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Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at Tawes. Be there.

And he stands there, red-faced with his scribbly little notebook, a penis among Vaginas, and tries to take it all in at once. Or keep up, at least. The conversation bounces and giggles and ebbs and flows to the rhythm of honesty, of raw friendship. He asks if they are the "happy group" or if every practice is like this. They are quick to affirm the latter.

Before, I wasn't used to so many girls at once. But this is by far the the least catty, least cliquish group of girls I have ever worked with.

And it's true. They talk in terms of Before and After. Before, when they winced along with the rest of the general population at the mention of the word and its implications. After, when it means so many things, all of them positive and hopeful for a brighter future (and don't act like the future couldn't be brighter). The conversation slides so easily from serious to silly, from business to play and back, it's hard to keep up if you are paddling. But the point is not to paddle.

The point lies in riding the smooth arc of conversation and an absolute comfort with one another that is so difficult to find. The point is the unconscious absolutes. The perfect dynamic not quite impossible to cast. We've been through a lot, we vaginas, and it shows in our love for each other.

And all the while he scribbles, scribbles.

I am not thinking about the end. I am not thinking about the end.

I am not thinking about the end.

There is a SHOW to do.


And if you're in the College Park area this weekend, come see it. It's amazing. Plug plug plug.

Vagina Monologues.

The current mood of bratnatch at
FIN. 11:44 a.m., Thursday, Feb. 23, 2006

ink :: graphite

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A work in Aberration.