In April, 1995.

DIARY

What happened in March...

After the end of The Flame of Peace, I wanted to move onto a new production. My friend Levi and I assembled self-written and public domain scripts (and probably several non public domain) from assorted sources to mount a production for our self-run theater group: Elysian Theatre. We called the production "Maze" for its strange battery of cast, to whom I'm pretty sure we assigned names on some conceptual basis: Mr. Green, Ms. Blue, something like that. We needed ten or twelve actors, and surprisingly, we actually manage to get six. I don't recall the exact situation, but I recall that my brother, Levi and I were all present, and I'd also (I have no idea how or why) has recruited some listless stoners from Kearsley (?) to participate. I'd probably also bullied some sort of suspended consent from Andy and Katie and Rebecca (from Fluishing) to get involved, so it must have seemed in the moment that the production might acutally go forward.

What can I say? If I wasn't so coercive a director back then I might have had better luck, but then, I might have had less. I do know, however, that the Flushing kids were worn out with our projects by that time, and stoners were only half-interested in first place. They really wanted to stand outside the Barnitorium (our rehearsal space) and smoke cigarettes, and I knew first that the bard was full of flammible dust and second that my parents would go ballistic if they found any cigarette butts lying around.

Needless to say, the first rehearsal of Maze was also the last... but I was sixteen and most of our projects were touch-and-go to begin with.

In the absence of Maze, April was probably the most uneventful month that year. I'd been approached by Bill at FYT and asked if I wanted to participate in the touring summer production of Trace Titanic. I probably obsessed over some new girl, since Claire was gradually receding over the horizon. I played in the Concert Band and read plays and it was also about this time that I had the seed of an idea for A Spring Storm, a play that would plant another seed that summer: Urbantasm. But April, 1995 was a quiet month. I don't mind that it was so.

Where were you in April, 1995?

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