Posts Tagged ‘show me something beautiful’

Serendipitous gifts

Friday, August 5th, 2016

“The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.”
James Baldwin

Just now, I texted everyone I have a current iMessage conversation with “Thank you for being human with me”. It is because I associate those people with the ones I maintain the closest friendships to because we share our phones messaging app between devices.

This is, invariably, a false equivalency, though it became more balanced when I changed my phone number and worked through (am still working through) who to tell.

The truth is there are many filters that would leave deserving people out of the loop about this mass, and yet personal, messaging spree I just went on, but what alarms me is to discover that the selection process is not as intentional as I’d like to think it is.

It’s not even a selection, really. It’s laziness, lack of awareness, automation, which causes me to turn to iMessage. The fucking automation. The fucking machine that plugs my supposed need for that kind of connectivity and false belonging to sell me unethical products that are not meant to last.

Look. There are people I will never talk to again who deserve to hear me say “Thank you for being human with me”. Every single person I’ve ever met deserves this recognition. And I deserve that recognition from all of you. And I think it’s fair to say that it seems pretty universal that we have all been unconsciously programmed not to acknowledge one another in this way, but to pretend that we do. Like the quotes in Embodied said on the walls of Fred Wildlife Refuge,

“I am the collective effort of everyone I’ve ever known.” — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

Apart from never being able to truly trust anyone, I wasn’t a hacker, or a bone fide hardware geek. I appreciated that stuff, but I was drawn to hackers because I was a *communicator*, and I could relate to hackers. I like being clever and sneaky and destroying shit as much as I like creating it.

For a long time, being a part of the hacker community — and later the little red studio, specifically, had me feeling very special. I felt popular, I could say whatever the fuck I wanted, I threw weird parties, and I had a community with which to be creative.

In both those instances I’d locked societal woundings with whole communities, and the learning was fertile and priceless. We were communicators who wanted to build our own god damn platforms, to cultivate relationships with our expression forms, and with technology, that mattered.

Well, as far as I can tell, most of us still want to do that. But where the fuck are we? What the fuck are we doing? We are on facebook, and google, and twitter, and none of us trust these fuckers with the soul we give to them.

How is it that we got to the point that your fucking words, your thoughts, your fucking anniversaries, your fears, your personality scores, your rants, your sorrows, your calls for justice AREN’T YOURS, AREN’T OWNED BY YOU, instead being fucking manipulated and distilled and romanticized for profit.

What the fuck.

My space. My fucking space.

That’s fucking better.

I have a deep desire to be in structured school, with a goal, challenges, variation, and letters after my name. So many of us do, I think; we crave knowledge, a safe space to explore not already knowing, guidance, and we crave our own continued understanding. We crave the idea of education that the educational system abandoned in order to survive civilization.

For people like us, right now the best we can be doing is learning by teaching what we know to our communities, but more importantly to each other, our fellow activists; especially those of us who recognize that without drinking water, without being able to be naked outside in the sun, without food, without air, without the ancient peat bogs and rainforests holding so much carbon for us, we are fucking lost. Those of us waiting for the cleansing fire. The birth to the destruction to the birth.

It’s people like us that need to be learning from people like us who are focused on different parts of The Thing.

Start hosting workshops to teach the shit you know. Start risking your ego to make a difference, to open yourself up to learning by empowering others. Make that shit happen, and do it with fucking integrity. Give credit where it’s due and don’t make money off the backs of those society deems yours. Admit you don’t know it all. Explore. Let them come to you, and when they do; Teach.


Y’all want fucking revolution? Then let’s use our fucking skills to prove it, and create one.

One day at a time, one habit at a time, ween yourself and take responsibility for your own shit.

Stop fucking leaning on the systems you recognize are corroding your fucking soul.

Learn what it is to nurture and toil the food you eat before you eat it. Learn what it means to be have less stuff. Explore options of supporting yourself that don’t rely solely on the internet, or invisible slave labor. Invite a friend over to your house to chat. Share your mentors with the people you love. And ffs stop fucking maneuvering your most precious relationships via fucking text messages, ya fearfulass Previous Me insufferable text-dumping asshole.

I’m not sure exactly what that looks like, but when I really sit with what it feels like to give facebook and even instagram the product of my mind, I feel a gross sense of self betrayal inside. I’ve grappled with it a long time, but I think I’ve made good headway lately.

