Our American Dream
I wrote this poem long ago and decided to make a video for it. I see the eyes of mad men draw blood across rainbow-washed flags, decrying love from metal machines and howling rattles of piercing trysts that loom over sobbing ghosts who have died something more painful than death: not of bodies shutting down but souls crying out for stolid hands reaching into a darkness that bellows out war cries of redemption and solidarity; a justice forms the flames of a hundred thousand flickering candles on sidewalks and street corners, marches to the sound of heartbeats, internalizes hollowed promises of maybes and tomorrows in a crowd of ringing phones without answers, who struggle to understand the last messages s c a t te red into cyberspace as spent shells spread across tattered clothes as the last touch of fingertips caress cold cheeks silence falls to those who question. I watch Siblings drape flags across their bodies those who kiss in bathroom stalls fearing assault while weapons publicly point to their heads as they hold hands; beaten with words and fists, who expected safe spaces to stay intact to freely be Themselves where love can explore bodies and lips intertwined on waxed dance floors whispered lustful poems in open ears who planned to marry and live together until old only to receive joint funeral marches who celebrate existence instead of hate and stride proudly through streets of glitter who ride floats into the glow of setting suns Where Justice swarms streets as sparks ignite darkened silhouettes near street lamps lost within flames of empathy who transcend marches across the country to Capitol Hill who wonder questions we’ve all be thinking I witness the minds of Our generation madden from injustice who stitch together remaining threads of multi-coloured twine who watch Heroes from past generations slowly dissolve in textbooks who demand answers from the men in paper towers-- infallible to polished rhetoric and smiles that relished insincerity men and monsters lunge for ten minutes of fame stoned journalists confront the jarring delight of pornographic melancholy students beg to survive one more day who know no beings can stand in the way of peace who relish continual faith in humanity who dream a future of aspiration who can begin to find peace within Themselves this is for the Survivors who won’t be silenced this is for the Families who bleed loss through their veins this is for the Friends who wait for one more phone call this is for the Siblings who call for change this is for the Allies who support the cause this is for a Future free of hate this is for the silent moments We have in Our hearts this is for the People We have loved and lost this is for the Justice of living life. this is for an unending fight for survival. This-- This is for love (Warren Buchholz, 2016)
Spitfire Theater Comedy Classes - Summer 2020
All of Spitfire’s classes are fueled by improvisation. If you can make it funny on the spot, you can definitely deliver when it counts. www.spitfiretheater.com/classes Spitfire comedy classes combine insights from all schools of thought in the improv and sketch comedy world, including The Second City, UCB, Groundlings, iO Theater, Hideout Theater and The Annoyance.
Everyone and Their Mother: Tiny Office
Everyone & Their Mother is 4 piece Neo soul/funk/jazz outfit led by drummer Natalie Depergola from St. Pete Florida. With sounds similar to Robert Glasper and Yussef Kamaal "Everyone & Their Mother" will be sure to lay down some groovy vibrations that everyone can vibe too! Tiny Office is a small concert video series in the digital media & marketing office of Warren Buchholz ran by Connect (a for student, by student digital content group). We are hoping to broaden USF system students' artistic horizons by exposing them to musicians, writers, and artists throughout the area as well as push artists' boundaries and creativity when faced with a restrictive environment. http://www.usfspconnect.com/tiny