I've been out of town so I've been spending my time catching up with friends instead of ingesting culture. And instead of watching movies (I have four sitting untouched at my house right now)I can't stop reading Naomi Wallace. I finished her fourth play tonight. It's called Slaughter City and it is just as shocking, disturbing, emotionally powerful, politically important and poetically composed as The War Boys and One Flea Spare. Nothing has compared to In the Heart of America, but I don't think too many plays will. Wallace has a way about her that reminds me of Tony Kushner: not a resistance to Realism, but rather an acknowledgment of the supernatural. In Wallace's plays, unnatural events occur, but they are commonplace even ordinary. The things I find shocking in the play are even more so because the characters do not find them shocking. In this way they remind me of A Bright Room Called Day when we're in a relatively normal play about the Weimar Republic and Hitler's rise to power and then ...in walks the Devil (with a wheeze, no less). I love this cavalier attitude toward the supernatural. There is no reverence for it in the plays, but there is a sense of power. I dig.
I have nothing else to blog about. Sorry. I had a mild breakdown at work yesterday that I had quelled by the time I got to Justin and Elizabeth's house a half hour later. I don't know what happened. Maybe it was lack of sleep. I am not feeling restless or squelched by my day-job either. I don't know what it was. Probably my man-period. ;)
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