And I’m fucking watching you, Patreon. Every greedy fuckshit mistake you make by us, I’m holding your asses accountable and taking fucking notes. You have to earn the shit out of my trust. The shit out of it. Do better.

The Notebook

I am noticing one of the blockages I experience around my writing, is that I rarely write. I type. And that’s different.

I have also noticed that my organization of ideas is scattered as shit. Self sent text messages, voice memos, emails to myself, google spreadsheets, soundcloud, patreon, my blog, the notes app on my phone, and hardcopy notebooks — all house my fractions, experiments, and prose. Ideas for my current album, Cold Front, span all of these mediums. Even if I wanted to work on it, just going through my fucking notes is like looking into a shattered mirror.

While I excel during projects when I allow the process to be messy, and I do best while fragmented and having multiple, different projects in the fire at once, I recognize that I lose myself in obsessive tracking and procrastination when I do not start those projects from a place of organization, grounding and levity.

It is time to carry a notebook. Everywhere. And to utilize technology as a backup, a failsafe should something happen to it, rather than.. Whatever the fuck it is I have been doing. Amusingly, I was just gifted one by a new pal.

I made him sign it. Oh, the pressure I put upon y’all.

One of the people who passed through my life at one time is a very famous, beloved author. He understands the value of a hand written page. I am thinking about him as I make this commitment to myself, and my work, to intentionally try things just a little bit differently, now.

Besides. I know how the brain works, at least in regards to how it processes information in the context of expression methods. I learned this as a student at Brian Utting. Writing, with my hands, on paper, making marks, will download the essence of what I want to capture into a place that is very unlikely to be taken away from me, even if something happens to my notebook.

And when I was out in the woods, exhausted, overwhelmed, spread to the breaking point while literally holding up another human being, losing my own mind and breaking my own heart and remembering what really fucking matters; the safe, private notes I drew to myself kept me going.

Keep Going.

I trust me, and my mind, which god damn fucking WORKS, to level up about the kind of care, thought, and and attention that goes into my functioning effectively. Efficiently. Conservation, restoration, nutrients; they are not just for the world around me, and not just applicable in the literal senses I am learning these skills via.

I trust me to fucking take care of myself, even though I have spent, and will still spend, effort and time struggling, and making mistakes, in that department.

I am ready to take another step towards strengthening me, so I can hold what it means to be bigger. Braver. More. Less.

Funny, how significant, this dumb little shit can be.

I’m Courtnee Fallon Rex, and this is only barely scratching the surface of what kind of writer, activist, teacher, and human being I can be when I am fulfilled in my work, selective with my friends, appreciative of my fans, careful how I spend my energy (and why), have the means to support and nurture myself, bathe, farm and harvest my own food, am seen, and paid, and create and perform my music on my terms for fans who truly appreciate my. Fucking. Work.

So thank you, for being human with me. I know I am not alone in this. I know I am not alone in my frustrations, my desire to see more empowerment outside of the constrained, incompetent systems that are all we’ve ever been truly encouraged to know ourselves by. In every career path I’ve taken, I’ve been the one standing up and asking: Why? Why are we bowing? Why do we immediately attempt to contort under these strains, these fucking invented, arbitrary oppressions? When the fuck are we going to stand up?

We are. It’s just.. slow. And I am going to keep doing what I need to do, respecting the influences, the tides, and the sheer fucking magnitude that is the task of standing up. Over, and over, and over again.

I am angry, at society. Today, and to some degree, every day. Today I also accept the possibility that this will not change.

Returning home has been a long, steady, breakthrough; a return on previous investments. Level: up.

Next challenge: learning how to respect my opponents.


When I was just a little girl…

Monday, August 26th, 2013

Want to help me flesh out some specifics from a scene in my newest show?

Please respond with what immediately comes to mind when presented with the phrase “Inner Child”.

Mine was: Inconvenient asshole.

Violence and Silence: Jackson Katz, Ph.D

Monday, May 6th, 2013

Everything about this video is Good Shit. Everything.


Saturday, February 23rd, 2013

When I was contemplating what I might call the most recent incarnation of my signature aerial act, (“Zita Begins” doesn’t really fit, now that I simply perform as myself without a persona) I thought about what the act represents for me at its core more than anything.

