15 (16) June 2013
12:24 am

T. —

I’m doing a bit of cheating these nights in terms of photos. I’m sorry. I just got in the door from doing our performance up in Aberdeen. We left at 1:30 this afternoon. Got back just after midnight. I wanted to take some pictures for you along the way, but I didn’t bring my camera and fell asleep in the car.

I’m very exhausted. Mostly, all I can think about is the hot vegetable pie that Andrew just took out of the oven for me, and some music that makes me smile. Yesterday, I thought: The best thing to end the day with is comfort. Which is why I went looking for Rufus Wainwright. In high school, my boyfriend and I had a big fight (which happened pretty much every day), and he told me he would buy me any CD to make me feel better. I had no idea who Rufus was, but I picked his CD. And he’s been making me feel better ever since, by default.

Cinderella is a little bit like that. My mom used to have a ton of Broadway piano music, and one of the books she had was a massive Rodgers and Hammerstein collection. I’ve only seen one performance of Cinderella, but the songs are still beautiful to me. Like dreams, or happiness. It’s on Broadway now. I would love to see it.


Luisa A. Igloria

Made heavy by rain,
the heads of hydrangea
droop to the ground.

I do not come
looking for trouble—
Nor do I want to take away

your joy. Leaves
of the dogwood tipped
silver, leaves

of the ginkgo
spliced open
like fans—

At a certain hour,
one by one, each
evening almost

like a birthday:
street lamps
flicker on.


Recently, I’ve been thinking about how — at the peak of my artistic production — so many things fly through my head that it feels like my brain will combust. So full, so brimming with thoughts and ideas.  When I’ve found an amazing book, I can feel my eyes scan the world like rows of text even after I put the book down. These days, it’s a different form of fatigue. It used to be that the world felt cramped into my head. Everything was buzzing. Now, I don’t know how my body can contain it all: how I can use my arms and my face and my knees to portray music and loss and stories, and then still come home in the same skin and ask it to carry on living for me as well. It’s interesting: how art possesses us. What it asks of us. What we offer it.



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