if . . .

trees breathe seasons time not still as boulders nor rapid as the river more like tall, tall grasses waiting waiting for a sign a companion's touch the whispering wind if I waited that long ants would devour me & the sky would darken to briefly open crying: "dance skeleton dance bitter before the moon." it was the bones singing with the one-eyed snake my father smiled from the bellybeast smashing fists down shaking his head: "Find the the lost eye." for years & years I have walked trails by the river listening for ancient stories the words no one knows climbing out over the water seeing nothing beneath but mud or the sun diamonds reflection sage & holy strangers, warriors & birds overhead I turn & wait another year to retrieve the flames under whatever floats around dancing whirlpools even under the ice of tears in this deeper absent sky "Find the lost." the uproot pelicans circle a...

Rain & alchemy. On the seventh day it rained all day. All day the water washed the collective mind we inhabit. A chair & a mirror were assembled & the space creaked a little more open as a blind, bowl & sheet shone. Simple utilitarian items that together make living less harsh. The day before we had traced a path to Choisy-le-Roi where hung from an enormous ivy entwined tree two aluminum sculptured pieces by Louise Bourgeois . At first they resembled beehives but on closer examination were two bodies wrapped around each other. Or were they mouths being gagged? Named " The Welcome " they identified the newly married, especially emigrants from all around the world: "... are you welcome. Or are you foreigners we want to get rid of? " The streets were relatively empty and plums fell from sidewalk trees. In the evening a huge embrace from Robert Bresson's nephew followed by beer & cheese and talk ranging from renowned French geog...

There once was a woman who spent a long time backstage. She had no reason for doing this, other than she was weary, and sadly she was  even more weary backstage, which is dark and consists mainly of scenic flats and props made to look real but are illusions.  One day she noticed a spotlight in the corner and decided to plug it in.  A beam of gold light shot across the stage. A group of actors flinched and shielded their eyes, a director shouted, a stage manager came running and stage hands appeared as if from nowhere thrashing about in the dark as if a fire alarm had sounded and they were seeking the exit. All stopped in front of the light. Dust particles danced in the beam and a moth wildly fluttered trapped eventually exploding nearing the heat of the light. Someone pulled the plug and backstage returned to its weary dark illusions. She thought about crying or maybe screaming but was too weary and besides she found herself onstage only no one could see her...

A path through the drama is merely where the words aren't: an immersion and connection. What's it about? Where is it? These are not exactly the right questions; It is an entering deeply into relationship that is the way of following. It is surrounded by actions; if it had a nature, it would be the associations all around that touch and shape the territory within it. That's where you watch, isn't it? That's how and where you wonder. Everything you've seen you've seen from it. At every instance you expect what is hidden everywhere. You know it because you are the story. :: Note :: ...... apologies to Samuel Menashe Reeds Rise From Water & Crispin Sartwell (The Green door Issue 4 Here / Now / Here ...) ...

ancient troubadour dark glint of violence and amorality inhabits stark ugliness upfront archetypal misogyny nothingness :: Note :: ... created as an erasure ... missing ...

snow gone so go o o - :: Note :: ... playing with korean word 소조 (sojo) ... as Ae Ran writes her Moscow presentation ...

the scene - seen in site - sight we see what we know and what we are conditioned to see the scene - seen something we didn't know something we can't quite see the scene is not action anymore a meta-action a gesture that creates the possibility to instanciate further spaces further forms for expression processes, emotions, attention, perception and cognition your cultural awareness, your emotions, your feelings grow relationally in context building on differences, interactions and interrelations in experiment start to understand how things play in emergent, ephemeral imagination acting and rendering are not equivalent more than an assertion, a suspension :: note :: ... apologies to the -empyre- list which is always a gold mine of thought ... access the archives ...

… how many times does your father have to die in your dreams? … a couple of days ago I awoke in heart beating terror from a night dream … had been the front seat passenger in a car driven by my father … we were in a foreign, futuristic metropolis navigating endless freeways … had stopped at an intersection ... car ahead turning left … we waited till an opening finally came and he turned but we did not move … the light turned red … annoyed and bored I stared out the side window at concrete and cars … the light changed and still we remained motionless … turned to see my father slumped dead face up on the steering wheel … the face last seen in the casket many years ago … … I awoke … … this was not the first time dreamt of his death after his death … … once before years ago … was leaving an Italian restaurant of my early youth when saw my father crossing the street … impossible I thought he's passed away … but it was him ... chased after the figure … he crossed the street into an ...

have you ever gone downstairs to a place where vinyl & plastic steel strings & code surrender to electric feedback storyland soul where a single mosquito buzz thirsty resides skillful & deft heart in his ears listening for blood pulsing warm beat i have & i tell you lifelines are sweet the delight is gentle the bliss & joy bites chord memories ghostly future past am going downstairs before winter snows blind grateful hope restless & old embracing eternal comfort most affectionate friend play again & again & again ……… Louie Louie ……. amen. - See: Writings Personal ::note:: ... each year we meet twice at most ... 25 years ago we met everyday a classroom away ... still the most creative musical educator anyone could meet ... thanks...

