1. 12.00AM, Thursday, March 8, Speigal Theatre during cabaret.
2. The row of lights backlighting Philip Schaffer as he read his new poems made him glow in red, yellow, and blue.
3. I love poetry at cabaret. I love the energy, the passion, and the care taken when spitting out images. If a poet is passionate, it comes through his words, his actions, and the aura he casts. Philip Schaffer, is often one of those poets. Up on the Cabaret stage, he shines, and flails, and forms his words with such love and hate and allofthefeelings, that it is impossible to not get swept up in the sound of his voice, even if you don’t catch every metaphor. The cabaret stage lets him shine in other ways too. The frontlight picks up the reds in his skin and the plaid of his shirt, but its the backlight that is really impressive. above Pip’s head is a row of alternating red, blue and yellow lights that catch his movement with flares in your cornea. The lights melt on him, stretching across his skin as he moves, hanging onto his words as tightly as the audience. Something about his performance makes the lights dance as his teeth do. In pure colorful poetry, a subtext under his.