En mi corazón

Because I can't remember if I ever said it here, I don't actually use this blog anymore. I can be found here. If it helps, there are pictures of adorable Italian children.

And maybe eventually a photo of Cute Italian Indie Boy.

Less and less tall

Both hands
please use both hands
oh no don't close your eyes . . .

I'm walking blind. As of last night I could write again, but I've no idea if what I wrote is any good. Things feel just a bit beyond my control right now, which is likely entirely my fault. Five days and counting.

now is when courage comes

i remember you in the sun
your skin pale in the light
so pale against your shirt - dark red, i recall
i had to look away quickly
concentrate on saying hello to her
to avoid staring at you

and i remember you as the stage light washed over us
a look of absolute rapture on your face as you yelled out 'you're beautiful' and she heard you
and i stood there kissing lo
it felt so right
but so wrong at the same time
because i wanted to be kissing you.

at pizza
after the show
i marveled again at how beautiful you were

then when kim asked if i wanted to spend the night
i said yes
because i hoped you'd be there.
i didn't want this to be goodbye.

and the whole time it was lo and me
me and lo
as i wished i could catch your attention
because you were the one i wanted.

don't close your eyes

i need
red lipstick
more time

and you.
by now everyone knows who i mean when i say that.
do you?
we were fire and magic and perfect
or at least i thought so
i carried your poem in my bag
your image in my mind
your words burned into my memory
and i waited to see you again
to see if that fire that had been smoldering
would finally ignite.
i pore over the words to find some meaning
some explanation.
wait in vain for the courage to call
knowing that i should.
writing is easier than speaking -
the words flow and i can tell you what i think
what i feel
the things i can't bring myself to voice.
if this . . . was a message left on your phone
i would have stopped long ago
unsure of what to say
how to fill the silence that says more than i ever can.

cornflower blue

i saw ryan page at the mvcpa today. he's the kind of person i've worked on crews with, but never really gotten to know. he was the only other crewmember on the hang for joseph. so today i'm standing in the hall and i've seen him around but don't know if he even recognises me and he comes walking by, looks at me, stops, and says 'is your name iris?' 'skinda funny to run into someone like that. and have them remember you.
random story of the day.

peaceful easy feeling

i know you won't let me down
cuz i'm already standing on the ground

cleveland with the color removed

all in all, frustration seems to be the theme set out by whichever gods are currently throwing things my way. feel as if have been running for a week solid on caffeine, despite fair amounts of sleep. hello? brain? i've been good to you. why do you hate me?
me: brain this is iris
brain: go ahead
me: could you be a bit more alert?
brain: what was that?
me: more alert
brain: sorry, wasn't paying attention. i'm tired. you should sleep now.
me: i've *been* sleeping. what more do you want?
brain: not food.
me: but food is good!
brain: sorry. try again later.
me: wait!
brain: we're sorry, you have reached an automated respose. your brain is not available at the moment. would you like to leave a message?

where is my mind?

brain on temporary hiatus. all mail should be forwarded to brain, space out way, not here.

the power of the subconscious

i woke up this morning with my nails pressed into my palm from a dream about snakebit, a nightmare about actors not arriving, not getting into places when i called them, courtney and eric not answering radio calls, sitting in the booth cut off from everyone wondering what the hell was going on as the song played out that was supposed to end intermission.

i'm holding on

depression and stress and one line of a song stuck in my head and loneliness and losing things are not a good combination. i'm a mess. where did i put that envelope? the last time i remember seeing it was saturday and it's not in my bag anymore. fuck me this sucks.

if you come too close to me, i just might bite. or kiss you. or ask you to hold me for a while, then get claustrophobic in your arms.

never a dull moment

tech disasters spent the night having little babies. argh.

an ampersand among friends

rule one of being a stage manager:
if no one else is doing it, it must be your job. this may include finding props, painting and repairing sets, hanging and focusing lights, recording cues, running lights and sound, doing laundry, communicating with the bureaucratic nitwits who run the theater, burning sound masters, recording voiceovers, etc.

after all

i forget, occasionally, how small my world is.

an exchange

JAMIE: I would naver rape you because you smell like salad dressing.
KIT: Yes, honey, I sound like salad dressing, too.