Sunday, September 30, 2007

Why do directors so consistently make an exception for "Othello"?


Apparently, it’s because there’s nothing to be gained from changing it.

I went to our local Theatre this week to see Othello with a "person of question". I’ve been avoiding it for weeks but I wanted to see it…anyway back to my bouffant thoughts between my temples.

Of all Shakespeare’s heroes, Othello — in the original, a moorish mercenary employed by the regime of Renaissance Venice in its ongoing struggle against the Turks — is the only one who is black [or, at any rate, not European]. While I looked forward to this local revisionist production in which a white Othello was cast against an otherwise all-black cast, I didn’t hold my breath, I held my hands instead, under my thighs leaning predisposed to a more likely undesired wedded hoary favor to my right and leaning quite obvious, I claimed "I cant see and my hands are cold". For many, "Othello" is the only play Shakespeare got right and this is because, unlike any other Shakespearean drama, "Othello" speaks to our contemporary political concerns, our bad conscience, our desire to overcome a history of racial injustice. For once, Shakespeare picked the right hero and, just as importantly, the right villain.

This is more or less what happens in the "today world". Part of Othello’s appeal has always been its ruthless depiction of social envy and natural hierarchy[sp?]. Othello’s downfall, just as much as his power, derives from an innate nobility not shared by the other characters. His nobility is of the classical kind, a sort of fact of nature in which makes him stronger, bolder and more direct than most men. But Othello’s nobility is also the source of his weakness and, ultimately, his downfall. White or black dramatis, I witnessed rural Louisiana.

Having no need of deception, "he", is not untrained in the ways and for that reason especially susceptible to the low cunning of Iago also a noble character and, like Othello, stronger, bolder, and more direct than other men. The source of Lago’s nobility, however, is quite different from that of Othello. Where, Othello’s nobility is of a metaphysical kind, Lago’s is cultural in nature. Lago, in this play, in short, is noble because he is black. His tragedy, to that extent, is not his own. Rather, it is a tragedy of which is, at least by implication, common to all black and white Americans still to this day.

[...'tap' 'tap' 'tap'...]"Ahem, Hello?" "Is this thing on?". " CHANGING SHADES IS A VERY AMBITIOUS ADVENTURE REGARDLESS OF THE COLOUR OF YOUR BLINDERS". echo...echo...echo... [off my soap box once again] ~ That's mine and you can quote me on it ~
Teresa.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Holes

Shhhhh......I shouldn't be on the Internet.

In the vast silence I count the holes on a ceiling tile…er…drop ceiling panel. [Whatever]. I think there is 2052 no wait….2053…I’ve stood on my chair and tried not to spin or lose my balance while I stuck a pencil into one of the biggest holes. Tiara crowned...Karen is creating some new verbal violence down the hall and I have a diet Dr. Pepper crackeling herein the can, on the desk through the opening spout. I drink diet Dr pepper because it tastes more like regular Dr. Pepper. I’ve talked to Jesus..he seems to be the only one listening.…Karen thought that I was talking to myself. When I told her I was talking to God she gave me her Christmas list.

I picked my nose when she left and crashed through the glass cieling.

Testimony of faith based on personal revelation…knowledge through the word of Gods grace…WAKE UP! Words to look up when I get home in concordance….mystery: hidden: I have to look this up myself…I have no right to demand my answers. I know He is pleased that I have questions.

To bad he couldn’t tell me…how many holes are here, above my head taking away my thoughts...leaking into the nothing? Actually? This will drive me nutz.


Weeeee...............! [office chair thing].

Teresa.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Hand signals for the title


Marcell Marso died today so I won't say a thing about it but I wonder if he went quietly[?].

Saturday, September 22, 2007

No Function Here, Devistated By Love

I've sat here just 6 minutes to two hours with your phone card flipping over my fat thumbs.

If there was ever a moment where I needed to be embraced, I need you now. Your strong assuring arms to a weak soul. I admit...I'm weak but isn't everyone? It bothers me most that you think that I am not strong enough for you...and that I could never meet your needs. Does it really matter? What if you love me? What if I love you? What if I disassociate myself to fit into your environment? Would you still want to be with me given that I can become the woman you desire beyond the bedroom?

I no longer desire to be that MILF. I want so badly to be myself...........with a man like you.

Take this lonely life away and put me into your soul beyond the distance between 80 Google miles. Sometimes I hate that you talk to me because it messes with my plans. I don't know what to do beyond dropping everything and running to you because when you left me, my body, not my soul, was empty. I wish I could point to a pain to my doctor and tell him where I hurt.

I made plans for my life I can't change.
You play in my sandbox, when I am there. You have...I remember you a long time ago. Little girls dream of being princesses.....I didn't. I wasn't delusional about my life. You were always's there helping me build a sand pile of imagination with my little brothers Tonka trucks. Scooping and dumping into a pile of me as I thought.

Teresa...........P.S. I don't know if this is love but I tell you it hurts. Doug...my lover...my empowermant...why do I feel that the cat peed in my sandbox?

Friday, September 21, 2007

Turning 40


I’m giving up nice and becoming a sensuous woman,
The kind of a woman who wouldn’t wear bedsocks to bed.
I’m giving up going to places like Wal-Mart and the cleaners
And going wherever my appetites lead me instead.
I’ve bought all these books that are teaching me how to discover
Erogenous zones that would make my Aunt Una drop dead.
And as soon as I’ve found them, I’ll go be
A sensuous woman.

I’m giving up good and becoming a seething inferno,
One of those forces of nature mere mortals can’t tame.
Beneath my cotton thong such cravings will smolder
That Uncle John and my mother, if heard, would pass out from shame.
The books say even a middle-class girl from Huntsville
Can fan, if she practices, practically anyone’s flame.
And as soon as I’ve practiced, I’ll go be
A seething inferno for a single name.

I’m giving up sweet and becoming a creature of passion,
A wild thing that nobody ever can fully possess.
I’m leaving behind me a lot of wrecked lives, plus some headache.
[You think that a creature of passion would settle for less?]
My cousin Wendy, let me tell you , does not even know from
The animal needs that the books say I need to express.
And as soon as I need them, I’ll go be
A creature of passion with one man’s name on my lips.

I’m giving up G and becoming an X-rated woman,
With black silk sheets and an overhead mirror too.
I’ve still got some years, between file matt, Acrobat and pension,
To do all those things I’ve been warned all my life not to do.
The books say I’ll learn to stop worrying what my Aunt Una
And Uncle John, and my mother, would think if they knew.
And as soon as I’ve stopped, I will go be
A sensuous woman with one man’s name on my lips.
Teresa.
Adapted from "A Sensuous Woman" Judith Viorst.
Thank you Simon and Schuster for permission.