Entry #3

After a cup of split pea soup from the corner grocery, I walk to
Clinton Street in the Lower East Side for the revival of the Living
Theatre production of The Brig. This part of town is like the old New
York, street activity, dressed down, the old and arty scene, like the
60s almost.

Many people wear flip-flops throughout the city. It is a fad here as
everywhere.

You pay what you want at The Brig. I pay $7. A woman with an accent
I can't decipher says she will have to stand next to me, since she had
been waiting in the wrong line behind me earlier. She does. We make
small talk. I imagine possibilities, if I were otherwise disposed.
In the lobby, she and I leave the waiting line for the espresso and
tea bar, where the clerk gives me my $2 coffee for free because he
can't make change.

I feel like Banksy, Matthew Barney, Julian Beck and probably Richard
Brautigan combined.

The Brig is more choreographed than scripted, the rigidity and
dehumanization of military prison still powerful, staccato, and in the
second act, when they "sterilize" the barracks, the blur of harsh
simultaneous shouting or orders and the throwing of soapy water and
stomping feet makes for a strong delirium. Again, I sat in the front
row, next to a young, thin tattooed man. We discuss his tattoos and
my interest in having Mayan symbols put on my inside forearm.

"That was my first one," he says. "It didn't hurt. Do you still go
to Central America?" It turns out he lives in Costa Rica and is
developing an isolated residential area. He gives me his card. I
will write him.

Judith Malina, the founder of the Living Theatre, who turned 80 this
year, her black mane of hair flowing wildly and her smile wide, sits
next to us and still takes notes on the performance. I ask for her
autograph. She and the author of the play come on stage for curtain
calls, although there is no curtain, just barbed wire and chain link
fence. There is a party following the performance. "Beer and music,"
one of the performers shouts.

I walk home, through the Village, Washington Square Park, and know
what Dylan meant by a life that is "positively 4th Street."