These are the things I realized (and a lot of it probably won’t make much sense unless you’ve seen the piece):

Over the years, though the details of them have changed, the representation of the clothing I’ve worn as I begin this act has not. The clothes are always an elegantly dark shroud looming on me, silently weighing me down with their familiar dormant comforts. They are like hibernation, or a warm comfy bed during a depression.

The silks, however, have represented something different every time I’ve done this performance and often shift when I just envision what I’m trying to convey with the piece. Relationships, people, salvation, my sexuality, hope, the future, my common sense – all things the silks have been for me. And that’s just for this one act I do – or, as I’m starting to view it, the music I perform to.

I came to realize when I was thinking about this that I only do this piece every year or two because that’s only as often as I’ve been meant to perform it. The opportunity to present the act (which is rare because this country is stupid and I happen to use nudity to convey the raw vulnerability of the performance) usually comes along on the tail end of a great transformation in my psyche, usually from life transitions or times of trauma.

I chose “Rise” for the working title, having had no recollection of the last relatively awful Batman film being named “Dark Knight Rises” (I perform this act to the Batman Begins score) due to this recognition: I don’t own this silks piece. If anything, it owns me – We are each other. It ascends as I ascend.

After the show, I received many wonderful compliments about the act from guests and peers, and feedback from staff about how the audience reacted to it, both as I performed, (they were stunned, and a lot of them were in tears) and as guests were leaving the venue talking about it, (she said they “raved”, actually. figure out how to stop diminishing your compliments you boob.)

Seems I have a hard time talking about myself lovingly even when it’s the words of others. I think maybe I have a problem with that.

For now I will say that my sense is that it was as good for the audience as it was for me.

What a fucking performance! That felt awesome. It was real!

And it was real. That act is my rite of passage ritual. Whenever I perform it, it represents something real that’s happening for me in my tiny yet somehow epic life. Something big. Something hard. Something soft.

The rehearsal process is almost non-existent, I don’t run through it full on, ever. It’s like a scaffolding for my personal growth that I fill in that night while on stage with the audience.

Each time I’ve done this act before, I knew it as powerful; I saw it that way because of how vulnerable I was, how sad and small and struggling, like beating my tiny fists into a fresh, 3 foot thick wall of marshmallow. Telling myself the same story over and over again, trying to wake myself up. I saw it that way largely because of the massive waves of debilitating emotion that would crash over me after I finished, shaking and sobbing in the green room.

Those performances map like flights of stairs I climbed when I look at the timeline from a wide lens. And they were. In those performances when I went back to the silks, my perception made a stair – I looked directly cross the stage at them eye level, watched my hands clasp around them in front of my face and then looked up the silks to reach for the final climb.

This time, my eyelines made the shape of a plane taking off. My vision swept up the silks to the goal above as I walked to them and for the first time ever I knew what it was I was climbing to.

This performance was powerful, because I am powerful. Both sides of me, both brains, both personality genders. I was imperfectly flawless. I had just the right amount planned and just the right amount not planned. I did a few simple changes that I haven’t done before that I will probably not do the same again, and I picked up some things I definitely want to keep. A few things even went wrong in just the right way.

And I learned about myself, by how it felt. By how IN it I had to be in part due to blocking changes and lighting. How I was so in my body, noticing how moving felt, connected to the silks like an avatar, and that one moment I took to just hang and watch the ground as I spun up there in my footlock and BE in the air just sitting with the wowness of it. It was really something.

I was under a warm but bright white light that was unable to be turned off, the most exposed and raw I’ve done this piece. I’ve gone from using active lighting changes and colors to always on – and it was brilliant, at least this once.

Even more, through this process of training and restructuring my relationship with fitness, aerial, and how much my body can take, I know what aerial is to me now, why I find a way to stick around it even when I’m not performing as opposed to my other artforms that I drop in and out of obsessions with.

As the images betray; the silks are my muse. I have a relationship with them, a trust in them. They are an important part of my life and my progression as an artist AND as a human being.

They challenge me to improve my self care, both understanding my bodies limits and attributes in my interactions with them, and how to keep from hurting myself while becoming stronger. They allowed me to show my softness and to emote with this artform when the spectacle of rope had ravaged my body as much as I could allow it to.

And what better teacher than the silks, really? Even the way I eventually came to them after hating them years into aerial at one of the most stressful times in my life (when Josh died).

