Theatre of Cruelty

Kath & a sunset, September 2017

I read an article yesterday about how by 2030 every other summer will be hotter than the last. By 2050, every summer a record high. Puhg and I have poke wraps and tacos before going to see In the Next Room at the theatre in our neighborhood. There are actually eight theatres in our immediate neighborhood, nine if you include the concert venue. We counted on the walk home. It was not too cold to enjoy the evening. It is November.

The air in the dive made our shirts smell like fries. "I wonder what will happen when it is is obviously the end of days," I say. Right now I am confident it is, although I do agree humans are resilient. But what if quicker than we think it's over over? Or maybe just over for everyone not in Michigan. On Thanksgiving we played Pandemic and since we were about to win, Puhg's turn was pointless. He chose to fly to Tokyo and then Buenos Ares instead of curing London. "Is that what people will really do?" I asked him, later, over the aforementioned grub.

We reasoned it might be. A year is actually a long time to die out. If we suddenly have three days we could exhaust all our resources getting to family and hugging. I've thought of last years before--but only about my last year. I would write because there would be more world left behind. With a mass exodus perhaps I would just scout for heroin.

I'm confused about people who are still choosing to make children, but I guess I am more of an alarmist than most (although like a true alarmist I do not feel like one). I'm grateful for the life I have lived and find it more difficult to worry about my future. Sometimes I forget and act like a regular person from 1980. I weigh the pros and cons of moving or investing in a new mattress...but I don't plan for ten years from now anymore. I think that part of me is gone forever. It disappeared when I wasn't looking, when I was reading the news.

In the meantime I try my best to make and teach, but more this year than any other year, I am concerned less with the lessons and more with "can you learn?" and "was I as kind as I could be?" For example, what if a student is going to get a 68% in theatre history? Should I give him a C anyway? In the apocalypse maybe no one will ask him about Antoin Artaud's contributions to the surrealist era of modern theatre.

There's a joy still in me. An eagerness to learn. I am going on an exciting trip, I am taking a class beginning in January, I'd like to finish this book I'm reading. I'm about to do two shows tonight, and I look forward to them. And I wonder if this is actually the best/ most authentic I've ever felt. There may be nothing at the end of the rainbow, but the rainbow is quite nice.