Please click any image to see an enlarged view.
To my fellow cast and crew —
Designers, directors, performers, shape-shifters,
Noise-makers, ticket-takers, hat-passers,
Artisans, actors, activists, and ancestors,
Places, please, for the top of Twenty Seventeen.
Who seek and speak and study the living languages of spirit,
You, who listen to the Muses and twist the twelvefold tongues of music,
We need you in the wings, now.
We need you standing by.
Who know how to break walls down with a slight side-eye,
And thoughts unspoken
You, who know the dying art of being broken-open,
Who know how to
And then how to shift focus,
How to draw the crowds’ attention to matters of importance,
Who craft tactual
Just by being
In The Moment,
And to all who can hear me,
Who know how to breathe…
Who reach deep for motivation,
Who strip your Selves stark naked,
What needs saying
When (and because) it needs saying,
You who cause by-heart lines to ignite as revelations,
And who have the guts to trust
The trickster-god, “Improvisation”
And all you
Who paint with light, and render reality from dreams, and
You, who stitch miracles together when shit unravels at the seams,
To all you who make mountains
And move them on a cue,
What We Do:
The time has come
To transport. To transform.
To turn the streets into our stages,
To pull the right words off their pages,
Or out of thin air,
Or out of old wounds,
Or from ANYWHERE
To flesh out the barest bones
And call down the ancient ones,
With sacred poems,
To make something
Let us commit
To our choices
(and to each other.)
Let us support
(And one another.)
Now allow our hearts to lead,
and get this show on the road!
A Fucking. LEG.