I know this probably sounds totally loony, but honestly, I just don’t give a good god damn if it does. When I look in my chest, I see a circuit of numerous stray wires that got completed last night. Something that was searching for closure feels quiet and at rest.

Was a really good night. I am deeply grateful to everyone who made it possible and all the lovely things that were said to me because of it.

Level Up: Complete.
courtnee@localhost ~ $

Photography from the “Red Room Masquerade”, a fund raiser for the Foundation for Sex Positive Culture, by Adam Harrison


Monday, February 18th, 2013

I’ve been thinking lately about my decision to, though currently saving for a house, and recently leaving one of my part time jobs, simultaneously agree to increase my office rent by about 75% for the next year in order to add a second room for an art studio.

In some ways, and surely on the paper itself, the decision seems ludicrous. It’ll take all the money I make from my various forms of work to pay my rents and provide basic things for myself, like food and bus fare – and it’s not even for the huge gorgeous mountain view office I REALLY wanted (which was $1410 a month – over twice what my new office is). Still, it’s entirely possible and I am preparing for the reality that I will be eating ramen for months in order to make this change in my life.

And yet, the move seems completely worth it. I have some concerns but they are being overridden by my connection with myself and what I want in my life. This is the right step for me right now – and that dream office I can’t afford seems like a good goal for my future.

In the past when I have had a space to make art, it’s been inconvenient somehow – like a shared space I couldn’t leave my work in, or a cold dirty partially finished basement that made me sneeze. I made the most of these solutions and they were great stepping stones while I learned about myself.

But more of that at this point in my life won’t fuel me and propel me through forward motion like I want. It won’t address the challenges I now face as opposed to the challenges I faced years ago.

To the degree I am currently capable, I have accepted and embodied the reality of my being fundamentally artistic human being. My deepest wish for myself, and my adult-life struggle, has centered around how to truly create an abundant life in which my artistic pursuits are the focus. I need my own space for that.

In the time since I came to this awareness I have yet to meet an artist I consider successful who does not have a dedicated physical space to work. Whether it’s aerial, or visual art, or massage, or writing, a true artist to me is someone who values their work enough to create a space in physical time to pursue it – and made that space their own, as well.

Over the years I’ve nagged at myself that I need a studio and yet have not made one happen. I’ve been waiting to succeed before rewarding myself with the freedom to express and create and experiment. I’ve been waiting to prove to myself that I am worth the same efforts that the successful people around me have seen themselves as being worth. I’ve been waiting for someone else to see the value in me and make it happen. I’ve been waiting to give up, sign my soul and energy away to a social machine that doesn’t speak to my life values in order to afford an art space I wouldn’t have the time or substance left in me to use.

No matter what the story or visual, the constant in my view of my life is that I’ve seen through a perpetual state of deficiency, trying to make space for myself when I felt I didn’t have the resources to take ownership of any. I’ve been doing this (to lesser and lesser degrees) for years and it hasn’t been working. It’s time to set another big suitcase full of baggage down.

With this new office, I will have a place to create, that is not attached to my living space or who I am as a person. This dovetails very well with an emerging perspective of artwork as being something I make, something I produce under the guidance of my Self, which is sometimes an intense and extremely vulnerable expression of that self (I.E., my aerial act), but doesn’t have to ONLY be that kind of art for that purpose.

I want to make art because I saw a cool tutorial on youtube and I want to try a new painting style. I want to make art because it’s cute, or funny, or because I feel like experiencing blue on canvas, or because I want to cover my fists in paint and throw myself against something. I want to make crap. Lots and lots of crap. I want to let myself practice things.

I also want to make art because I have to, because it’s the only way I can create glimpse of what I am experiencing as a human being in this world. I want to make art because I have a new dress that I feel sexy wearing, I want to make art because I discovered a new way to pose my body. I just want to MAKE. ART.

Having this new space supports that vision of myself, and I believe that vision of myself will support me in paying for this new space. Now that I have a second room in which to otherwise be productive, I have the opportunity to be more disciplined in my work, which is an aspect of the success of my mentors I have had a lot of difficulty mimicking in the past.

I can now hold business hours in which I am present, working on art, in addition to offering massages. I can now separate my work from my home life and self care, rather than having half of it jumbled into one big gob of a thing. Now, I can accept walk-in’s and last minute bookings, whereas before I could not manage time effectively enough to offer that to my clients.

