 The drop it shall sound, the angels appear to wreak down the earth both the wheat and the tear. Twill will be in vain, the mountain must flee, the rocks lie like pale stones and shall no more meet. The earth it shall shake, the sea shall retire, and this solid whirl will then all be on fire. Your souls to God's throne, before Christ's day. As he would be, was writing man, mostly from scraps and junk. It's a privilege of the museums to be cheap in a veil, don't you let this be how my story goes. This is actually my second gig here at the cafe. My sister, you sing through the morning, clouds of stars will light us through the night. This next one, this next one, there's a party, a death prayer for Meyer, Daniel Kiner, racist, dead, sleeping on grates and indoor waves, where the echo of the law falls and the rain goes. Poor people of nations shatter, go, dance with us alone, let us live. Disturber to memory so, I've got a wing. This is a letter of congratulations to Polly Davies, March 2008, for Juliet, sent for Queen Brisbane. One, we all live in history, in a place called The Voice, or messages from this part of the world. It's referred somewhere, if you've saved a life, you've saved the world. Once upon a time, near a house, a judge lived in the house, or so people stood between a man and a death chamber. Most of the people went away, 11 shows to come. Word from counsel said that we pulled it off. Jim Bevel did it again, new reason for a talk and hypocrisy. Otherwise, those who didn't confront might be those who left a worthless life, a muted voice, in the jail, in the cold. Once upon a time, I intruded on an evening. You provided information to move beyond corruption into the decades. Through the worthless life, a muted voice. I won't apologize, that intrusion. We've learned better than that. Congratulations, you missed, for saving. A resistance, rebellion and death, had an essay about a resistance farm boy in France. Poetry, he wasn't educated. Camus said the poetry's not great, but I'm having it published and he himself saw that René Leno, whose codename in resistance was Claire, wouldn't have his poems published. And I'm going to read one translation of just one in, resistance knew they might die in occupied Nazi occupied France. He says, I live just in the shadows, thus the entire flame penetrates thought and moves over its limits of shining wax. For some heavenly bodies charmed, my head soon done in, in its shrouds of linen. I am not alive, unless within your hearts, the voice that took away from me yet resides, and says again my name made for me by divine darkness. Better than the sunlight of my longed for days to come, or I to myself in the flesh clearly seem, is that my voice could claim it knew its song. So that's Tom that has a fragment from something of René Leno's and then, and then my poem begins after his is an epigraph translated, I translated it, and I touch with finger the sores of the heavenly bodies charged with bursting forth with breath of fire to let blossom night, graphic night of ancient voyages by souls who moved there formally, all smooth, and then I write it, and then the Nazis killed him, or rather they killed him, and then Camus published his poems, Claire, his resistance codename, but not so clear his poetry, not light, difficult to translate, even in mourning early brilliance. Why do we do this? Why do we want to touch the wounds of the burning stars who let night flower for smooth souls to find their way to flow? This is in homage. Those were in homage. This is in homage to my mother. My mother, I don't dream so much, but I had a dream of my mother. We were in a big building, high ceiling, all women with brown berets, and they and and but my mother sitting in the pew in front of me was turned just to stare at me and not singing with all these women in brown berets after a dream for my mother. So there you are, turned around to stare as if, if you look long enough, you may remember me or I, you woman of our town known to have a school of beauty. Just cosmetology unless one heirs reads it as cosmology and so your stare as if from some far star one near the couple who kiss on the face of the moon. You born too soon for a second wave solidarity and just as the first subsided in 1922, you who expected bread, yes, that your children could be fed, if now and then arose some sweetness, light, love, after labor pains and painful years, working for the mill that made dinner, dyeing your hair to help you get by the age of sexist chauvinist bosses until just before you died. Forgive that grievous pun if it is one. It's I you see, the one you see when you turn back from solidarity from women singing there beneath high ceiling space we share in this recent gift of dream wherein you turn to stare from long, lonely wooden pew as though you knew you know you should remember me whom you brought to light in our town that has yet its school of beauty. Those girls in soft blue smocks you never know. This I think is still in homage, it's to a little girl named Taylor, my neighborhood in Texas. It starts with an epigraph from Billy Collins, the great American Billy Collins. The line is picture a girl of about ten sitting at the keyboard with perfect posture and it's it's a prose poem it's about Taylor Bruce. She's Taylor Bruce seated at seated at piano brought into this old barber shop as if its 600 square feet were meant to house a grand. Her grandmother, Ms. Betty Sanders, lives across the street in health made clean indeed by church people from up north. Ms. Betty's lost three sons in a span of two years but she's still here and Taylor, child of one daughter, adopted by another, is also often here and so can come across Medlin Street to place her long her beautiful fingers on the keys of this old grand. She's who the poet imagines. Plate glass windows of John Henry Macknight's old barber shop can't open for Billy Collins to hear her heart and soul or her first attempts at amazing grace but they're real. Sing someone like me instead of a wretch like me, her teacher in residence that is to say her neighbor sitting near to here suggests why Taylor asks and learns that the songwriter was a slave trader thus a wretch but she isn't. Au contraire, she likes French too. Her being is of some mode with no name with scales far