner at hearing these words. Dear God, Yes. I sat there fighting the urge to kick myself at this most obvious key to acting - because it may as well be an iron-like skeleton thing buried deep in the mountains of Mordor as far as most actors are concerned.  I don't spend much time in New York, but I know enough to understand the vast difference in acting culture between here and there. One that involves the letters A, Y, Z and L. 

How refreshing to sit in a classroom where someone is kneading and pounding on you like the acting dough that you are. Sure, their forming methods are carried out mainly with fists and rolling pins, but the pressure of those hands come from a love of the craft.  I can endure the stretching, pulling, tearing, repairing, shaping, baking, burning, icing, and sprinkling if it means I will be a damn fine cookie one day. You should too. 

As I walked to my car, I thought - these people are truly teaching us how to ride a bicycle. No, they are teaching us the mechanics of the bicycle, too.  NO - they are teaching us how to build the bicycle in reverse - very Halt and Catch Fire - by breaking down all of its mechanics and going over every groove of every part and every connection between every piece. But one must understand that the bicycle isn't acting itself, the bicycle is YOU - in a scene, in those circumstances, in that skin.  Then, once you have thoroughly explored that particular bike (because you never get to build the same one twice), you have to learn to ride it.  Upon learning to ride, suddenly the repetition and depth will allow room for grace, for panache, for freedom to explore the land through which you ride.  You can do tricks - and you can modify them to your talents alone. Wheelies, handstands on the pedestals, hopping...around....okay, my terminology of bike tricks is quite limited. 

Research, research, research - an endless task for an actor.  READ - a good general rule. Find the time. Pull that time out of your ass. It's 2am and you have work in the morning but there are 10 more pages to read. Grab that cold brew coffee concentrate from TJ's, pop that addy, and giddy up, my friend. Preparation - a word foreign to many in the La-La Mer. I think the lifestyle ideal of sitting poolside all day is a diseased dream, a cloud of red sickness particles floating around actors' heads like that flu epidemic on that one Simpsons episode. (Dating myself? Um, so...?) 

Jude Law. I remember when A.I. came out, I read this snippet on his preparation for his superb execution in the role of Gigolo Joe: "Law spent months studying the great movers of old-time Hollywood: Valentino, Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Cary Grant. He also borrowed from top-heavily graceful screen baddies like Robert Mitchum, rock'n'roll knee-tremblers like Presley and Gene Vincent, even from the Johnny Bravo cartoons he watches with his children."  All that to capture the smooth, flawless movement of his robot character - despite only actually dancing for a mere moment in the epic film.  He went for it like a honey badger.  This is WHY I became an actor - because I love to learn - but I see that despite being better, despite having a stronger muscles, I am still lazy.  And if I'm lazy? Then at least 90% of my peers in this town are in a coma. 

I look forward to taking this class (once I audition, that is).  I like to see a teacher spew questions faster than an arcade gun in a mega-space war game. It's thrilling.  Don't get me wrong, I have met some incredibly knowledgable teachers while here in Los Angeles - and grateful to have had experiences with each of them - but these peeps were the real deal. The Pushers. The Pokers. The Provokers. The Thinkers. 

I talk often on this blog about fear. Fear is not unlike the idea of Satan - a great enemy that we can defeat over and over again, but can never destroy entirely. (Note: Religious metaphors born from my upbringing, not meant for present day endorsement.)

All of us have our daily battles with fear. Even Greats, like the late Robin Williams - an alien of talent who is now moonwalking with MJ somewhere in the clouds while Bacall watches from an ornate chaise. He shot through our lives and our hearts like a blinding ball of pure energetic joy.  Truly an Empath was he - else he could not so brilliantly portray a body of work that delves from one extreme side of the human spectrum to the other. Let the preparation, let the work - the hours and hours and hours of work - free you to the unexpected. And forget to be kind and make people smile in the meantime.

In related news, I am getting my hair did this afternoon. Perhaps a journey into the unexpected? Hey, not every battle has to be so serious. Lighten up, will ya? ;) 








Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Post-Mortem or Roll Away That Stone!

What is it about inspiration at 2:30 in the morning? 

