Love and a Different Kind of Harvest

by

My Forever Lovers,

You never expect to hear from me and then *pop* *ssss* here I am 

poking my head in from out of the blue behind the sky screen from the back of a 

cardboard cloud.

Today I will be brief. 

I have a request. (It’s odder than usual.)

I want you to call me. (I’m not joking.)

I am writing a giant thing about memory. It’s no fun if its just about me. 

holdonholdonholdonholdonholdonholdon

LEMME EXPLAIN.

I am writing a piece of classical music as part of a giant show with friend (genius) Andrew Schneider that could be about the following things:

-Carl Sagan’s cosmic calendar

– what it’d be like to live as a bacterium/ a mayfly / a peacock/ each other

– childhood memory 

-synesthesia. IN FACT,

We are calling it a Synesthetic Orotorio. Which is a fancy way of saying we are making  a piece of visually activated music that has a pretty tight and complicated form. 

NOW.

In the making of this behemoth, 

We’ve come to a wall. The wall is ourselves.

How do you make a piece about memory and BEING ALIVE in general and expect it to be awesome when all you’ve got is your own life to go on? 

More simply put: I’m sick of me. 

I didn’t grow up the way you did. I wouldn’t tell you the story of it the way you’d tell it to me.

I’m not interested in me, I’m interested in US. (I’m interested in YOU.)

so.

I am asking you, if you are SO INCLINED

to particicpate in a little memory harvesting with me and Andrew. 

Ideally I’d LOVE to get people from all over the country, from different backgrounds, of different ages, from abroad— 

we’d love it if you were NOT US.

if you’re still game:

  1. Call this number from the privacy of wherever.      (414) 944-1723.      It will ring 6 times. (real solitude takes a little patience, girl.) You’re gonna leave me a voicemail.  Don’t prepare anything, hon, I just want you to talk to me.
  2. Your memory does not have to be eventuful. We’re equally interested in mundane memories. One of  my most vivid memories is watching my dad mow grass one day in August when the tin slide was too hot to play on. Why’s that still there? 
  3. As per the nature of this voicemail, we don’t see your name. If you’d like to remain anonymous, don’t introduce yourself. If you’d like to be recognized as a memory harvest contributing rememberer, please do.
  4. we do not have plans to use actual recordings, but assuredly will NEVER use your actual voice in the show without your permission regardless of whether or not that changes.

But the most important thing is:

I want you to feel held and loved. I want you to feel the reverence at which I approach setting text that came from another human’s mouth. I want you to call and leave me a message

if it feels like you can whisper it in my ear with a smile on your face/heart/soul. 

And if actively participating in this comparitively agressive way is NOT something that makes you feel good, then sit tight baby. I’ll write again real soon later about something a little more passive. 

So much is happening.

I imagine I’m not alone in this.

Can you hear me out there trying to blow these kisses across the country 

like waterballoons across the lawn?

Love’s clumsy when the sun won’t come out.

forever in my heart

H of the A’s.