Friday, April 11, 2008

Impromptu Dream(ery)

Off-the-cuff decisions are rarely my forte. I don't like to be put on the spot, but years of improv have trained me well for these situations: What to say, how to act, and when to know when I'm beat are all key things to remember when the spotlight drops center stage.

There I was, fresh out of my Anthropology class. It was a standard day in class; she hated men, as always. My fault. All mine. I'm the reason that women couldn't vote until 1920. Anyway, I walk into the Harris Art Gallery, which I'm sure very few people have ever heard of. With each step on the barren tiles of the room I hear a new verse from Noor and Cassie about their newest muse: Jon Smiff. I sit down and ponder what I'll be writing as my feature story for News Reporting, but before I can truly ponder, I'm alerted to the fact that I will soon be giving an impromptu poetry reading about something that I haven't yet written.

Always fun! Who doesn't love writing poetry in the span of four minutes to present in front of others? I sat there with a vague idea of what my audience would like; something vague and mysterious. Perfect for a short read. I used possibly the most mysterious topic that I'm familiar with; dreams. For years I've had some of the strangest dreams. Ranging from me selling people's noses to meeting and conversations with the devil himself. I don't think anybody knew what was going on while I read it, but that's fine. That's sort of what I was going for.



Temporary Home

This blogsite is our temporary home while our website undergoes an extreme makeover of epic proportions (shifted septums, pacemakers, calf implants, dialysis, a fancy wig, contacts -- the works).

This was our old home, and while it is a bit dated, it's a good source of info regarding recent issues and the history of Prism Review.

Updates will follow regarding our new home. ETA summer 2009.