"You've got to...get...that...dirt off your shoulder."

Trying to type Jay-Z lyrics, something is lost in the translation, and it comes out all Captain-Kirk-esque.

That was a haiku:

Trying to type Jay
Z lyrics, something is lost
in the translation . . .

Word, Basho. Word. It's funny, the similarities between feudal Japanese poetry and contemporary rap. Both arise from strong oral traditions, are observational and are generally more measured by rhythm than rhyme. The adoption of a haigo, common for haiku poets of the era, is not dissimilar from rap artists changing their name to something catchy, or expressive of what their music is about to them. And, they're all killing each other all the time. So there's that.

That Basho. He really got it, man:
toshi kurenu / kasa kite waraji / hakingara
another year is gone / a traveller's shade on my head, / straw sandals at my feet [1685]

Snaps to him. Replete with emo-girl poetry slashes.

//day break, as in a break between days, such as occurs when the author spends a whole day in front of a computer, editing legal documents, has hads all he can stands and he cants stands no more//

I am in high prep-mode for another bit of travel myself, though this time the road and I will be together only for a day. Tomorrow I (and my good [and skilled and beneficent] friend Patrick) will drive a rental up to New Paltz, New York, for to teach a workshop enthusiastically entitled "Commedia dell'Acro" at the KC/ACT Festival. All this in the hopes of raising awareness for In Bocca al Lupo, the soon-to-be-annual trip to Italy that Zuppa del Giorno will be taking in May . . . assuming we goad enough adventure-seeking college students into it.

//mental break, as in the kind one has when one makes an unwitting discovery//

God bless technology, and, though I'm still reserving judgment, possibly God damn the good people at the KCACTF. In linking to the website, I just discovered we are not listed in the program. Ergo, no one will know we're there. Ergo, $70 for the car rental, $160 for the brochure printing (yes--that costs more than RENTING A CAR) and roughly 30 hours of preparation time = priceless. A few flurried calls to David Zarko and we're hopefully discovering as we speak that the website program of events is way out-of-date . . . because if not, I'll be feeling a little less Basho and a little more bash-heads for a week or so.

//oh good, Heather called, spoke to Debra Otte, mistress of all things awesome, we are on current festival schedule and I don't have to bash heads unless I really want to//

In about a week, on the 22nd, Heather and I will be conducting another workshop, this one in Philadelphia: "Learn How to Fall and Fly." We have until mid-February to secure enough students for the trip. Otherwise, it doesn't happen. Strange to have that kind of necessity hinging entirely upon one. Somehow, busting ass to get to Italy again doesn't stress me out nearly as much as, say, auditioning for one lousy show. I suppose it's something to do with the security of a long-term goal and the immediacy of a short-term one. For example, I will be very sad if Italy does not happen (of course), yet having days and days to do little things toward it make me feel better about what efforts I'm making. And if it doesn't happen, well, I've got weeks to deal and find new occupations. Whereas, with an audition, it all hangs on your two minutes with a stranger or two, and the job is yours or it isn't. There's no progress, no portfolio being built. Simply fly . . . or fall.

On Sunday I had a great conversation with friend Patrick, and he asked me how important it was to me that an aspect of The Third Life(ign') seemed to involve travel and transition. Patrick's good at questions like that. (And he reads the 'blog. And he's saving Zuppa's ass tomorrow. I owe Patrick big.) My answer, when I finally got through the hemming and hawing stages--with a brief sojourn into an apprehensive stuttering stage--was that for me, just now, life is a search, a quest. So it's pretty natural for me to have so much travel in my Third Life(c). Maybe it will always be that way. Maybe not.

For now I travel
six months of ever'y year.
Italy or bust.