no place on earth doomed temple vexing the water stain islands on carpet of green prophesying ruin random flakes drop from the cracked ceiling tracking decay on the right a row of windows frame intimate gold twilight concerning least of all the late night pillar rope pull all seek consolation in this summer repeating words of romeo - See: Writings ::note:: ... summer of perpetual yearning ...

no place on earth doomed temple vexing the water stain islands on carpet of green prophesying ruin random flakes drop from the cracked ceiling tracking decay on the right a row of windows frame intimate gold twilight concerning least of all the late night pillar rope pull all seek consolation in this summer repeating words of romeo

the faceless socialist by stefan montalbetti july'10 Uploaded by raYmon "the faceless socialist' is not faceless the face is not blacked out but whitened out, it is in fact the face which boldly demands attention … a distinctive etched face, ghost-like obliterated, beckons behind the white mask of this agrarian worker behind what? A plough, a gate, a tombstone … holding what in the left hand? A pitchfork, a flag, a spear … a prophet's staff ... are those fences? Flowing fences where the lone figure poses battle-ready protecting the furrowed earth … one-armed, one-eared, one-buttoned, half-rolled sleeve, the half-known icon, not full frontal, not fenced in, angled … resting, watching, waiting, retreating … he … though slightly showing … eyeless, mouthless & legless … sees, speaks & stands in the tradition of brothers and sisters proud, strong & free … there is no balance, no justice, no reparation … no thing can heal the outrage done to … the...

if only i feared death the sky would not darken if i had no word the grass would brown if i had thistles in my mouth the wind blown seeds would land if i had freedom in my heart the great flood would not come if i opened my eyes the sky would darken - See: Writings :: note :: ... nothing to note ...

Korean East Coast Originally uploaded by raYmon The ocean water, one thousand and eight eyed, opens its lids of white foam to axe you, wide and deep sixty years long. fall my heart, from the temple of time fall, you blossoms, from rain drenched branches fall, as tears fall from the widened eye Dark words, harder days are coming where Korea's sky blackens the earth, it's wounded tiger seeks a cave for its hate handing you the monks bowl of rice water. A handful of pain is lost in the sunken ships. Only hope cowers blinded by the flame Where Korea's earth blackens the sky, a hand looks for solace and fills the plaza with yearning. Before winter hears the call through the first sun the unspeakable, said softly, steals over the land. - See: Writings ::note:: ... the first anniversary of my visit to Korea ... an Ingeborg Bachmann In the Storm of Roses mashup ...

"They have given us war and we are going to give them war back." Who doubts a worse world may fall down. Together, not out of cowardice, nor provocation with tears carving the cheek as if a funeral, as if extinguished, whether at protests or among prisoners. The hooded, the convergence and those who lowered their visors, hoisted their shields dare. Isolated islands in the Han river dream leaders and visitors will not return to dream armament. Bear witness, for a moment, fear and force stopped. - See: Writings :: note :: ... attempting to see what cannot be seen ... how can one make any sense of Toronto & g20 ... too much was seen ...

Performance Originally uploaded by raYmon Performance disappears in the moment of its manifestation. It is an expression of the potentiality of the past and of the way the past can shape the creative impulses and imaginative landscape of the present. Performance is a restless visibility of imagination and embodies the invisible intensity for the sudden, epiphanic emergence of the genuinely unplanned unknown. Performance sculpts space creating temporary bursts of ‘now’-ness inside a form constantly vanishing. Performance negotiates action with breath, blood, bone & mind in fields structured by desire, power, gender, identity, narrative and memory in ways consciously deep & with nuanced understanding. Performance dreams wakefulness. - See: Writings Theater :: note :: ... what is performance? ...

listen hear the rain see a thousand dead umbrellas frame drowsy past hero inspirations crave the heart of hearts fake ideology retrieve snapshots of blurry nervous love kill a squalling homage to my flawed adult self sing sarcastically the edge of haves and the have not regret the worst kind of emotional mediocre promise bite little everyday paranoia lurking just below turn to extreme dark dirgey lyric mixes negotiate a kind of tribal throbbing mute the sigh to somehow lusher embrace the latest buzz use your discretion resist fragments marginalize - See: Poetry :: note :: ... april is the cruelest month ... Everywhere I go, I find a poet has been there before me. (Sigmund Freud) ...

The eternities went for his reveries and deeper The blaze of intention The dream lifeline design Trekking introspection Excavating the gap At the abyss the underly totem runes buried again buried again shock :: note :: ... a response to the night ...

Live the Question Becoming the answer The journey I trace The impulse I follow The loneliness I assume Reveals the way I am In the silence I listen to the forgotten question Remembering to learn my way. - ae ran (Transliteration of Parcours by raymon) :: note :: ... written for an acting course ...

what theatre really is or princesses of the new moon they form a gentle circle on a darkened stage listening faces so seriously still desiring this ones gift & that ones voice they await the tone which releases them into the wild lights fade, seats empty, doors open as the future slides in. you'd think I'd tire of this endless seasonal come & go experience is brutal, generous & expansive a worthy loss. simply be faithful to the eternal visionary tradition of unovertakeable,tender loss. :: note :: ... end of term ...