Surprise find on a hike, continued

Later, on another walk, I smiled and picked up the egg again. I began to polish it carefully on the skin of my palm, and it shone blue and porcelain-y.

Then it broke. Stunned, I looked into my palm to see the sunflower-orange yolk speckled with bits of white & blue shell, like broken China. A brief volley of relief to see no defenseless blue-eyed fetal embryo -- not even a red dot of intention on the yolk. I let the clear and yellow egg drip off my onto the ground. I wrung my fingers like a baker with her hands covered in dough. Using the dewdrops off a fern bough, I washed the last sticky remnants off my hands & let the water drip, again, onto the same spot of ground.

I walked down the road, the smell of raw egg strong in my mind, and on my hands. I crouched at a red-silt pothole in the road, I scrubbed my hands with wet gravel & mud, then rinsed them. Almost afraid, I smelled them. Cold, muddy earth -- clean. I trust them back into the pockets of my thick green wool trousers and walked down the road. Seasons change, cycles turn, life ensues.

Surprise find on a hike

[This entry appears to have been worked a bit before it hit the journal. By the language (suddenly florid, then normal -- jerky) I think I may have been trying to bring it up to a "real" writing piece but hadn't finished]

July 23:

Walking down a rocky forest service road, mostly stream, anomaly caught the side of my eye. Down in the red cushion of fir needles and small ferns. Not believing the image, I walked back to the spot and confirmed -- a perfect sky-blue egg; fallen from some wind-thrashed limb above. It sat, cold, amongst the flat ground you find under conifers.

We stood around it, like the crowd at the manger, full of awe and indecision. We cruched, hugging our knees.

Too perfect this thing. A beautiful, unreal blue -- a little elliptical globe sitting like a king in the leaves, or a planet.

Not believing what I did, I watched as my hand reached across my gaze and picked it up -- as though it were made of blown gauze, and my pulse would be strong enough to crush it.

Heavy, like a stone. And so blue. A white & green smear of birdshit confirmed its terrestrial origin, relieving both of us, I'm sure. Like turquoise, it sat in my crisscrossed palm. It picked up my heat, cooling the center of my hand.

Its appearance had thrown us into Dream. It was too powerful -- our brains couldn't avoid mythology and hologram. We stood, transparent as thought, held by its powerful gravity.

Briefly, I thought I should take it back with me, pierce it -- blow it out & send it off to my grandfather, who has a penchant for these things. He would look it over carefully, through glasses & over pipestem -- wander to a shelf, pulling carefully a book. After he identified the species, making sure in his head it was correct for my bioregion & elevation and season, he would place it on a shelf, above his stereo, next to the tintypes of my great grandmothers, and and old-yellowed lamp globe. It would sit, dusty & pristine, amongst fossils and rocks, in my grandfather's house.

The weight in my hand, the smell of the trees, and the density of the wet earth under my bootsoles returned; and I decided to put it down.

My companion and I continued our cold, grey walk -- returing to find it, solid, on top of the gravel pile where I had hoped it would be easy to spot.

We returned it to its cold nest of wet needles, with a roof of fern boughs.

Later on, we returned and took pictures of it where it lay, and in each other's hand -- even that felt tenuously incorrect.

We laid it carefully back, wishing it to a roving skunk's teeth, or bobcat.

----- [to be continuted]

Conceiving of a play part two

July 22nd, continued:

A man, shaggy-haired & in white buckskin -- a bear-claw necklace around his neck -- bright lights, a stage (maybe a podium -- but to the side). he's talking, a voice calls rudely from the audience, interrupting him, "First you called it 'ethos' then you called it 'mystique' and then you called it 'charisma,' but what I want to know is, what are you going to call it next!"

The audience hushes.

The man paces slowly back & forth on the stage, pulling patiently at his beard, looking down. "look, son. If that's the way you heard it I'm not oging to dispute about it. But really, it's like a joke. If you haven't got the point by this time, you never will." Laughter.

-----

Maybe I'd have him doing a "new" lecture, but have it a collage of all the transcripts I could get a hold of. I'd want biographical explanation,

"They wanted me to introduce myself, so I will. I was born in the San Joaquin valley..."

Maybe we coudl pull a handpress on stage -- light it during a certain part of the performance -- have him pace around it.

We'd need an older man -- someone who really looked like him. I'd want as much of Prodigious Thrust as i could get my hands on.

I'd want to quote him directly as much as possible -- and when not, just splicing whatever writing I could get. After I had a good amount of stuff togther, I'd want to --

I could attend the University of new Mexico and write the play, while attending college there. I'm willing to do that.

I can easily see myself doing this. I'd want first to contact Lee Bartlett. and see what kind of reaction I get out of him. I'll go from there.

Conceiving of a play part 1, (and starting this blog up again )

July 22nd:

Wouldn't it be great to do a play, one man, of William Everson.Some of those lines he had against his detractors would be perfect! ("Listen son, it's like a joke -- if you don't get it -- you never will) paraphrase.

His bear-claw necklace - etc.

You could use people in the audience, actors, to heckle & ask questions. Break up the audience/stage barrier.

I'd need to work with Lee Bartlett. He's at UC Davis I think, where I'm applying anyways... interesting.

----

Lee Bartlett is now at University of New Mexico -- pursue B. pursue!

----

Notes, collaborators: Studio Z collective -- Lane Savadove & EgoPo. The Daring Young Theater Ensemble -- the arts space too, they've invited me to join up again if I return to San Fran.

Also, John White in Austin Texas, the Shakespeare guy -- such a great director and actor, him too.

[to be continued]