Houston Day 274 - my friend Mikhail Bakunin

Continuing the trend of sharing quotes, and because it's in my head right now:

I met my Grandma at the turn road.

She snuck me ice-cream, she snuck me cake,

She snuck me home with a belly-ache.

I said, "Mama, Mama, I'm so sick,

"Call the master, quick, quick, quick!"

Master say, "You'd better not die,

"Cuz cotton's cheap, and slaves is high."

("I Just Wanna Be Free" from Freedom Train)

I'm currently celebrating my freedom by having the afternoon off work, and sitting and drinking root beer (if we ever leave America, root beer is going to be the new Milo and I'm going to need it to be shipped to me).  We had a great show this morning, although a little slow because a) the audience were very little children and we wanted to make sure they kept up and b) it was early and we were all really tired from yesterday's performance (Derrick), not enough sleep (me and Brandon) or partying all last night in Galveston (Shemica).

The Coast of Utopia Part Two was excellent on Saturday night, although I didn't enjoy it as much as Part One.  I'm mildly concerned that the character in the trilogy who I most resonate with is the one who everyone, including the playwright, thinks is laughable and destructively childish.  Mikhail Bakunin, 1814-1876, revolutionary-at-large and the father of anarchism.  In the first play he reads philosophers, is swayed to their theories, and picks up new professions like a new suit of clothes.  Every time he comes on stage he's got a different worldview, and can't wait to tell everyone about it; he's in love with his friends with whom he can discuss philosophy (and also a little too in love with his younger sister).  He's always advising his sisters on their lives, with the result that many of their lives are almost ruined.  In the second play he's almost like a travelling mercenary, leading and joining in on revolutions all over Europe during the Springtime of the People in 1848 (I gather it was a little like Europe's version of the current Arab Spring).  He never has any money, and is always begging from his friends or whatever government will help him out, promising them that it's the last thing he'll ever ask of them, which it never is.

Here's the thing, though: he's alive.  He's swept up in something bigger than himself, and he passionately, unreservedly gives of himself to it.  He's a man of action, while his friends are more moderate men of words.  He is what he is sincerely, without pretense or hesitation.  On Saturday night the joy just bubbled off him and got me all riled up.  I want to be a person of action, not just of words; perhaps also I am a bit of a child...