Additionally, having this space allows me to expand and collaborate with more people who are doing things in this world that I want to support and be a part of.

Yes, it’s a risk. It’s all a risk, no matter what I choose to do, or if I choose to change nothing. But with this decision, even if I utterly fail, default on my lease, and completely knob the whole thing up – even if the voice in my head that suggests I’m too crappy an artist to have a studio, that even if I have time set aside and a space to create that I won’t ever get any better, that I’m too enslaved by my moods and inspirations to be consistent enough to make this decision work, that the furniture isn’t all going to fit, that I just can’t do it, is right – I will emerge from this choice changed for the better by the experience and I will learn from trusting in myself to handle this challenge of taking more responsibility for my life.

So fuck that tiny little voice. Fuck that I don’t have myself entirely positioned over a safety net. Fuck that I have questions, that I don’t know all the answers, that I’m not certain how this will all pan out. I’m doing it anyway. It’s a no brainer, and whatever happens, I can handle it.

Even if what happens, is wild stampeding success.

The visionary story of Fear

Tuesday, January 8th, 2013

This is a great talk. I struggle consistently, especially lately, with maneuvering the spectacular abilities I have to articulate my fears in visions and projections of the future, and have largely taken the stance that they need to be squashed and quieted in order for me to effectively live my life. However, when I have felt profoundly connected and in harmony with myself, I have also been animating my big complex and intricate fears into my work and my performances.

Go Fish

Monday, September 17th, 2012

I spent the better part of my weekend in Mossyrock camping with Edgars (and a bunch of other people who made it easy to keep to myself). Mostly I slept, contemplated my navel and waited for fish to bite. I even read half a book! And noticed this:

Camping for a few days has taught or reaffirmed for me the following:

  • The ground is hard.
  • Tents, particularly roomy tents combined with big thick cushions, are AWESOME.
  • The wind in trees make the perfect brown noise for sleeping.
  • Reaffirmed that boats are (being on the water is) neat.
  • After seeing how neurotic and uptight it caused the borrower to behave, I will probably never borrow someone elses boat.
  • Fishing is kind of a pain in the ass if you’re counting on catching any fish. Also; I caught fish.
  • Bugs can suck my musty unshowered mudcutter. By far the worst part of the experience. The bits are still driving me batshit.
  • Camping is best suited for eating, reading, and sleeping.
  • I want a big pack, a tent and a sleeping bag, so I can hole up in them whenever I want.
  • The cloud formations, particularly the sunsets, don’t get any better than the Pacific Northwest.

Profits, and loss.

Monday, December 19th, 2011

I just spent the last 2+ hours compiling a profit and loss statement for the Swedish Medical Center, of which I am requesting charity medical care so we can get CT scans of my sinuses and brain. This would be, at the best of times, a trying task for me; Math on its own avoids my grasp, and formatting documents isn’t far behind how daunting math is, so put the two of them together and I’m squinting fiercely trying to keep track and constantly having to rework things.

I got it done, and though it wasn’t the easiest or most comfortable thing to be doing right now, I am immensely appreciative of having to do it. Here’s why:

Though I’ve improved over the years, I still have a hard time seeing past being sick. Which makes the frequency of illness in my life especially damaging and annoying. This time hasn’t been any different, and I’ve had other things going on in my life as well to be down about, so mostly, I’ve been slow and mopey inside.

What this statement showed me is about what I expected: I have profited, after expenses but before taxes and living costs, just shy of $11,000 this year.

But my reaction to it wasn’t what I expected. My jaw would have dropped if I hadn’t been clenching it for the last 2 hours; what I found notable about that fact, is the reasons why that had flooded into my head.

In 2011, I:

  • Lived in a huge, gorgeous victorian house with people I adored
  • Made my living doing things I loved, in my own office with my own schedule, sharing my space with someone I admire, trust and work well with.
  • Trained as much aerial circus as I desired
  • Stayed at an amazing Bed and Breakfast in Leavenworth, WA, 3 times
  • Took a 2.5 week road trip in a fast, fun, new car all down the west coast, to LA, Las Vegas and to visit my family in Sacramento, all of which I stayed comfortably and safely in.
  • Attended Defcon, and the swankest party I’ve ever been to at the top of the Palms hotel in Vegas
  • Stayed a weekend in a gorgeous Bed and Breakfast in Port Angeles, WA
  • Put on an ambitious, expensive, AMAzing show of my music, and did it MY WAY.
  • Spent a week exploring Ireland.
  • Created art when, how, and why I wanted to.
  • Always had a way to see a doctor when I needed one, even without insurance (through Qliance)

I have lived a LOT of life this year. A lot. And I don’t go hungry, I don’t live in squalor, I don’t have to stress about feeding a family or insuring a car or put up with abuse.

