Making
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Often I would show up with scrap paper and pens and we would write for 5-10 minutes. The idea of a free write is to keep the pen moving, to avoid censoring, and to not attach to product. Sometimes I invited the cast to read a portion of it, or even all of it, which they almost always wanted to do. I always gave them the option to not share, to not read. Sometimes I proposed a theme for the writing, like frustration or gratitude. Once I asked them to ask questions. Other times we wrote immediately following some physical activity or exercises that shifted our body state, our awareness of body. Some people in the group identified as poets and writers, while others did not. Some people were more confident in their writing, more willing to write and more willing to share it afterwards. With all of our making, whether free write or quick performances, I would remind them that we were making sketches, and that the more sketches we made and threw out, the more likely we’d make something that we wanted to keep or develop further. The series of questions that Constance asked, while suspended in the air, were all generated during a free write. Why are there fewer youth in this city than dogs? I can’t remember the details, but I think that each person chose some of their favorite questions to read, and then I took the texts home and made a final edit. I know that I made at least one choice that someone had chosen not to share with the group but I thought it a strong question and trusted that it would be OK when read anonymously, i.e., that is with Constance reading all the questions, it wouldn’t be clear to the audience who had generated which questions. The free writes became a form of introduction, a way to slowly reveal ourselves to each other. Often I would propose a free write when I didn’t know what else to do. The inconsistency of attendance was disorienting, and doing free writes could be done regardless of who was there. In the early rehearsals, I usually participated in the free writes. Here are some excerpts. Some of them were identified by name, and others I could probably figure out by comparing handwriting but I’ll share them in the spirit that they were written, anonymously. Selections are mine. growing, trying to fit in Never mind the notion that an audience member wants her or his feet to stay dry and warm. Casually take their shoes from them as a reminder that they might have explosives, anthrax or general malcontent towards others. I grateful that I don’t have butt implants and sing to Kelly Clarkson. Flows & poetry of a community born to wash the hands of those who keep them dirty As a child I looked at mouths to understand and it took a lot of misunderstanding to break the habit and focus on eyes Hey baby. How are you doing? Miss you so much! You know how it is over her. Just another day in this sorry ass bitch! Can’t wait to get out so I can kiss you and love you down. this word was put here so that there would be words here I see misery and trouble hit. Mom almost deported and while I took a piss sister was hit with ovarian cyst. Now feeling like my feelings are printed in a zine with those of Darfur, China, and every single child that is homeless… … when I really pressed him on that issue of almost rape/molestation/really crappy & unfortunate experience (an experience that wasn’t really definable in terms of morals b/c nothing really materialized… Am I more mature b/c I do drugs in moderation or am I young & stupid, setting myself up for a fall? my mother is probably the only person who knows me who would venture to call me a delinquent… as a kind of insult about my lifestyle and choices When I was jailed in Montreal I felt like I needed to tag my cell. “YOU ARE FREE” I wrote on the bench. Delinquent: strange word to mean bad kid or late for school or didn’t do what someone else decided was right I’m thinking pit of stomach & nose curling/wrinkling in dislike and contempt face – contempt @ this artificial house but also it’s putting me in another world – I’m separate from this like going up early cable cars that were there before tourism & what if people’s auras still linger in those in between spaces of my walls Sensations are so many. … with all this “information” constantly entering the “sense doors”… I asked my friend “do you think Buddhist monks are bored out of their minds – or having the time of their lives observing their breath?” 21 days this summer is a pain for I will only reflect on how impatient I’ve been living on multicolored mats and rugs and a pencil made out of the embryo of a tree Fingers lollygagging lollipops gagging. little girls & Big girls. Big girls playing little girls sex. What is sexy? Is it the curve of the back of the neck? A long gaze. A huge…? pressure on elbow shifts shoulders. I breathe. I look. I try to pause & continue at the same time – how to stop – just say it – stop.
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