Harnett-Hargrove

i thought Chloe was trying her hand at Beat poetry...
until she told me this was her spelling list.

Same concept, different scene.

By all accounts i have spent most of my life in a  reverie, of sorts.  Somewhere between vague wake and sleep. i catch myself checking if i’m on the right side of the yellow line or glancing at the clock just in time to do something i’ve promised.

i reckon it is just my disposition. The slipstream is not a bad place to be, better than some. i'm not spacey as i have a trail of work to prove manifestation + a career to track. None the less, it would be nice to have the chance to choose.

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.  -Marcel Proust

Just got off deadline with the Magic Flute, the only opera you’ll not find me crying-over in the wings. Near the pit door was a free zone of sorts. i recognize it, having first met a free zone while living in the Vulcan Foundry in Oakland. People placed gently or dumped things they no longer wanted. Of course it was all art + production genre goods: stretchers, sample clothing, used canvas … This pile by the back stage door was of a different nature + mostly unidentifiable, accepting, an empty pizza box, Bose speakers w/ a nest of wire, a half full Listerine bottle. Nothing i would pick up + carry home. Just saying.

i know all of you know this, but that operatic scatting has a formal name. Mellisma. Said w/ an Italian accent. It’s what the Queen of the Night does in Act II. i always thought that was a happy little song, but what she is doing is arguing her daughter into murder.

Have i mentioned the use of panic to calm hysteria?