with the moon

the main, only character is lying on the ground, below the trees, below the sky, below the moon, having a conversation. he is engaged in a conversation about himself and his dreams. he is having a conversation about himself and his dreams in order to understand his self. he speaks to the moon, and the moon speaks through the wind, or perhaps not at all. perhaps he is only thinking, but as he stares at the moon, he imagines the moon is speaking, too. he imagines the moon is speaking, too, because it is easier to answer to an outside voice than to himself. he does not understand the inner language of his self yet, so he uses a perceived other to probe him from outside. the moon's questions give contour to the borders of his self. the moon's questions find doors and pathways which lead inward, toward the inner geography of his self. the wind caresses the physical border of his self, his skin, separating him from the ground and the leaves and the trees and the moon and also the wind. but in his mind, he is the moon, speaking to him from the sky, so he is not separate at all, because he speaks through the moon, and he touches his own skin with the wind. the moon asks him who he is, and he cannot answer, because he does not know. his lips open to respond, by instinct, but he has no sounds to push through his mouth. his eyes are open. he has been staring at the moon for some time. the moon thinks for a second, strategizing some other way to know this person. the moon asks "what do you dream of?" this time, he is not dumbstruck. he recalls his dreams in his mind, brief fragments of dream memory, from the previous night, as well as recurring images, scenes that have played out many times in the sleepy theatre of his mind. he is having sex with a beautiful girl. he is a passenger in a car driving on an endless highway, towards a vague but pressing destination. the driver has been his mother, an ex-girlfriend, and a shadowed figure, obscured by his mind. he is bathed in feathers and light. he is thrown into the water. he is sitting on a hill, overlooking an endless landscape, in a place he has never been. he opens his eyes, and the moon is silent.

colby's memory

The ground cools my bare arms, my bare legs, my bare neck, which glow with a radiant warmth given by an afternoon of sun shone directly onto my skin. My eyes are closed but I can feel the moonlight press down upon the lids, drawing my eyelashes inward, toward dreams of stars projected by my brain. A midnight breeze rolls lightly through the curls in my hair, falls over my forehead, kisses my lips, ruffles my shirt. An engine grumbles past, coughing along the pavement, malcontent and impatient.

I hear a voice.

The voice is a presence of indeterminate origin, but whether it comes from within or without, from now or beyond, above or below, it is familiar. The voice is made of words I know, ideas I recognize, dreams I have had, desires I understand. This voice is my heart, this voice is my brother, this voice is myself, this voice is the voice, speaking the only words that can be spoken. The voice is a lullaby, but I do not fall asleep. This voice is a lullaby that awakens me from a dream and draws me further into this moment. I am the branches above me, and the sky above the branches, and the stars above the sky, and the possibility beyond the stars.

re: manifesto

I felt vulnerable. When reaching out, there's always uncertainty and fear, because others always have the choice whether to accept or reject the invitation. I felt vulnerable, but I think that's ultimately the position I want to put myself into, because the underlying idea of my manifesto is inclusiveness, to work together as a community which shares common beliefs. If I'm not vulnerable, how can I expect anyone to accept my invitation to cross the distance that divides us. I have to be willing, first, to offer myself completely, in the midst of all my uncertainty and fear, to show that I am not afraid, and that I am certain of the way forward, which is together.

I'm very interested in creating work like Jill referenced - the early 60's get a bunch of friends together with whatever material we got and whatever location we can find and make something happen. I think I know enough excited, creative, willing people to make something happen, and more specifically to make something happen that we want to share with others. The other, integral, part of the manifesto is the sharing - communication, having something to say, something worth saying and worth sharing

the manifesto, a message for you

we are explorers
we seek magic in ourselves, in every moment, in every place, in everybody
we share our magic
if we run out, we'll make some more

we believe in your holiness
we believe in your possibility
we only ask for your willingness

we made this for you
because we want you to know
we're excited
and we want you to be excited, too

both eyes awake
wake up!
wake up!
wake up!

we found the beat
and put our hearts into this
we felt the heat
and put our love into this
we felt alive
and put our selves into this

because we care
because we know it's not easy
and you can't make it alone
we want you to know we're here

we see more with many eyes
we make more with many hands
we sing louder with many voices

this is our dream
this is our hope
this is our celebration

this is for you

memory storyboard