"Speculation:
Observation of the heavens.
The stars."
"4 AM.
I awake some days believing the war is over.
My body a missile shot through night cloud, and the sun a star
cast through blue dawn.
Some days this is all I want.
To be the sky.
I was dreaming up a life, dreaming up a mountain
dreaming, myself out of bed.
It was 4:00 AM when I realized I was alive.
One day already into the next, it's too late to die, I said.
It is far too early."
"The flight of hydrangea.
Of my first time flying, I remember the sky.
White clouds of hydrangea and pink
swirls that looked like smoke cooling off the Florida coast.
Sweet water it must be.
And the green and peach houses getting smaller by the mile.
An infant latching on to his mother.
Mouth open for food.
There's no food on this flight, child.
Something too heavy.
Call it turbulence.
Call it God.
Call it to the wind.
It was 7:00 AM when I finally understood the danger.
It's not the shaking that does the damage,
but what this all means for the body?
Perhaps we meet water.
Maybe we all die.
Maybe I get what I was asking for.
And suddenly all the waiting stopped.
The long wait of this plane, of the sky, of my body.
And when it did, I asked for nothing else
except of the air: to, as it does, live."
"Flight training.
Sometimes I want to ask the Earth was it beautiful here,
without us?
Or maybe you were lonely too.
My nephew asked why this paper airplane never
really flies from here?
And I asked the same of our bodies.
Is it the vessel?
Is it the way that we're made?
Was the sky all lilac and orange for you too?
How many nights have I been at this window?
And when did it become a door?
Lately, I've been dreaming evacuation, of catapulting
to a bright moon.
And all this grief turned to dust, to ocean, to blue light.
All this dreaming makes me wonder if there's always
been a sky this close.
In the air, I am briefly starlit and everything is alive."
"1993 from the stars.
If today is my last day on Earth,
please just understand all year my world
has been ending and beginning again.
And I don't know if I can take another combustion.
Another storm cloud.
They say, this is how it all began: as catastrophe.
They say it was beautiful, how it happened.
First, she was just an atom of light,
and then everything turned to dust.
And suddenly we were all amber.
Made more brilliant by her glow.
For so long, I've wanted to make a pageant of my grief.
Make a field of all the love I've yet to give,
some kind of constellation.
I've been trying, I promise, learning about accumulation.
The potential of matter, what we can
become when we're not alone.
Every day I imagine what this life could look
like when I can see it too.
Be a witness.
All these years, I've wanted to survive.
Today, I want to be starlight; tomorrow, something better.
So if today is my last day on Earth, please just understand.
I only want to fly, and every night I have dreamed of this:
of claiming my rightful place, of coming alive.
You love me because I'm a star.
Now, let me go be who I am.
Static breaking light, entering memory, entering stars, calling
stars, calling stars, calling.
Thank you all very much.
[APPLAUSE]