And I was reminded of earlier today, as I was considering on the bus ride home from my testing of all the possibilities that could lie ahead of me; if I ended up finding out something crazy, something like I had a brain tumor and a year to live, there is very, very little that I would do differently in the time I had left.

Very, very little.

My world — this utterly beautiful, ruthless, gentle, amazing, infuriating, incredible world, is literally brimming with generosity, like my eyes are brimming with tears right now.

It is utterly staggering, and a relief to me, to finally feel something other than frustration, hopelessness, jealousy and failure when I look dead on at how much money I make for my incessant, hard work.

Money is symbolic for me in some negative way. I’ve touched on it in therapy before and haven’t quite figured out what it is yet, but I know that my relationship and self imposed barriers surrounding money are a source of deep personal struggle for me. I suspect it goes beyond simply being frustrated consistently lacking the resources to do the work I want to do in the world, and not having a stable home base to do it in. Though, those two things are pretty big obstacles, all on their own.

It is a relief in this moment to feel such a deep gratitude among the pain, disability and loneliness I’ve felt these last few weeks after my health deteriorated.

And it feels so, so fucking good, to look back on all the people, past and present, that have made this small, complex, vibrant little life of mine such a worthwhile experience.

…and I don’t think I’m going to have any problem, getting the tests done that I need.

Thank you.

Vita Arts fundraiser, July 25th

Sunday, July 19th, 2009

“No matter how enlightened you are, as long as there are people suffering, you still have plenty of work to do.”

7-25-09-fundraiserWho: Levity, Chimera, Dyno, Zita, and more fabulous aerial talent!

What: The first fundraising event for Vita Arts, my new non-profit arts organization

Where: Versatile Arts, 7601 Greenwood Ave, Seattle

When: Saturday, July 25, 2009 8:00pm – 10:00pm


Seems to me, many people spend a long time building their lives into something they can be proud of,  something comfortable for them, in order to be safe to accomplish another something that’s bigger than themselves.

I have done my fair share of struggling, trying different configurations, playing small and dreaming big. Over the last few years, I’ve contemplated what the bigger thing might be, for me. Sure, I sometimes make people happy with my art. I make money helping other people do cool things, I volunteer, and my financial/geographical footprint is about 15% of what it used to be when I worked for Microsoft. I even turn the water off when I brush my teeth most of the time. But what can I REALLY do to make a difference in life?

When it came time for me to serve the world somehow, I found that I wanted to create a non-profit organization to help perpetuate the transformative capabilities inherent in expressing ones self, artistically. To make a space for people to experience the healing opportunities I have had through art in a more tactile, kinesthetic way than I have with my personal offerings of performances, music, paintings and that sort of thing.

I know art saves lives, because it saved mine. I’ve seen the results, and heard the stories of others, about the power of artistic expression to heal and transform. Whether it be from seeing it, appreciating it, facilitating it, being it, creating it, failing at it, living it – I maintain that art has the power to touch absolutely everyone.

I’ve also seen how sharing myself artistically often effects and inspires people to action. How the experience of art opens people up to expressing life, to telling their once-quiet stories through a medium, helping discover courages and strengths we so often convince ourselves we don’t, or can’t, have. How art helps people face their fears, release difficult emotions, grieve, find direction and purpose.

Perhaps most importantly, I have seen how, no matter how bleak and helpless a situation may seem, one small, brave action creates a chain of them. Every time.

It’s never too late to choose to make a difference.

Vita Arts is sharing the power of art with the disadvantaged and transforming lives.

Our performances offer the public a chance to see our skills, and to be moved by the human spirit.  Our shows  also serve to fund and publicize our outreach efforts, working with individuals in small workshops, giving them a chance to experience creating art for themselves, perhaps for the very first time.

