One Piece

Some days when I wander around New York in between meetings or brainstorming I become aware of how many friends I can no longer visit because they have moved, how many old haunts are vacated, how many trendy spots are now Chase Bank branches. The relentless churn of commerce and time does not pause for nostalgia.  Why should I lament on change, unless I believe I am owed something. Unless I hold on to some expectation, I can't be disappointment. New York is a prayer wheel of equanimity, patience, and letting go. New places, new people, new time. I thought this was going to be a rant. Some tirade against consumerism and New York City. The grooves of my well worn anger were so smooth that it slipped out of my grasp. In its place I held nothing but an awareness of what was once there. In place of that outrage something else appeared; a softer shade of humanity. In those creeping quiet moments when all my landmarks have been stripped and all the familiar faces vanished, I get lost in t...

Slavery is back in style. It's trending in the arts world, in film and on stage, through curated museums. The unearthed American psyche is pulsing with unapologetic delight. Racism is over (at least according to over 60% of white Americans) so now gawking attention can be paid to bloody roots of American society.  Kara Lee Walker's exhibit "Subtlety" had lines wrapped around the block to see an enormous Mammy-Sphinx with enormous breasts, butt and an Aunt Jemima handkerchief wrapped around her head. The warehouse-size sculpture was made out of sugar and mostly white crowds flocked to take hilarious pictures of themselves by the enormous slave's butt crack, vulva, or breast area while making funny faces. Obviously "Subtletly"lived up to its title for many in the crowd who shoved faux fists up the slave's ass in order to post to their Facebook wall. On stage, "An Octoroon" had an incredibly successful run as a re-imagining of a 19th century p...

(ripped from my Facebook wall) The shyest people were forced to read their work aloud. The shyest group was entirely composed women, music students, and most ppl of color. The professor told them that as artist these days have to be able to speak in public. Simply being a 'genius' won't suffice in the age of Twitter, Facebook, and cult of personality. You have to sell yourself. Some students got kind of sad but acquiesced because they knew that -in some ways- their fate was not in the art but also in having to be presentable. Later that day, I'm in the Juilliard Business Entrepreneurship Meeting. This is a program for artist whose proposals won a prize for development at school. The group was ethnically diverse (Asians, Latino, Blacks, Whites) and diverse in field of study. But it was only composed of men. I found everyone to be ‘great guys: no hesitation in artists speaking about themselves, their accomplishments, goals, social media followers, their following. These w...

The Koch Brothers aren't Republicans. They're Libertarians; corporate Libertarians. They've held these highly impractical right-wing corporate beliefs for quite some time and used their power in a more effective way for the past few decades. They have poured tens of millions of dollars into right-wing think tanks and policy organizations. The Republicans took the Trojan Horse bait. They gobbled up the policy papers, the money, the experts. And now they will reap the results. The GOP is splitting into increasingly smaller, angrier, incompatible factions. It's not an accident. The Washington Republican establishment thought it could keep outsmarting the goobers, i.e. their base. They could run on opposing gay marriage, unending war, tax cuts for the wealthy, and hatred of all things federal government (accept for the armed forces). They thought they could continue to put up an contradictory, hypocritical policy without anyone calling them out. In the 1980s and 1990s, they...

He gave me a lucky bamboo plant for my birthday. Surrounded by smooth white pebbles, the pocket-size green stalk shot up from a four-inch ceramic bowl. The plant is of insignificant monetary value. When I moved back to Queens, I sat the bamboo in my lap, not daring to put it in a box. The relationship ended a few months later. I kept three of his books, an iTunes gift certificate, and the lucky bamboo. The miniature plant continues to reach up. It’s twice as high and continuing to flourish in a ceramic pot that is now too small for its ambition. It has remained confined to these tight quarters but I keep vowing to buy a bigger pot and more pebbles. At that point the plant would officially become mine. It’s strange to think that this is the only living thing shared between us.  

Tonight I walked into a cloud of bliss. I’m fortunate to be in a phase where I have a lot of projects, work, surrounded by creative souls, but two weeks ago an odd ailment struck my stomach and caused enormous pain whenever I drank or ate anything. I had to exist in a state of semi-starvation in order to avoid this blistering agony. And all the projects and work faded from the foreground. It was all just background noise, insignificant pleasantries. For a week I truly understood how amazing it is to have just good health. More than a Grammy, an Oscar, a Pulitzer, it was so clear how just simple, good health of waking/sleeping, eating, good bones, good nerves, functioning body parts is one of those unsurpassable priceless gifts. And suddenly today I'm walking down the street and I realize that everything has returned to 'normal.' I can focus without pain, meditate without discomfort, I have been granted a reprieve to live to the fullest. Maybe that phantom ailment (triggered...

The white bone of my index finger glistened under the flickering porch light. Metallic numbness spread from my hand, up through my arms, and pierced my back as the rifle clattered against the burgundy tiles. All my senses went into hallucinogenic shock. My hand bubbled a frothy pewter substance, the grass was silver porcupine shards. Mouths and bodies moved in slow, muted, balletic gestures. Vibrations floated from the radio, the street lights, and passing cars. I was bathed in an electric plasma, alternating between frost and lava. In my chest, a velvet knot unfurled. My mind processed the hallucinations. Blood isn’t silver. Grass is green. These vibrations are sound. Robotic instinct made my right hand grab the bubbling gash of my left. Was there a magic bullet still careening out into the night and across the Miami sky? Would it come back? I was 10, but I guess you’re never too young. *** Something's going wrong Someone's on the phone Three o'clock in the morning,...

1. New York Theatre Workshop 2050 Fellowship Deadline: Oct. 27th website: http://www.nytw.org/fellowship_application.asp The United States is rapidly changing. The U.S. Census Bureau expects that by the year 2050, there will be 439 million Americans (there are 318 million of us now) and for the first time, there will be no single racial or ethnic majority. These projections provoke thoughts at New York Theatre Workshop about the transformations that will take place in the American landscape over the next 36 years–technologically, environmentally, demographically, and artistically. They are a catalyst for broader questions about our moral and artistic future. How do we define diversity? Whose stories aren't being told? What lies ahead for our world?   In response to these questions, NYTW has expanded and renamed our longstanding Fellowship program to support the diversity of voices and aesthetics that will make up this new minority majority. The 2050 Fellows are emerging artists who...