It would seem strange that a sparrow would be out on such a hot day.
Yet with sun to spare and her collection of wares,
A brief tune of her song bird's voice would make you believe that a summer's day was intended for such a sweet northern sparrow.
And as she flew away into the distance of the wide green expanse,
We walked on into the sun,
Sweat crying from our skin,
We are nursed back to health by the sweet touch of the almighty god A/C,
But we go on,
Away from His chilling fingers,
Twisting in and out of this too ripe apple.
With every juicy bite we find soft bruises,
Travelling down deep to the core.
Sweet and foul aromas contend for our attention.
Our eyes are captivated by the constant glow and flash of lights,
Forever illuminating the city that never sleeps.
A car horn,
Millions of voices make the hum of the city drum at our ears,
Frustrating our senses,
But in the night when the sun goes down,
Leaving to rest its weary head,
The residual warmth wraps us up and draws us out tenderly into the night.
As the city continues to churn and burn,
We fly further and further into the flame,
Into the net.
There are tired eyes and tired bodies at rest all around and in the distance.
As the lucky disregard their sleepy rights,
Unfortunate eyes close their lids to the turning all around and lay their heads down on the concrete steps.
And in the hustle and bustle souls move in and out of frame, slipping through the cracks,
The watchman at his post announces the arrival of the A train to deaf ears.
A car horn,
Snapped back into reality,
Or slipping further into a dream?
The shadows of the buildings creep across my heart and leave an explainable longing,
And a song bird calls me out of the distance,
Suddenly recalling the magic of this place.
As each new footstep leaves a mark on the jungle floor,
A light goes on in big, and little boys and girls eyes,
As they ask their question...
Was this place made for me?
Temptations - "Art thou afeared"
Art thou afeard?
No, monster, not I.
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall
have my music for nothing.
When Prospero is destroyed.
And who are you Caliban, what other name shall I call you by?
In this place do I wake or do I dream? Or in waking am I only dreaming?
This brave kingdom to who's shore I have been cast, puzzles me.
Sweet airs I have known, yet there is something rotten in the state of... All this pastiche.
Prospero stills reigns, he is everywhere and in all things.
He is the God, still, of this isle and the people worship him in their daily rituals.
And all those who are cast on these shores fall deeper into the spell and Prospero grows stronger for it.
His spell is in the air, yet I or you Caliban could be king of this island. That is what you tell me.
And you are then under his spell too monster and it seems we are all slaves to the music of the island.
And we may all one day have music for nothing.
And I will worship at the temple of Prospero.
Yet I will be king.
Windy City - 'The Wind Blows'
Their heads bent, their leg just touching, they ride like one eager person through the town the asphalt zig zagging where the fennel grows and... The wind so strong that they have to fight their way through, rocking like old drunkards- Katherine Mansfield, from 'The Wind Blows'
Held upright but propelled back.
So strong that actually, I am motionless. Stiff.
Stuck in the wind.
Alive with the weight and energy of the wind as it hits me.
King of the world.
Queen of the Windy City.
Watching the lights flickering on the other side of the bay, through half opened eyes.
I am moving nowhere but I am moving fast.
I'm a big hunk of steel held in the air.
Roaring with noise.
Roaring through the wind.
The wind roaring through me.
Ripping through time and space.
Clouds sucked past and left for dead.
Held by nothing.
Surely you can't put a human in the sky!
I am on this piece of stone.
I am in the air.
I am travelling, through.
To the same place I was before.
But where is this sunny place I just woke up?
Time is a mystery, everyone must stand alone.
I hear you call my name.
But this isn't home.
I'm in Dorothy's tornado and this isn't Kansas anymore.
But the people don't look so different.
And there's Coca Cola all around.
Welcome to the Windy City and despite appearances...
My feet are on the ground.
Notes From Far Away
One holiday. Two artists. Three theatre festivals. Eight cities. Provocations. Reflections. Journeys. Art.