I just read an article about splogging by Lorelle. I would hope that I do not fall into that category. Being reasonably new to this arena I might be doing everything half assed backwards. Do I care? I must since I am still here. If at any time I post something other than mine this is because the item/article posted on this site, pulled from elsewhere, made an emotional impact on me and I would like to share that with others. As in a you tube video. Or some such material. I do make an attempt to link back to the source.
I’m not as anal as I appear to be. And certainly Lorelle isn’t. While it is true that some of the things I write about, past, present and future are to find employment, while learning about plugs, blogging etiquette and other things, one of my concerns is being ripped off. This has happened in the past. But long before I ever had my hands on a computer.
Being at a point of desperation, which is where my brain usually works best, is not the most profitable place to be. It looks like road kill when left in the middle of a poorly structured emotional post. Add to this a self destructive nature that shuts down when the fight or flight reaction moves into overdrive. Fear and anxiety does horrible things to people. Like making one shutdown and delete everything from a blog, including good poetry.
However, I am a survivor. And survive I will. I do not pretend to have the voice of charm and wit. It certainly is true when I say that I do not have the intelligence of the Mensa crowd, the memory to act on stage, or the agility of a monkey snake. (I’ll tell you what a money snake is some other time) Pointedly, with the way I create things, I don’t have the room for it. What I do have is my own perception of what creative genius is. I live it. Breathe it. Dream it. Add to this my hunger for theatre. This ability to write lyrics and create scenes out of seemingly thin air along with an artistic agility to recreate these visions makes certain that the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion laugh and dance with glee while pointing carefully in the right direction I might add, to Oz. Or the Old Vic.
I see Charlie Rose as the Tin Man. Kevin Spacey is the Wizard of course. Ah…but who is the Scarecrow? Who might the Lion be? Bono? Howard Jones? I won’t know if I don’t search. And who the hell is going to be Glenda, the good witch with the wand, … Glenda? Is any body out there?
Yes. I want to work at the Old Vic. I’ve wanted to for more than a year now. Indirectly, or directly. The first time I saw Kevin Spacey on Charlie Rose, talking about this theatre and everything he’s doing within the community, I knew that was my Emerald City. Being no Dorothy, plus having my original rainbow stolen long ago, I knew this was going to be difficult. Being in Kentucky instead of California makes it all that more difficult even though we do get seasonal tornados. And I did not want to go home. I needed to build an airship.
Here is where it gets tricky. Mensa people know how to build airships. I don’t. I didn’t even have the money to buy the first tooth pixel to build one. So I ended up working in a deli gradually becoming more burnt out on life and more like that old lady that couldn’t stand Toto. My energy was burning up as the dream to build an airship fell away like ashes on the end of a cigarette. Then I quit working in the deli. I began working on a musical that I’d started years before, running into one brick wall after another. These bricks were supposed to pave the way. Not block it!
So here I am with bills in one hand, a brick in in the other, and pen between my teeth. What’s the next step? Is there one? Can I learn to juggle and multitask? Do I even have the time? Or do I learn to do the soft shoe and go public?
Da dum…Duh dump…dah duh duh duh dah de dump…
da dee da dee duh da da da da da dee…duh dump…duh dee dee duh
Dah da da da da dump…de dump.
Somewhere in a letter that was written over twenty years ago is a rainbow of words. Lyrics, story lines, poetry, a map, and even a beast and an alien. Just a few among many things written over an eight week period of survival.
Hello, howdee, hey!
And ended with words that were turned into a song by…more than one person.
Everything between is a miraculous feat because someone took the time to take that letter to heart, so many hearts, so many hands and minds, seeing it for what it was, utilizing every word and morsel enclosed down to the tiniest curve in the tiniest line. If my memory does me proud. I am so grateful.
But where do I go from here? I couldn’t possibly go back to the way things were. I believe that is where the problem has been all along.
Besides, I can’t make any money doing the soft shoe. And really, I’m pretty bad at it.
What I am good at is this…
Danny Divito? You should be a stepsister in Cinderella. And your sister needs to be someone really tall. And maybe even black. Blended families are in now. Who’s the guy that wrote and plays Medea? Yeah. Him. And so the wheels keep turning. I haven’t changed all that much. I still can’t remember names. But I do remember my first pair of Nike’s.
For an accident like this Nike should pay me to do some real work, huh? 1983. Only my body has changed. Not my heart, my soul or mind…except it’s capacity.Can I? Yes. Will I ? Certainly.
An enhanced piece of sand sculpture.
All art copyright 2006 KB McAnelly.
Please do not remove without permission.