Strike.
It’s a big word.

And, as a generally striking person
One I hold close to my heart
#amiprettyyourestriking

Strike.
It means so many things.
But right now
And here
In Hollywood
It means
Change.

#wgastrong
#sagcoming
#dgatoo

And strike
In this sense
Of picket signs
And lines of humans
Whose job is actually writing lines.
Is a tsunami of change.
I almost can’t think strike now
Without hearing
All the pins fall at once.
A victory.
And a massacre.
At the same time.

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Strike - the word - in this now sense
Maybe comes from
The idea of ‘striking sails’
Lowering the canvas.
A refusal to go to work at sea.
(Or now for us
In the sea change.)
Strikes me as likely.
And echoey.
Lowering.
Pencils down.
Our sails.
Though pencils seem more
Like the masts.

And the paper.
The canvas.
Sitting there.
Waiting.
As we are.

I keep thinking of a coin
My friend Chris gave me a dozen years ago
As I set out on the choppy sea of starting over.

We can’t control the wind
We can only adjust our sails.
I keep it on my desk.
As an anchor.

As I
As we
Of the blustery
Talking tribe
The windy tribe
Try to adjust
Our sails.
Sometimes not sailing
Helps you study the waves.
If not steady them.
Sometimes stillness
Is the movement.
The Movement

This now
Is a Movement moment.
Like a be in.
A love in.
A sleep in.
A moratorium.
Where not doing something
Is doing something.

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