bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

The Boxer

September 12th, 2013 by Bekah Brunstetter

My record player turntable? record player is changing my life / priorities / schedule. All I want to do is lie next to it and listen to music and think both small and large thoughts, mostly to this one Emmylou Harris album I scored for a buck, more specifically, her cover of The Boxer, which has made me fall in love with that song all over again, or maybe for the first time, because I’m not sure if I ever loved it before. My apologies to the record itself,  and any adjoining neighbors for the 700 times I’ve played it so far.  It’s one of those incredible song that manages to sound like itself. Or feel like the story its telling? I don’t know. I have to go listen to it ten more times.

I am just a poor boy , Though my story’s seldom told, I have squandered my resistance For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises

All lies and jests, Still a man hears what he wants to hear And disregards the rest .

When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy In the company of strangers, In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters  Where the ragged people go. Looking for the places only they would know.

Asking only workman’s wages, I come looking for a job, But I get no offers, Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there.

Then I’m laying out my winter clothes And wishing I was gone, Going home Where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me
Bleeding me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade, And he carries the reminders Of ev’ry glove that layed him down
Or cut him till he cried out  In his anger and his shame, “I am leaving, I am leaving,” But the fighter still remains.

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I miss

July 26th, 2013 by Bekah Brunstetter

Sometimes I re-read something I wrote years ago and become really nostalgic for how I felt then, when I was really in love or feeling something really intense. I miss how I felt when I was writing it, even if it was conflicted or sad. I miss feeling something with such clarity and so deeply that I had to sit down and write about it. Now I feel other things, sure, but I miss knowing exactly what hurt, and I miss knowing exactly which scenes to write that would place my avatar in the necessary hypothetical situations and arguments and kisses that would reveal to me the truth of what I was thinking, and sort of exercise and then purge those thoughts. But most: I love remembering that the best writing comes from confusion and longing, and so it’s probably best that I never really, never fully really, get what I want; that I never fully understand anything.

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Panera, RELAX.

October 15th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

It is JUST a salad.

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AHHHHHH!!!!!!!

June 4th, 2012 by Bekah Brunstetter

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A poem that I imagine is true

December 6th, 2011 by Bekah Brunstetter

The ache of marriage

The ache of marriage:

thigh and tongue, beloved,

are heavy with it, it throbs in the teeth

We look for communion

and are turned away, beloved, each and each

It is levianthan and we in its belly

looking for joy, some joy

not to be known outside of it

two by two in the ark of

the ache of it.

– Denise Levertov

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Went to the museum / took a Nap

September 29th, 2011 by Bekah Brunstetter

It was nothing against the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art, or the art itself, it’s just that there’s one part of the Joseph Cornell exhibit where they’ve put out bean bag chairs on which you are forced to chill and watch the ocean.

Post nap, I played my favorite contemporary art museum game, ‘I could do that.’ For example, coulda done this:

Coulda definitely have done this:

Did this yesterday:

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OKAY, OKAY

December 21st, 2010 by Bekah Brunstetter

We’ve all been abuzz for quite some time over all of this Spiderman the Musical hullaballoo – the most expensive musical in HISTORY, when will it actually open, is it good, etc etc etc, but seriously. Seriously. The actors keep FALLING AND HURTING THEMSELVES. Last night a spidey stunt double fell 20 feet? when his harness just broke. Will this continue until an actor is permanently injured, or dies, for our own amusement? For real you guys. Also reminiscient of an ad I saw for Paula Abdul’s new reality dance show, DANCE TO LIVE!!!!! which sadly makes me think of sick people twirling and bootie shaking in hopes of winning a kidney transplant. YOU KNOW?

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MoMA!

August 23rd, 2010 by Bekah Brunstetter

Lily and I went today, sure that we would be the only people there, and sure we would have a transcendental experience. Sadly, there were OTHER PEOPLE there. But we still managed to transcend just a little bit, here and there. And now, pictures of my favorite things!

Props from a production of Waiting for Godot in post-Katrina New Orleans:

This gem from an exhibit of all lady-made photographer:

And last but not least, THIS THING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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confidence / arrogance

June 14th, 2010 by Bekah Brunstetter

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A thing I’ve been thinking about a lot during these assorted meetings: like garlic and olive oil! Like strawberries; banana! Like Hot sauce; Hot sauce! Arrogance, confidence. What is the perfect balance? When does one become the other? To get bra-burny for a moment, I think that with most women, it’s in our nature to apologize for our ideas. Be humble. See me, being like, so yeah, I have this idea for a show, I haven’t really thought about it too much, It’s not that fleshed out, it’s kinda like that other show, I don’t know, I don’t know if anybody would watch it but….here it is. Nice set up, Brunstetter. I hear myself being this way, and decide to adjust, and come in more confidently, knowing what I want to do, and how to articulate this. But: then I sense this vibe from the person I’m talking to of: you have no idea what you’re talking about. I know more than you. I think, ideally, one most be confident, but also open to guidance, which I think I am very of both?

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flowers?

June 13th, 2010 by Bekah Brunstetter

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To me, flowers are flowers. They look and smell nice. But: like anything else, apparently some flowers can be better than others. IN FACT, some people devote their lives to growing perfect ones, and showcasing them at the fair. See this pretty white rose? White rose? Sure. A flower is a flower is a flower, but, you have to agree, there is something kind of spectacular about this one. I wish I could blog you the way it smelled (like flowers, and First Place.)

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