(no subject)
today’s front page.
my morning coffee shop sells papers, so the baristas and i were talking about this incident, and the von maur massacre, and the shootings in august and september--and one woman said she sees the streets with a different eye now. she walks less. people in all black and anyone who doesn’t look like they’re going anywhere in particular incite her anxiety. i remembered how yesterday, when some guy was passed out next to our loading dock and i called the cops (sleeping outside in this weather means frostbite if you’re lucky, and we could not wake dood up), i dialed five numbers before anyone answered. people contacted the authorities about the von maur kid, too. the violence keeps escalating and the established protective systems keep proving insufficient. this town ain’t as safe as it seems.
1 february 1968. as the cast and i research more and more war protest poetry, and as i experience their reactions, it occurs to me that i came of age during a period of (tenuous and contaminated) peace. the students, however, were in junior high when the towers fell and bush declared war. it’s a worldview that startled me, even though i should have anticipated it: people who don’t remember much about before. maybe the unique perspective is my own. i can’t decide which is worse.
tonight is the first night in an unbelievable amount of time that i will stay in (after rehearsal, but still in) to write. those of you who know, already know what an event this is.
my morning coffee shop sells papers, so the baristas and i were talking about this incident, and the von maur massacre, and the shootings in august and september--and one woman said she sees the streets with a different eye now. she walks less. people in all black and anyone who doesn’t look like they’re going anywhere in particular incite her anxiety. i remembered how yesterday, when some guy was passed out next to our loading dock and i called the cops (sleeping outside in this weather means frostbite if you’re lucky, and we could not wake dood up), i dialed five numbers before anyone answered. people contacted the authorities about the von maur kid, too. the violence keeps escalating and the established protective systems keep proving insufficient. this town ain’t as safe as it seems.
1 february 1968. as the cast and i research more and more war protest poetry, and as i experience their reactions, it occurs to me that i came of age during a period of (tenuous and contaminated) peace. the students, however, were in junior high when the towers fell and bush declared war. it’s a worldview that startled me, even though i should have anticipated it: people who don’t remember much about before. maybe the unique perspective is my own. i can’t decide which is worse.
tonight is the first night in an unbelievable amount of time that i will stay in (after rehearsal, but still in) to write. those of you who know, already know what an event this is.