happy days

i saw happy days at bam last evening. i haven’t yet written about it because i am still absorbing. the performers were excellent (especially fiona shaw) and the play itself was a perfect balance of bawdy and awful (the solemn and impressive definition of the word); it ocassionally slipped one direction or the other (the lewd photograph to which willie was masturbating; when, buried up to her neck, winnie started shouting for willie) but only for long enough to laugh one loud bark or to feel a sudden spasm in the bowels. it nearly undid me when the curtain dropped a second time and she was buried up to her neck. i wanted to leap out of my seat and escape the theater. the second portion of the play was absolutely as long as i could stand. i love beckett.

sometimes i open a book

and just read a sentence or two to see if i like the style, the voice, the languag, the subject. i opened and read this sentence:  ”even in the concentration camps, music was listened to.” and my observation is that the subject of concentration camps is still so volitile that writers often approach it with passive language. and, in general, when subject matter is personal, writers often use passive constructions. the thrill is when a writer dares to involve him or herself with the subject. maybe “even in the concentraion camps, prisoners and their jailers both still listened to music.” this example may not grab you, but you get the idea?