Who cares, is my response. It's like finding that rubber ball you lost six months ago under the couch, clouded in dust bunnies (the cleaning of which was your original impetus to move the damn thing in the first place) and then saying "Hey! THAT'S where you are" proceeding to bounce it around joyfully while all else falls away. Remember? You really missed that ball - and now you've got it back and life can go on a bit more freely, with a little less weight. 

That's what writing does for me anyway. That and getting those crazy thoughts down to smirk at later. Or learn from again. Or from which to recognize the patterns and wap my forehead with a smacking palm of self-chiding. 

After parting from particular agents and a particular manager - many things have changed in my career. I have many exciting pots a-boilin' - none QUITE roiling, but perhaps on the cusp (like me - The Virgo/Libra that I am. What? Don't worry, this isn't about that - though don't discount some astrological strums here and there. In fact, take a moment to ingest the possibility that humans may in fact be influenced and molded by the stars and sea. Whaddya think about that? Tell me later. On to the news.)

Two-thousand-fourteen has been largely a creative year. I am developing my first screenplay based on a resonant experience doing theatre in a quaint mid-California town and also a dream I once had involving a needy, teenage spirit. Never before have I truly delved into the development of such a story - conceived as a short film, originally - but my imagination took the proverbial reins and galloped to other lands. The horse's mouth was (and is) foaming.  It's been surprising, sensitive, terrifying, and incredible to create thus far - and I cannot weigh on it so much expectation, though the temptation is certainly there as my chest swells with pride. Regardless of where this particular script goes, it will forever be a milestone on the road of E. Swan.

I'm also learning guitar - three months in, folks. As impatient as I normally am (I want to be good NOW!), I continue to tell myself that music is more natural to my make-up than blood. Too true are these words. Dragons are to Khaleesi as music is to Eva.  Wielding an instrument gives me a new power of creation I did not pursue before - and writing music is wonderfully validating for all the years of singing in the Great Halls of My Head.  Maybe one day I can add this to the "special skills" section of my resume. Maybe one day I'll have an EP. Every day of practice is another closer to fleshing out these once distant possibilities.  

What else? Weeeeellllllllllll (deep breath) new headshots at the end of the month, back in Janet's Meisner class and its oh-so-sweet, watching the crap out of some HBOGO (and feeling inspired), writing a spec episode for a show on HBO that I absolutely adore with all of my little harts (and feeding the funny bone while at it), began an audition intensive this very evening with Sheila Jaffe's casting office, making nut butters like there's no tomorrow (because who knew I had a talent for it???), doing many things for the first time, calling out to the Ladies of La La for support and love as we veer forward in this strange land where indigenous jerks roam, and looking forward to homework that is creatively necessary and self-assigned! Books, shows, scripts, live theatre, magazines, websites, and talking of many things - of cabbages, of kings!

Let's just say, it's nice to resurface from a complex New Year. 

We can't control the darkness around us. I find it is easier to take a breath and let my eyes adjust. 

More to unfold. 








Thursday, December 5, 2013

Lateness of the Hour

About the disappearance of my blog, I have merely been lazy. That I can claim. 

Many other things in the universe have been stirring about and thus, my attention has been drawn, focused and laid elsewhere. However, I have many things to say.

I have just finished my third theatre show in 5 months. Since I began my resurgence with theatre in late June, I have officially become an EMC member and am on my way - if I so wish - to becoming Equity. Oh, and I do wish. But I must garner the connections and experience before suddenly joining the union. Such is also said of SAG, but I was DEFINITELY ready to join that. However, the connections are devastatingly important. I'm still trying to establish a name among certain casting directors, but you can imagine such a ongoing task was nearly impossible while away in Sonora. 

I am back in La La to stay, though. Ready to shake ropes, crawl under barbed wire fences, trespass, bullhorn my way around the city. Wait, no, that's not exactly how it works. But there is no exactly, is there? Nope. Especially in the City that Never Texts Back. That is the NY equivalent nickname of Los Angeles, by the way. 

Instead, I have been using my time to understand the manifestations to be called out of the world's energy.  One foot in reality, one foot in idealism / delusion / dreams - and one eye, too. We must measure out the levels of reality with our consciousness. Awareness is key. And those that do not realize that are many. But carry on we do, through conversations, situations, moments and lives while struggling to understand the reality.  It does come to us, but it is within our perception - and that is a filter that must be continuously honed and refined.

