The mistakes of heart. A theater of the study of the heart. Not anatomically or as illustration of its physiological realities, but as the bearer of love, tragedy and transformation. The mistakes as stutters, as the joys of acceleration, the fear of holding breath that holds the heart suspended in between the lobes of the lungs, that rides the diaphragm and anchors the mind’s egoic arrogance that humans are above it all (see Trump). Heart break and heart attach and massive attack and resin inside the oak where bees thrive on its dying, changing skin changing bark, barking up the wrong tree, losing to another, winning love? Love is Power, power is not love Martin Luther King said.
I will play with words and wit and outwits.