I have not art to reckon my groans.

Art is pretty much all I have with which to reckon my groans. I will even reckon my groans with one Art, with the other. When theatre seems to rip my heart out and taunt it, too – I will turn to words on a page. When the words on the page twist around into an unrecognizable mess, I will turn to sound, I will sing. When I lose my voice, I will play my guitar. When my strings pop off, I will play on a drum. When my drum is too loud and wakes up the neighbors, I will shake rice in a can. When rice in a can ceases to move me, I will turn to something I can make with my hands. I will sew one bit of cloth to another. I will stitch words in, and shapes. I will fold paper. I will draw my groans. I will write them. I will sing them. I will put them on a stage.

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