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November 9th, 2016

“In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing.
About the dark times.”

– Bertolt Brecht

I am unsure how to move forward. If there ever was a time in which our art should mean something – do something – it is now. I woke up early this morning, restless. Anxious for some form of expression I don’t yet know how to channel. Anxious for a community. I couldn’t get back to sleep.

Last night I wanted to scream and riot and burn down buildings. I’m not saying it’s a useful impulse. But I wanted it.

This afternoon I want to making theatre with screams and riots and burnt buildings and burnt hearts and Lady Liberty’s rotting, stinking corpse. That seems like a more useful impulse.

But there’s also something to be said for joy? For music and singing and spreading love? As I sat on the floor of the lobby of this arts building – a safe home for me and for so many of us outsiders and queers and activists and lovers – a group of my peers suddenly surrounded me with cheers and laughter and hugs and kisses and all of a sudden I felt love. I am really grateful for that love.

I don’t know really what else to say. Except that I didn’t know that I would be able to smile today until I did.


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