I don’t even know if I am here, today. I’m staring into space, trying to summon up the energy to leave the sun on the step behind and come inside and write this. I’m thinking about these things, my mind sliding from one to the other and finding no purchase
on the garden
those plants I cleared and kept to replant need to be put in;
that garden needs building up, with mulch, before I replant it;
should I go and buy some mulch?
and some English lavender? allegedly the variety more commonly found in the South Island…
on the thesis,
the fact that I need to sell it to the Department;
and how to get from Deleuze and Badiou, a theatricalisation of their encounter – their encounter having ontological and philosophical implications – to a ‘revolutionary’ practice;
the latter seems today to be what I’m driving at – and that drive exists in spite of turning away from the hope of working in a rehearsal room again; a turning away driven in turn by lack of money to indulge in experimentation;
how to justify…?
how to sell to the Department?
the two – theory / practice – have developed with their backs to each other. Practice was what I was getting at with T-Cell… how to sell the idea that really appeals to me, of forming a performance group or cell in the university…?
(which gives the significance of the inverted commas around ‘revolutionary’ … a Theatre / T(error) Cell, ‘revolutionary’ invoking both a practical critique of representation and Nietzsche’s Great Health…)
on the shopping
whether to go now or later;
and what to buy?
Briefly, it’s all about buying and selling.
Better to sit out here in the sun, on the stoop
not knowing.