My episode of Days of Our Lives has aired. I am auditioning for the Actors' Studio come Sunday. The number 39 is out and about and retaining space in my brain. Theatre ties are strong for a newbie. My reel will soon be getting a facelift and photos, well, photos are waiting to be taken. Not just on Instagram, mind you (but definitely also on Instagram). I have hiked a monster hike in Yosemite. I have made the greatest almond butters of all time. No joke, I was taught to do so and I am now a butter fiend...

Will the city of La La allow me to manifest these great, deep desires? I certainly hope so. Perhaps I will meditate on these urges - though I have an aversion to do so. Why, I do not know. Meditation makes perfect intellectual health sense. And yet, I find myself not taking the time to do it, despite its obvious benefits. I hereby vow to change that.  Since letting go is a giant factor in my life, so should I allow that theme to hold hands with time. 

You should too, if you have fifteen minutes. There's a great Ted talk on it somewhere

Love to you on this night.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Kinky-Haired Scrutiny

Desire, oh, desire.

 Do you find it like you turn over a rock, if you have the courage to do so? Does it already live in the hammock between your heart and mind, rocked by those more curious and prominent breezes and winds - or merely gliding over the negative space round body, skin and crevice?  When I desire something or to be a certain way, I find the resonance is what weights me into that decision - IF we are thinking of it carefully; IF we have practiced and questioned our sureness about what we want, wish to do, must have.  Resonance can be instinctual for some - free, impulsive, and they will run toward it with open arms, teeth flashing and gums salivating. But for myself, it was once instinctual, then sadly obstructed by the wool-pulls of life, and since it has been a careful journey of recognition through my natural introspection. Like navigating an underground Mayan temple, Indiana Jones hat in tow, and finding a beautiful item among the stony passageways. The untempered instinct will wish to pick it up for their possession at once! However, could there be an unseen rig or trap attached to its removal?  Is there a cost for having that thing, that thing we so desire and that so resonates with us at that time?

I admit that I have ruined many a moment by questioning it TOO much, but happily - and in this small mining town in Northern California - the instincts are re-materializing in my core, whole and beautiful. And I merely strengthen the muscle that scans the warm of that resonance so as to make sure it isn't the warmth of radiation instead.

Nurse Kelly - my role in HARVEY - is getting into full hip-swing. It may not be the Joan Holloway hip-swing that I wish it to be, but I am surveying the sex-bomb quality of this character with relish. The nurse uniform doesn't hurt either. Quickly I hit upon a vocal quality that is already transforming me in a direction I like. But does the director like it? I have no clue. He is allowing his actors to play while our blocking evolves with the patience of a spider - albeit one that isn't waiting to PREY per se, but as one who will know when it is time to strike; his many eyes watching over our cast of twelve. This being my (unexpectedly) third show in a row this year, I am keenly aware of the blessing to be on stage.  Live. Different audiences, different moments. Letting all of the factors affect you without completely sweeping you off of your feet. I am digging and deepening into my acting instincts like bare feet into thick, sopping mud right now and I love it.  Most saliently I question: how can you allow somebody else to delegate your creativity when only you hold the key?  Only YOU know what is in that magnificent and infinite box of your imagination and soul. Yes, remain open to that direction, to those new moments of listening, and to the wisdom of fellow actors always, but you have to know your own ground. Especially in the case that those others might be WRONG.

This is the constant problem of La La. An actor is a product, easily categorized and placed into the money-making machine. Unfortunately, we are relying on others' judgements and assessments - many under the guise of "professional" - which may or may not be accurate. Our industry is FOUNDED on people allowing us to go on to the next level because they have deemed so. Someone has to take you there. Someone has to introduce you. Someone has to SEE you.  And most of the time? I find the eyesight of Hollywood to be in desperate need of prescription glasses.

Sonora has told me otherwise. It has told me that I don't have to change myself in any way that helps someone else make sense of me. I alone need to make sense of me. If you know your product, you can tell someone about your product. What roles are you perfect for? What are your strengths as an actor? Use their language to interpret those parts of you that only YOU might know, creatively and marketably.  Often, it seems a game of helping others to visualize what you CAN be, never just what you are. Trust me, I am now tempted to walk into my first CAA meeting with my high-top Levi sneaks, skinny jeans, an oversized shirt and the kinkiest blonde hair this side of the Mississippi. Why not? I'm not like the other gals anyway. And if I know that, I'm ok with that, why can't I walk the line just like that? Acting is about transformation - and THAT I can talk about with abandon.

