#56…Considering further playful thoughts…

Parents and grandparents are the audience for most performances by wee ones.  As a consequence this post may get a bit boring for those of you who prefer your childishness played out by adults.


The Deciders have decided that the new systemized education (play training) should begin where we expect the children to end up.  To that end, The Decider-In-Chief (this is self-named, not what We named anyone; The Deciders are servants to the reunion’s best functioning, shown by their hobby-horse head personae): anyhow, that Decider appointed an announcer, a slick-stick hobby-horse personae, with the duty of introducing the children and their various acts in our recital.


The recital began with a dramatic presentation of the lives of famous hobby-horse cavalrymen.  This is definitely old-style dramatization of imagination as portraying goal-focused adventures for youth.


Next was a rather sappy maudlin story of a lost little girl.  According to a legend she finds a mysterious decorated cannon-ball, belonging to some knight-errant, prince, or cavalier.  Lots of tears as this bit advanced the plot.img_0018




Next was an acrobatic review of how much the students had habituated into the arts of dealing with “adult” situations, the somewhat athletic control of emotion bombs.







This was loudly applauded, the skill being accentuated by keeping the propeller spinning.  Variations of this were detailed by the announcer.


The closing was an invented ancient ceremonial “Lighting Of The Fuse” with flint and steel, recalling the everlasting need to be prepared to ignite an emotion bomb.




The child playing this scene is probably the best example of the training The Decider -In-Chief advocates for the The Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture’s day care.




The audience gasped as a curious errant child came centerstage. The announcer, warning about the bluntly obvious danger, was quickly dealt with by the so-called Decider-In-Chief who also dismissed the curtain call as potentially unruly.


The solution to danger warnings…for the moment.  Hopefully, next week we can have some dancing, join us.





#45…comic bubbles…


We have just had a mixed media poetry performance ( or endless vitriolic political rant with celebratory cliches ), here in the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture.  The poet just wanted to add some colorful beauty to surround and lift the words. Apparently not so elevated as to be pushed into awe, just some run-of-the-mill beauty.  But the bubbles were destroyed; there was little hope, they wouldn’t quite stay in the air, sorta just crashed, unnumbered.

After the first thousand attempts, there should have been an outpouring of communal joy.  The happiness of seeing the not-so-good get smashed, and then the succeeding attempts;  watching a human ( poetic to be sure ) enclose words that resonate, sing and harmonize, and pulsate enlivening other words.  That shoulda been a party, it would unite.  It seems like a happy haptic public poetic sequence, but we missed it. There should have been a holiday marking the thousandth failure. But it is so long ago and didn’t seem then like a notable event, and now no ceremony is likely.


Yorick, who ponders both the comic and the tragic, would be happy to help the poet.  He knows that first there is pain (more than a smashed finger), sometimes then, clawing; that inability to reach beauty, not to mention Awe ( the overwhelming).  But anyhow, there is pain, then the reality, something has to be done,  then the hope that something may improve the originating pain, then the effort (scribbling), money (if lucky ), then stuff, the manipulation, arriving at – the imperfections.  Followed by maybe enclosing all in modern media bubbles,  for safe keeping.

Yorick, being born of “olde”, doesn’t quite get the isolation, no matter the utility.

The bubble may be the modernist’s  most significant enterprise.  That ability to enclose things, quotes, economic plans, political slogans; separating deeds and words.  Bubbles, bubbles make people happy, don’t they?  But bubbles, real bubbles, happy bubbles don’t need utility: they just are –  floating away in the breeze.

Some bubbles don’t even have air, they are built, big expletive markers helping the poetic anarchist emote.img_0001

They replace having a touchable community in completing the poets deeds.

Next Saturday we begin to celebrate something easier, the Season.



#42…considering “back in the day…”…

img_0002 Frost has sharped the chord of these days at the end of the middle season, stacked hierarchal: frost, some warmth, chilled darkness.  The sun is now low, mellow, dropping over the horizon with the settling purple mist; putting the tent and crib in a minor key.   Back in the day circus-bands filled our tent, now being reused for our reunion.  Outdoors the winds have returned and so we are seeking to use this space more fully, even if the audience is largely a chilled mural painted warm.


We are trying to take notes, hand-writen on 3×5 cards,  in order to record the dialogue here at the reunion.  Our notes (meant for dialogue in short plays to be produced during this reunion) include a significant number of expressions beginning with, “Back in the day…”  to which is added some proof-of-knowing utterance.  “Back-in-the-day”… plus the ideal life as it should have been (or worse than it ever was).  Enfant terribles and anarchists are apt to gesture widely about some unendurable disgrace “Back-In-The-Day!…”; remembering why they have those emotion bombs.  Emotive’s convoluting sentences, history, logic structures, and interchanging superstitions, dramatized into whatever that “day” was.   This seems like stuff for theater!


From the out-set (back  in the day) we have been trying for a feeling of bon homme gentility, so that all can benefit while sharing this grand theater.  , “back in the day…” expressions have introduced script ideas by generic geniuses from both sides of the grave, many concerning social more than theatrical roles.

Some,”Back in the day…”,  expressors emanate expressions so droll as to embrace condescending sympathies.  Some point a terrible infant’s attitude toward hierarchies and embrace the caustic use of words and postures.

As it is, “back in the day ” theatricals will be here this winter.  Now, posturing for character parts in the unwritten theatricals, anarchists try (to a degree) to be nonchalant and disinterested (cool).


To whit, attempting to influence discreetly; so as not to be stuck in a previously discarded drama from, “Back in the day…”

Next week we enjoy some thick stew…join us.