artistic organization

sometimes integrates

sometimes disintegrates

within spaced out walls

reeking of 1970s avant-garde dada performances

first there's Friedman announcing to the disembodied room:

“it needs to be noisy at random intervals!”,

as silent Apache coyote skin tom-toms sit stranded on the platformed stage

then Peter Young tries talking in specifics:

“I am…” “She is…” “We can’t possibly…”

while Carmen circulates among the circus cast,

a seductive phantom

somehow constantly dressed in hip Lost Generation costumes

Ting! Ting! somewhere Tingsha Cymbals ring

And then Michael: “come on, guys, let’s do the play,

here’s a white candle

now that a harmonious glow has come”

“Everyone create distractions! Distractions!”, this time darling Shani

and so it begins…

characters carrying agamous bodies,

women dangling in red capes

wailing on harmonicas,

audience members and drop out actors perched on ladders

as lights dim, darken,

and then a collective scream!

this Zen theater suggests neither beginning nor end,

grit and vivacity remain focused on what’s happening with the onlookers,

all else, the performers, for instance:

external pillowfight!

recycled famished energy!

then Betsy goes: “ready? set?

okay, everyone: jump the fence!”

“oh my”, I mumble, “isn't there another muddy road somewhere else in town?”

Philadelphia Hotel, OK St., Bisbee