Be cautious AND live without inhibition. Is that possible? Of course. It is about being wise while also living freely.  Then sit back and watch what life repeats in your face. It might be a word, an animal, a person, an astrological sign, a number, a kind of light, a kind of darkness.  What is speaking to you? What resonates with you? When you find it, offer it your hand and regard its touch.  You don't have to run off into the sunset with it. You can have a moment, let go and move on. You have a choice. Just choose what makes you happiest and adds nicely to YOUR reality.

Oh - and go act your ass off somewhere too. The stagnant pond gets pretty scummy and no brave soul wants to take a dip after awhile.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Look Itsa Pooka!

I'm in a pulitzer prize winning play!

Well, yeah the play was written in 1944 and yeah, its been done a million times and yeah, Jimmy Stewart starred in a movie about it in 1950, BUT I was just hired on for another show with Sierra Rep in the fall. Whoop, Ety, and Doo, folks. 

I'm incredibly excited. A wide sprint closer to Equity status. A paid professional theater job. A chance to continue honing and disciplining skills on which I sorely need to work.  A continued relationship with Sonora, the socially pocked capital of California. A longer time to explore personal, artistic endeavors. More time to ponder the IOOF. More time to explore Yosemite. More time to thrift. More time to read. More time to write. More time to practice yoga on my lonesome which I do often now and love.  More to watch hummingbirds. More yards from which to eat organic tomatoes, plums, peaches, apples. More ponds to ponder near. More cheap Knob Creek at the Iron Horse. More life to live and work to do toward goals I was already churning like butter in LA - and knowing I am near enough to be back soon.  

I feel very patient about everything right now. I don't know why except the change of pace. The stir-crazy feelings that should usually encroach don't because I am working as an actor. Its like my process and energy in rehearsals translates to a swipe of the blood of the Lamb on my front door frame while the Angel of Death floats past toward a different poor soul to envelop. Ten Commandments anyone? Anyone? Charlton Heston? Cecil B. DeMille epic? Oh. Man. Pom-Pom. So good. 

Hey, I know where to get good espresso, a great salmon salad, so-so sushi and I have a simple syrup lil' gym to visit if I want to be surrounded by high schoolers and their funny masks. Yes, we were all like that not long ago and wait, many haven't changed except to evolve their mask, refining them to a tee no one would quite notice because others are either too self-involved or are adept at doing the same thing and bored by yours. What? I didn't say that. Even though you know its true, though I'm not admitting it for a second. 

Instead, I can be truly concerned with this incredible script by Mary Chase - a woman who is apparently indirectly responsible for the Donnie Darko screenplay (I'm speculating!) because in 1944 she wrote about  an extremely pleasant alcoholic man who is best friends with a six foot (and a half!) tall white rabbit named Harvey, who is a Pooka. What is a Pooka? Here is a Pooka.  It's kind of fascinating. And the fact that Ms. Chase could popularize such subject matter within such a strict era context was pretty groundbreaking.  Reading about the main character, Elwood P. Dowd, I was inspired by his wonderfully lovely demeanor and overall true embodiment of tolerance over all things - specifically people and the handling of life that he is tied to.  It doesn't matter how many options are before us, there are always people pulling us in directions without our approval or consent.  Elwood, despite his alcoholism and constant companionship with a Celtic spirit, added the most truly evolved element to the lives of his loved ones and well, basically all newcomers to his conversation. 

He represents fairness, love, peace and many of the qualities we yearn for our own race on a majority level. Global loveliness. John Lennon-like levels. But this was all in 1944. So I really just want to talk to Mary Chase and understand who she based these people on.

In La-La, time is of the essence. No one is getting any younger. Time is money. In it to win it and all that. All I can say is, I'll be right back after these messages...from the Universe. 


Monday, September 2, 2013

Where the Wild You Is...

Welcome to the Afterlife. 

