On Slow Jams & Afghan Hounds: Want A Story?
I wrote something about a play by friends Tim Reid and Meg Whiteford.
You can find it at Riting.
A box. A book. A bottle. A bag. A sack. A suitcase. A script. A rag.
What do these things have in common but holes? We can fill them up but they will leak, and so we might as well open the door and let the light shine through.
Tim and Meg’s friends were waiting in the hallway at PAM one evening and that’s just what they did. They let us into their little room. Then they left the building. They let us in on their little jokes. Then they leaked all over the floor. When “I too am lost,” the world is a map and one, two, or more can use it to find the way back to where we are going, but if and only when amongst friends. Then it might even write us a story or sing us a song or make us dance like a marionette on our merry ways.
Want a story? Let a flock of sheep out of their pen and follow all of them at once. Tim found one crying in the dark.
If you want music, go to the window and let down your hair. Meg picked up some vibrations this way, and two men singing on the sidewalk too.
And if it is dance you fancy, turn off the lights and find someone to kiss. “Learn to love the language on your tongue” cuz the fruit is only ripe when one is free from all thoughts of one’s own.
Chase is a writer, filmmaker and amateur naturalist interested in co-creation and his grandmother’s clothes.