The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

Artistic Director and Co-Founder of TURN TO FLESH PRODUCTIONS. | Author of "Nachtstürm Castle," "Niamh and the Hermit." | Playwright: "Cupid and Psyche," "Math for Actors." | Classical director and educator.

Friday, June 24, 2005

And waltzes fill my mind

That is, when bouncy versions of Aladdin with me laughing hysterically in time to it, don't. What happens when the wild Emily is let loose with an electronic keyboard? Well, all I can say is that "Little Fall of Rain" to a latino polka is an interesting thing indeed!

Eyes have the cry-rimmedness. Pourquoi, je ne sais pas de tout, mais - voila! Mes yeux! (And why, one wonders, do folks suppose I'm swearing if it's just in another language? Geesh.)

Saw Pressure tonight and am therefore very eager for Nutcracker. That an it was good to see a show - to see live theatre - the "I've Got a Barn!" type of theatre. It makes me wonder: why don't more people just say, "Hey! Let's just do it! What's keeping us back?" So much is just a matter of doing rather than waiting for someone else to do for you.

And now I find that, along with Nutcracker I have to whip up five skits on St. Jean Vianney and St. Catherine Laboure for IC's VBS. All good stuff - I'm strangely looking forward to it, as small a thing as it is.

Anywho...Buffy and household sister chat calls!

Mood: Good. Thanks for asking.
Music: "Glass, Concrete, & Stone" from the Hamlet CD (it's the bit for Claudius and Gertrude - you know, ageing yuppies)
Determination: I am so going to kick Ballanchine's ballet butt! BWAhahahhahahha!
Lyrics: As they stand now, for Christian's bit. I'm thinking of having Clara do a jazzy bit.

It was snowing the day that my father said,
"Son, it's time that you became a man"
And he opened a door to a glittering world
And I never looked back again
For the things I had searched for -
The shifting Northern Lights -
Honor, wealth, reknown, glory and fame
Lay brightly before me like frost at first light....
And frail as frost in the first summer rain.

It was snowing the day my childhood died
And I stepped in the steps he had trod
And he called out my name
As we raised the champagne
And he spoke of country and God
And he named me a man
Put a sword in my hand
And bravely I answered his call
But it's strange that such love
Should be bound up in blood
And to rise when other men fall.

So you ask if I miss the peace of this room
Or if the knowledge was worth the cost?
But honor and fame can be pawned and regained
But innocence sold is innocence lost.
Finis pour le moment


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