Nov 12, 2004

I just stopped to re-insert Cabaret into the VCR. I rented it last Saturday for a week; it and All That Jazz, both staged and directed by Bob Fosse, are two favorite musicals (An American In Paris would also be there). Today is the 3rd time I've played it since bringing it home.

And having said that, my mind is atwirl with a multitude of thoughts, associations and tales I want to tell, and lies and truths I want to put down. In words or images or combinations (more likely) of the two.

My first seeing of All That Jazz and my date that night, my reading the Fosse biography in Austin, my attempt to trace down Christopher Isherwood's Berlin Stores (on which Cabaret was based) at the local library, my getting interested in modern dance by going to a local dance class and sketching during my first nervous months of getting off booze X years ago...well.

It is part of my problem. I don't have a singular vision, I have multitudes of visions (many mundane 'tis true) and I want 'em all down. Saying "here, here, here is a live lived. Mine.)


or ten times
or even ten times
ten times six
is not a number
I would sacrifice
to good intentions
even on an off day.

Even lucky seven
times eleven
divided by the Holy
Trinity of Three
(if I include myself - which I do)
might be a bust
and not just in Vegas
where snake-eyes
is as low as it gets
even on a sure thing.


"You used "even", four times just now," the muse said.

"Well, your using it now makes five - which is an odd number," the artist said. His voice had a slight tinge of smugness. He felt good..