Austin — This practice is dead. It’s the same old thing. I’ve exhausted its potential. There’s no hope for newness.
This is my opening song today and I meet these sentiments at the door, dance with them for a while, enjoy their frankness and their swearing, their embedded energy.
Soon, they, like all other formations, pass by and I’m walking in a forest of words, climbing trees on the edge of invention. Feet, hips have rejoined the fray.
We just show up, sing what seems closest to truth in that moment and slowly pull each clutched finger off the conductor’s baton, letting ourselves become the conducted.