beyond the dolainie. Be she seated with her perfect posture at old grand with marred ivory or running across Medlin Street responding, yes ma'am, to Miss Betty or to Mother Aunt or Aunt Mother leaving a last phrase waiting for her return to the piano when daily life permits to sit again at keyboard with perfect posture to place long graceful fingers on the old piano keys to find what chords belong to her new song. You're very kind and I thank you. I'm going to read a couple more to see if I know what time it is. We don't want to take too long. Probably a time for maybe five to four. It's five to four. Okay, I'm just going to read one more then. I'm going to read something that's actually you know modged to our local librarian. It's a little long but this will be our last one. It's called weary of weariness. This refers to local events and the local hero in this voice. I'm concerned. And it begins with us. A quotation from Thomas Berry. We have the Green Mountain Monastery dedicated to him. He's buried here. He was a Catholic priest who became like Wendell Berry, very concerned about earth-centered theology. And he says we will go into the future as a single sacred community or we will all perish in the desert. Funny thing. These transients, the village vigilantes call them at trustees meeting Monday. They've been living in a tent on village property behind the library and these real residents want them gone. Already they've been down to the tent in dark of night. One with a gun, one with a metal pole. Some women with children, enough of them with cell phones to light their way through the overgrowth. One who has a dirty mouth, though he lives in a proper house with a lavatory sink and all, tells the young woman who happens to be alone dressed in her bed clothes, though she has no real bed. Just exactly what he intends to do to her, holding as she says his private parts. Her partner, husband hears, hurries back with their own cell phone charged with borrowed electricity from the library. An outdoor socket calls the state troopers speaking loudly, though his voice trembles. The villagers don't want to see the troopers so they leave but first the tent gets slashed. The woman recovering from everything else she's been through elsewhere is terrified. The trustees a few days later have no problem complying with a request for a no trespassing sign on this unmunged, unkempt spot behind the library for the common good at the villagers request. But putting up signs takes time. The librarian, meanwhile, who guesses the couple has no food, takes them crackers and peanut butter apples and some paper baths a black and white composition notebook, some sharpened pencils, one ballpoint, and now she's telling someone in the library, I didn't go in the tent but I looked in and I saw that she has flowers in that awful tent with nothing, bouquets of wildflowers. She asks him to bring her flowers and he does. Thank you so much. As demonstrated by this young with the zero-tolerant defended family separation stating that zero-tolerance policy makes every adult migrant a criminal and therefore justifies separating their children from them, Nielsen declared, we will not apologize for doing our job. This person answering emails for work or this person picking potatoes or this man taking his big sacks of money to the bank. And here you see a five-year-old boy from El Salvador whom ICE immigration customs enforcement unsuccessfully tried to detain in a frigid air conditioned holding cell that many refer to as an icebox due to its incredibly cold temperature. Migrant children was a subject of involuntary administration of psychotropic drugs used to treat schizophrenia, depression, ADHD, and anxiety such as olanzapine, dival pro-x, and clonazopans. This is a common practice for controlling children's behavior in U.S. detention centers. Migrant children are reunited with their families. They are unable to recognize their parents' faces. This phenomenon known as dissociation is the direct result of intense psychological trauma. 800 kids remain incarcerated, refrigerated in iceboxes known facilities. We'll be invited into the papier-mache cathedral to watch the main show of the day to quickly shift this way so that you can see the pictures displayed here. My main supporter is there in the front row. Relax. Make sure you laugh at all the funny parts. Yes. Okay. Without further ado, this is the starry incarcerated, so you keep on your pants. Some salient features of post-industrial capitalism. It operates in our society today. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, hot off the presses, The Adventures of Gogo Girl, episode 29, Crisis Intervention. We start, ladies and gentlemen, face of a donkey exposing the worn out teeth. Short, why is the donkey showing his teeth? Why is he surrounded by dark closely, shall we? Because this is the donkey. It is five. Nikolai is raising his upper lip in the matter pictured here and issuing forth from his mouth. Ladies and gentlemen, is that spectacular sound which only a donkey will come back to that sound and to this moment a little bit later because here patient assigned to room 212th patient who has been waiting for placement in a mental health facility for several weeks now waiting, being receiving no treatment, no therapy, just sitting there in room 222 because there's not enough mental health facilities in the state of Vermont and there's nowhere for him to go. Gentlemen, because while God patient in another room, the patient in room 222 took off his hospital gown, walked down the hall, down the street, stark naked yelling they're trying to kill me, they're trying to kill me in there. I'm not kidding, this really happened. Sent to a nonviolent crisis intervention training taught by the local sheriff's department. In it she receives a crisis intervention workbook and she sees a crisis intervention PowerPoint in which she learns about adopting the supportive stance and using the risk likelihood decision-making matrix and understanding the behavior escalation diamond which looks a little bit like a kite as you can see. In her role playing exercises, Go Go Girl plays the part of a patient refusing to cooperate with emergency room staff but because she wants it to be realistic, Go Go Girl spits a large loogie at one top, kicks