We are starting local, with two public performances and a workshop being planned in 2009 alone. We look forward to expanding our efforts in the coming years by collaborating with other organizations (such as disaster relief orgs, loss support groups, and those helping reform the incarcerated) to offer transformative art experiences to the disadvantaged of all ages, around the world.

Come find out more about who we are, what we’re doing,  see a great show, and best of all, help make a difference.

Please note: If you are unable to attend this event and wish to support us, we are gratefully accepting donations. Provisional 501(c)(3) status is in the works, and will backdate once approved for tax deduction purposes. You may send donations to Vita Arts, PO box 20233, Seattle, WA 98102.

Thank you, so much, for your support.

Playing for Change

Tuesday, April 28th, 2009

I hope these videos go as viral as I think they will…

Playing For Change | Song Around The World “Stand By Me” from Concord Music Group on Vimeo.

There’s also world versions of:

“One Love”
“Don’t Worry”

“While you were gone” – Hell hath no fury.

Wednesday, July 9th, 2008

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

I am displeased.

I’ve allowed myself to remain deeply involved with someone who claims not to be ‘dating’ anyone, who categorizes me as a ‘friend’ along with everyone else in his life. I’ve allowed him to hide behind semantics and phrasing that I’ve known are bullshit to enable himself to enjoy me and another woman who also considers herself to be in a relationship with him. I’ve allowed for his selfish, dishonest, and often utterly ridiculous reactions to make me question my sanity, my motives, to feel controlling, out of line and unhinged – just as he’s hoped they would.

Even though I have been clear from the start where I stood in regards to multiple relationships in relation to ours, I have not stood my ground. I have allowed for his actions and my own to damage me over and over, as I quietly read books about strengthening the bonds between lovers, searching for new ways to connect and show affection toward him.

I’ve acted such a fool.

I’ve been operating under the constructs of a romantic relationship with this man, giving and receiving much more than I have ever given any supposed ‘friend’, based on whispers of manipulative assurance and lies of omission (and often outright lies) that didn’t line up with his actions at all. I’ve done this all in the name of growth and consciousness expansion while he’s lied point blank to my face and been insincere, greedy and dishonest for months, perhaps longer. How utterly irresponsible of me.

He’s recently told me I am the love of his life, declined advances from people by declaring that his heart belongs to me and has for a long time, and has been sleeping with me. We’ve talked of babies and marriage and remain bonded in chemistry thick enough I can barely see through it. Even as I have sought to end romantic relations with him he’s consistently resisted and acted out in protest. Yet, I am assured to be a ‘friend’ to him, to someone who is clear about having strong feelings for him with whom he has recent history. It’s been a source of profound tension and distress for me, and I’ve often felt insulted.

I kept telling myself to be a ‘bigger’ person and to accept things how they were, even though they were hurtful. I wrote numerous pep talks for myself about growing past what I wanted, what I felt was right for me, changing my standards. It was all bullshit. I allowed his constant refusal to listen to me about this to mean that my feelings must have been wrong. That the respect, and the honesty I wanted was wrong.

I am hurt by the mixed signals, distressed and suspicious of the vagueness, and I always have been. I am angry about the defensive wall that is put up every time I’ve attempted to address this triad with him – even simply that it exists. I am saddened and confused by the inconsistency with which he represents our relationship. I am frustrated by his persistent unwillingness to recognize my feelings, my warnings, about these discomforts I’ve had, even when I’ve been in tears over them.

I’ve been met with a constant standoff about any details regarding his relationship with her. I am furious with his resistence to owning his actions as precipitating the tensions between the three of us, and his excuses. I am sick of being lead on and sick of watching him lead her on like we’re both fucking stupid.

I’ve been involved in a shadow what I want for myself since he approached me in April wanting to rebuild our relationship. I’ve trusted that whatever we ended up having would build trust and strength and be celebrated honestly and be protected. That’s not the case, and it hasn’t been for a long time. I’ve been utterly played.

And yet there I’ve been, still giving this guy my all, gut wrenched and walking on eggshells.

It’s always something, isn’t it. A mutual interest. A book. A text message from across the country. Some clothes. I break free, but there is always something to grapple to, and get the hooks back in me.

Enough. I’m finished being this person.

EDIT: Turns out he’s been fucking us both consistently for a year, and is also screwing someone else he’s been lying to us about. Awesome.