June 20, 2020

Thrush song in the mist outside the window.

In dream last night I sang in the choir of a great church in New York City. We were trying to find a way to sing in time of plague, and lit upon the plan of sitting in long rows down either side of the main aisle, which seemed safer for some reason. We had our robes on, and wigs or hats which made us all look the same. We milled around but never actually sang anything.

Finished the revision of Jason just before tuning into the Magnetic One Act festival, featuring my “Person Contemplating Madness.” My director dealt with the problem of rehearsal and proximity, etc, by recording the voices of the actors and having them represented on screen by an animated fish and an animated bird in an animated gallery featuring the painting in the title. It was actually engaging, if more surreal than I had in mind when I wrote the piece. . . . though, of course, it features Magritte, and Magritte is a surrealist. . . perhaps it all came out well. I almost certainly will not hear if it made sense to anybody else. Didn’t see the rest of the festival, tuning into the Usual’s cocktail zoom just after my play, which was the first in the program.

The Forward Indie people sent me a plaque and a roll of book stickers that assert that I won the silver medal in their contest.

RK says there’s a waiting list to get The Falls of the Wyona from the library in Jacksonville.