Last night's performance in Seattle was/is one to savor. For me, the performance points forward: possible collaborative surge (eat your heart out George; some of us work together seamlessly), as well as invoking the past (The Outpatients of 1980s Bay Area, an "ensemble" comprised of Bill DiMichele, Tom Hamill, Dale Jensen, Jon Bailiff, Crag Hill and others -- poets, musicians, painters, actors, exhibitionists, synergists, kooks, cranks -- who always, and I mean always, somehow, found a way to make a whole of the most impossibly disparate parts, to fit a specific event/venue).
Last night we were not a collection of individuals but a collective throughout the sixty-five minute performance (eschewing poetry reading conventions, we chose not to introduce participants and did not give introductions to individual pieces; the works in and of themselves provided transitions). We listened to/thought about/ each other, and we thought about the audience, the other, the infinite other of you and you, about how we could reach, touch, contact, embrace.
Who were all those unmasked people intensely conversing long after the performance?