April 17, 2021

A and I went to the Montford Amphitheater to rehearse the dance in situ. I arrived early, of course, and as I waited I realized that, though I had answered nature’s call earlier in the morning, I was about to be afflicted with immediate and unstoppable diarrhea. I’d already noted that the park restrooms were padlocked, and the Amphitheater was not open. I ran behind the costume trailers, as deep into the scrub as I could, in as much cover as I could find, removed my clothes lest they should be soiled, and let fly. As in an old story where just what the hero needs happens to be present, I was surrounded by shrubs (amazing that I had no idea what they were) with broad leaves, so I managed to clean up and meet Ann for the rehearsal, which went swimmingly. With her vertigo and my short breath we had a contest to see who would actually make it back up the hill. We both did. 

Woke again (after a couple times this week) in a dream about the theater. I had taken the lead in a light hearted romp, but on opening night realized I had memorized none of my lines. Was wondering how much I could ad-lib when waking freed me. 

Cold day, rain early, cold brightness now. 

Video released of a 13 year old boy running away from police. Running away from police, who ordered him to stop and show his hands, and when he did they shot him dead. He’d had a gun, they say, but when he turned to the cop with his hands up, he did not. Had he been pushing a howitzer the moment before, at the moment of his murder he was unarmed. Do not shoot people. If they run away from you, do not shoot them. If they fail to obey your orders, do not shoot them. If they have not shot at you, do not shoot them. How hard can this be? It could be a matter merely of conservation of energy: surely it is easier NOT to shoot than to shoot.

Working on the play, at the part now which I like best, when the matter is in place and the fortifying and ornamentation might begin. 

Day ends with a journey to the Flood Gallery in Black Mountain for A and L’s show of monoprints. I buy one that I think is wistful. I think a mother son show is lovely. As I drove east the mountains were lit from behind me into the most beautiful and delicately graduated quilt of greens and gold-greens and pinkish greens and pale greens. Talked for a while with J. She calls the woodchuck “whistle-pig” after the way of countrymen.