another one in the shins, takes them up to stand, fun to a more advanced crisis intervention strategy. When she takes a look at the landscape of distant hills and the broad, she looks at her donkey chewing peacefully in the greenery and says, at least I learned to eat. Then she realizes that Nikolai the donkey is standing in the middle of her garden. Every last one and is now started on a row of once beautiful cabbages. I won't describe what happens after that in very much detail. I think it's just important to get on with the story. When she gets inside, Go Go Girl pours herself a glass of whiskey and sits at the kitchen table to read the mail. On top of the pile is the alumni magazine which Go Go Girl's college faithfully sends every few months to make her feel a lot better about having wrapped up all that student debt. Hey remember when you went to Go Go Girl you went to that liberal arts college and got those neat degrees in history and a minor it says Go Go College years is that one introduction to abstract painting professor who kept touching my breast during final critiques but look all these years later and I'm finally done paying for it. Well them is now a head happens when you pursue your dreams in a busy urban metropolis like I don't know New York City. Of course when you choose to live in conventional radical art form like puppetry well it's just harder to get noticed and win prizes and have fancy careers or get your book published. And then she turns the page and there's a whole article about comic book artist alumni Alice and Bechdahl who also lives in Cal Vermont doing since she won her MacArthur Genius Award and she went on to the next piece of mail but before she can open the envelope the phone with the children. He cares about starving children around the globe. Go Go Girl says doctors without borders and partners in health and I really don't have money in my budget right now. What do you mean you don't have room in your budget? The voice on the other end of the phone says what do you do for a living? You're a nurse says the voice. Nurses make good money. Hard time and well I also well I support some creative habits with creative habits. The voice on the phone says what good are those for the rest of the world? Well I make puppet show. Volunteer where there's an Ebola outbreak or work on an immunization initiative somewhere like Angola. Don't be one of those people who just thinks about doing the right thing. It takes a village. Be the change you want to see. I'm sorry to say. Be the change I want to see. I'm tired. She hangs up the phone ladies and gentlemen and here we see her pouring herself another glass of whiskey but somehow she keeps envisioning thousands of unimmunized children in Angola. Oh what the hell let's make it a double. Administration income will be upon retirement classes. They make the print so small. Those are really two zeros. Where are those reading glasses and when she finds a decimal point and if she keeps earning at her current pace and retires at age 65 she will indeed receive 802 dollars and 17 cents a month to live on. Well that's not too bad. Could be way worse. Go go girl says to herself it's a good thing I'm still so. With the glasses on comes it's a go. Yes ladies and gentlemen. Woman I'm a torment with no life savings. A questionable art making hobby and unruly donkey and a monthly retirement income of 802 dollars and 17 cents. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. But that night she falls asleep ladies and gentlemen and has a very peculiar dream in her dream. She's back in crisis intervention class but somehow and she is being forced to revisit all of her life choices using the risk likelihood decision making matrix but she's not sure where to situate each life choice on the continuum and the pencil tip keeps breaking and the workbook is filled with pages and pages of to-do lists but the items on the list are all strangely abstract things like make something of yourself and don't waste your life but go go girl can't decide whether or not she can scratch any of those things off the list and the pencil tip oh picture here you can't quite see it the pencil tip keeps on breaking. Finally go go go girl throws down the pencil in disgust wait a minute why's this all about me she shouts don't you know this entire country is in crisis she grabs a piece of chalk and starts writing furiously on the blackboard excruciating supreme court nomination hearings the dismantling of the EPA the misogynist criminal in the White House sit down the instructors shout at her but she has already gathered her fellow nurses out on the hospital lawn and is teaching them how to sew their nursing scrubs into verbal escalation kites stop it the instructors scream but the nurses continue taking off their clothes and they start chanting we arts and waving them around like flags and the kites pull them up into the vast tattered cloud tattered sky and the wind picks up but then the air is torn apart with the sound unlike any other a deep twisting reverberating sound go go girl wakes with the start sweating in her bed but the sound continues the desperation the sound seems to be coming an eruption of all her bereft indignant objection but now ladies and gentlemen here comes the supernatural part of our story because as the first rays of light begins to the sound expands somehow it is the sound of fierce engagement and boundless energy a sound for a desire it is the sound of go go girls dear calling to her to start another day the officer for the office officer dance production dance please performed by citizens who look helplessly on as their government utilizes microns you are who you are where would you go to achieve the company the microns the museum will continue to be a lost country tour going on along with a tour in paris about to go to korea if you find out more information about those places and times and locations and everything on our website and finally we want to express our deep gratitude for all that continue to support us through your ongoing donations and everything coming to our shows and we just want to express our gratitude for your continual support of the running puppet theater you did not see a hat on the way in please feel free to see what's on the way out thank you very much