Lightening Strikes but misses the sausage at Gammage.

 
Lightening strikes. At 5.30am I am awake. Same as it has been for theentire two weeks of my visit here. I write my morning pages. MorningPages are an invention of Julia Cameron. Her book The Artists Way isone that I can recommend to you whether you are an artist or not.   The morningpagesare one cornerstone of Ms Cameron's teachings. Three pages a morning assoon as you wake. The pages can be about everything and anything ornothing. They are not to be re-read, not to be edited and not to beimproved upon. They set the tone of the day for the artist. Engage.

I do this blog too, right. But I do the blog for an entirely different reason.  Let me explain. As you may or may not know i have never had a family. At base allfamily does is confirm the existence,  therefore confirming therelevance therefore the  life of its  members Birthdays marriages, funerals, all these are part of thatconfirmation. But it happens on a macro level too, within the familydynamics, negative or positive - all are confirmation of the othersexistance.  I have never had that. This means that each time I amin the newspaper, like the article in The Independent a couple of weeksago and every time I am on the radio like the BBC World Service which Iwas on today (the programme is called Network Africa), all I am doing -bottom line - is leaving digital artistic printed footprints that confirm I existedat any given point in time.  I was here. I was alive.  

I have done this from as early as 20 years of age. It has been adifficult concept to  communicate to others. But it alsomeans  I have no  "fame complex". I do what I do, write booksperform on stage etc, for  reasons much muchbigger than that.  I  can now trace my life from 18 years oldwith the first newspaper coverage to now. I was here. I was alive.

It’s morning time. Phoenixis circled by mountains. They call it the valley of the sun.  Kinda makes sense – it’s  been the hottest place in Americathis past two weeks. Looking out of my hotel room over swaying  palms  astorm’s a comin’. I love storms in hot countries:  Lightening striking the mountains over CapeTown.  Storms breakingover the Atlantic sea off the coast of Senegalwhere I stand in the old slave ports. Purple rain off the coast in the bayof San Fransisco  .  Andright here right now in daytime Arizona.

 I’m listening to the Gil Scott heron track “Storm music”. Themountains are invisible.  Its as if milkhas been spilled on the sky. The clouds.  The sky is  a sheet of electrified white. Thunder rumbles roundthe mountains that surround us like a boulder has been thrown round a super sizedroulette wheel. and as the ball bounces The hotel shakes and lightning strikes.

 Electric. From my 7th floor Balcony it makes thehairs on the back of my neck stand up, and applaud.  It’s been a great two weeks here at Phoenix,Arizona. All events organised by ASU PublicEvents.  The lightening  in the distance looks like it is striking theroof of the The Gammage Theatre were  I will beperforming on Saturday were  I am goingto make my own electricity. It feels like a good omen.  The final gig of this mini-residency isSomething Dark, my One man show.  Itlasts ninety minutes.  It’s either gonnabe electric or be electrified, either way, it’s all good. Preparation is the key to all spontaneity.   I was here , I was alive.

Afterthought

All this lightening has got me thinking,  maybe I could hold out a sausage on a fork on my balcony  in the hope that it  might strike and cook the sausage  for me.. But  then the picture  comes to mind of me   burned entirely black, a wisp of smoke curling from each ear, holding a metal fork withan uncooked sausage on it.  Time forbreakfast I think.

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