I'm in Sonora, California. It's not heaven, nor is it hell - despite the glowing fires visible last night from a lone Tuolomne cabin burning not so terribly far away, sitting like a vermilion fog across the mountainside. If Mordor was ever a real vision...Truly wild and uncontrollable rage of nature, awakening locals as normally as coffee brewing.  The smell of smoked branches and foliage permeating each household, clamping the hearts of loved ones personally tied to the meek bravery out there among the trees, or what's left of them.  I'm awash with helplessness and little relation to the whole thing save for my current location. Pay your verbal respects, know the containment percentages and buy a firefighter a Blackeye at Starbucks.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

I don't think Dylan was referring to a rim fire, but it is certainly fitting. I sat awestruck on the stroke of midnight, absorbing the orange cloud with my tired eyes and feeling nothing about myself, just wonder at a thing so powerful and so pure yet so foreign.  A sense of guilt lay suspended in the air for having thoughts of beauty tied to such a monstrous, damaging thing. I think I had the same experience with an ex once.  What can I say? Dark needs light and so on.

Earlier today, I claimed a need to be stirred and roused with emotion. I mean in the sense that one can have that uncontrollable, unconstrained wailing release of pure feeling. The dam is breaking. I am seeking a perfect host through which I can wet the dry walls of the well. You know, that Well that lives at your core being. Music has definitely stormed the sea up into a tizzy, but there is no wave yet to upturn the boat and lose oneself to the elements. Danger Mouse, Doves, Norah, Jack, Cass, CocoRosie - the emotional and the strange. I will take it for now despite their lacking crowbar efforts to crack the safe. Pair these things with a winding, rural drive and there is nearly a solution.

Don't get me wrong, it is a blessing to be moved by things.  But it is an intake/outtake issue.  Like Lion's Breath in yoga, one needs to exert as much as take in. The Libra in me screams balance, the Virgo in me seeks urgency and the Scorpio Rising watches with distanced interest how it all might play out.   Release is craved, in so many ways.  I believe the answers lie in the finely combed honeygrass 'cross these California landscapes.  The land may be burning, but it is also calling. 

As I age, the battle against myself to allow feeling, to allow instincts and to trust my own joys, horrors and reactions seems both less daunting and yet far more sensitive. I have been trying to give in to the wild parts as of late. I AM wild in certain parts - even the most conservative countryside has some wild patches here and there. But how will you know who you are if you don't explore these territories? If you let fear keep you on the same path day after day, letting the familiarity not only cloak you - but rob you of fresh air?  Breathe, my darlings, breathe.  Breathe every single day, long glorious breaths - unless there is smoke in the air.  I think therein lies the problem.   I am tumbling through youthful emotional spaces that may or may not have rattlesnakes. I say to all, yes, go, journey, but there are no promises of safety. Belt out a glorious peal of laughter but do not be affected by the emergence of judgement. Don't even give those disrupted humans the time of day. But go, GO into the wild, what's a little poison oak?

Round Sonora, I drive from town to town, county to county, location to location, rehearsal to rehearsal. I often pass the IOOF, it's proud electric pink lettering mockingly reminding me to enter on the side door. I'm not a man, so I'm not allowed (though I may be an odd fellow, I'll give myself that).  But as I steer away from the main strip, my headlights catch what appears to be a cat playing furiously by the sidewalk in the dark street, easily in harm's way. I wonder all at once if he is feral or a kitten or if he needs a home or has caught a rat. I park instantly around the corner and walk back to see if I might rescue the thing or at least absolve my curiosity.  On approach, the little beast is revealed to be motionless in a pool of blood. The witness of such wild writhing was actually of his last moments in death, a mere... ten seconds ago. I stand still, mouth covered by hand, and imagine the wealth of pain. Again, beauty in the horror. Or is it horror in the beauty? This strange portrait experience seems related to so many planes of the day and of Sonora in general. Equal parts terrible, true, lovely and pungent.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Perhaps this is all too cryptic for you today. Perhaps my head is so chock full of things from a lack of blogging and lack of release that things are thick as coconut oil been sittin' in the fridge too lawng. Perhaps being out of urban territory has inspired way more synapses firing than I ever dreamed.  

I don't know, darlings. But have a beautiful day, won't you?

(PS, I took a photo of this door in Sonora four days before this event. It not only happens to be the very street on which my ill-fated stray died, its body was lying directly in before it.)