Artists, Irony and Nostalgia

I’m horribly nostalgic these days. I miss being around “theatre kids.” I miss the world where people saw crying out loud as passion and bold energy, before the world turned it into a bad thing because vulnerability is too scary.  I miss the world where, instead of being judged(first, anyhow), someone asked: “why did you do that?” 

I miss three-part harmonies in my dad’s truck.

I miss sitting up under my mother like I was five and her pretending that it annoyed her when we both knew it was awesome…and really fun.

I miss Piney Point and the family we built in one month. Flat.

I miss Hawaii. I wasn’t moody, worried, irritable and I never called myself fat(granted I dropped a dress size a month for three months from working 70+ hours EVERY week).

I miss my friends who could listen to my circled logic and warp-speed speech and actually understand. My mom did too. My sister still does.

I miss sharing a bedroom with my sister.

I miss being able to write good poetry-gotta get it back.

I miss NoDa. The gallery crawls, Kevin and Michael’s mojitos, the drum circles, the park, the parties at the HUMANS pad, the freestyle pieces that included singing, instruments-or not, rapping, poems and whatever else anyone felt, that could go on for hours…the fact I could get trashed and cross the street to get home.

I miss the old Children’s Theater and the people who made that place what it was.

I miss when I had friends who went out just to be around people.

I miss $2.50 pint night at the flying saucer.

I miss.

I miss.

I miss.


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