New York City

The city is alive. Its pulse runs through the streets, up the skyscrapers, and into the atmosphere. It is consuming and has consumed so many. I see it in their eyes. No longer people, they have instead become ingested by the city. They are singular, short lived, serviceable cells. Mindless. Consumed.

There are those who have escaped consumption. They are still alive. The city cannot feed on them and so they feed off the city. I drift somewhere in between. I can feel the city hunting me, lurking in the shadows of subway tunnels. In the bodies pushing, shoving, grasping past me. The prices on menus. The non-stop noise.  The city is hungry, and escape is exhausting. Everywhere I look I see its gray, dirty skin, behind, before, and below me. There is no rest to be had when even the quiet is filled with fear and anticipation. Overwhelmed; I run away. Continue reading


Auditioning Is Scary

AuditioriumI wonder how Victor Hugo would feel about his behemoth of a novel, Les Miserables, becoming a musical. Would he smile at the script, fondly tapping his foot along with the music of the orchestra? Would he feel that squeezing his many words into a four-hour performance is an injustice? Would he shed a tear while witnessing Val Jeans’s transformation, his heart soaring with the notes? I don’t know.

What I do know is that in less than a day I will be auditioning for the role of Enjolras, Continue reading