Saturday, December 09, 2006


I am in Chicago. It feels good. I start a temp job next week. That is good. I would like a permanent job, but hey I've only been in the city for a week, not even. Be patient, be diligent, don't worry! It'll happen!

Wednesday, November 29, 2006


I did it 50035 words. the novel has a beginning a middle and an end. And there are even a few passages in it I am pretty damn proud of! I am going to put it on the shelf for a month and watch TV! Any plot holes or contradictions in the text will wait for a while.

I have always wanted to be a novelist and hot damn now I am!

less than 5 pages to go!!!!!

I am less than 3000 words away from making the goal. I may een hae to abrreviate the action in order to get the words "The End" at the end. Of course it isnt against the rules to keep writing after the 50,000 mark.

This time tomorrow i can call myself a novelist. I can't believe i did it! This is awesome. All that I and I moved too?!!

Bob Fisher, Playwright and novelist!

Now if I can just getmy ass published!

Monday, November 27, 2006

35011 words so far

I might actually do this. i might actually get it done. This weekend was a victory almost 15,000 words and today with minimum effort so far I've got another 2191 words and I aint done yet by a long shot. not for today. So I'm not going to keep posting the text here. It is getting long and slowly down the blog publish I might just leave the rest on my word document, but I'll keep posting the numbers as I climb the ladder to 50,000 words. I hope I can do it. I have until Thursday night at stroke of midnight

Wish me luck!

Saturday, November 25, 2006

the goal of 50000

I dont know. I lost a week to moving and the flu, but I'll cross the half way mark but this evening.

i was thinking about lowering my goal to 25000 words, but I'll be there in just a few hours. Then I thought well how about 30000 words but what if I have another great writing day tomorrow like I did today? I am going to the writers meeting. I might get to even 35000 by mid monday.

i think you just keep going keep typing to heck with all else. You might even get this done.

I hope man i hope

22822 nanowrimo

More Fonda

Are my people diggers? Natural diggers? It would seem so. For I can remember that those here in the nightingales world can not do what I am doing now for them it would take a feet of superhuman strength. Because I can do this they might even question if I am human? Am I human or am I not? I must be human of at least , at the very least some small part of me must be. I need somepart of me to not only approximate their appearance their carbon design, their anatomical architecture. I need for some part of me to be human. I don’t just want to find something to stick inside her when we are both in the mood. I want it to be natural, I want it to be pretty too be perfect. I want it be like when I make love to her, I want it to be as holy as it feels. How could that be if we aren’t the same specie at least in some way. In some parts. The erogenous zones, the reproductive organs, the mind maybe. Is it my mind? I think I am human therefore I am. I think this is my specie so it it? If my mother and my brothers, yes I am quite confident now it is my brothers, are they not human simply because they wish it, what did mother wish? I think her wished were all tied up in the unity of her brothers. She would want not one of the human the remaining snakes. She would want all to be human or all too be snakes. She would want family regardless and that would require unity of specie. Unity of chromosomal structure. If I know what a chromosome is, is it at all possible that I don’t know what my own chromosomes are. My mouth , my jaw is the biggest difference between me the bride I desire. Was I born like? Or was I made. I cant remember, none of can. That isn’t my sandstorm inspired amnesia, that is just a lack of facts. There was a preist I think and I think we asked him. He told us we were made in the image of our god, but were made my whom in that image, was I already in that form when I left the mothers womb if I was then how similar am I now to that infant. Is god an infant? Was my jaw bone circumsized and split into two so that it would work differently, did my god swallow eggs whole. Did someone chop up the image of my god? Are we he an I in the same image but perhaps an image not intented by his original design, his original concept? Isnt it all about the fatua, the jihad, the end of the enemy by any means necessary even if that means the end of the world? And is nioghtengale thsat enemy? No please no, please no. romeo and Juliet…I remember reading that now. I asked the preist about it and he said that they were 2 young children who let the demends of their physical bodies negate the sowrn oaths they had made to they religion, their families, their species. They were damned to be beaten in hell for enternity. All this so that they might be able to commingle their incompatiable dna. All this in the uneducated hopes of bearing some sort of bastard monster child that wont be accepted by either clan. But father aren’t we too a bastard clan? Outside our village outside our region are we not too outcasts like the monster child of juilet? He told my brothers, that he could change one of them to be like one of us. He could perform the ritual which made them part of our snake clan, part of our species. Is it more than a jaw bone father. He persecuted my tiny mind. He cleansed doubt out of me, he made me stay up night and day until my mind gave way, my reason give way and I started to understand that the truth demands obidence, no questions, that the mind must not be poisoned and that I must renounce this story this causcasin myth of romeo and juiliet and unprue tale about unpure people and jusy one stepping stone on there way to total damnation. We were not hiding we were in sanctuary. He cursed the day I found that old used book. It opened my mind, but if you opne a mind too wide you endanger it, A soul can fall out of such an open mind like water out of an open jug. Just tip it too much and the earth will steal it from you. Close the jug, and close the mind.

Digging digging repeating over again sinner sinner, and as I say it I clench my teeth. I hold it back and it almost seems as if my pores have opened up like a chorus and now chant as I wonder recall and dig.

Now the voice are in consternation, they aren’t only angry at me, they are angry at others, there is a small rebellion going on with in our ranks and I fear that my mother’s wished are being torn apart. I snes too that nightingale is not alone not anymore. Perhaps it is time from me to reemerge from my hole. I have so many questions. More questions that answers. I am not used to questions. I can tell that. I’m certain of what anymore, but I feel that not so long ago I was certain. Nothing could have penetrated my certainy and was that a good thing or a bad thing? Do I long for such certainy? Or am I free? Fear freedom? As I make my way back to the mouth of the cave, I realize that I am not supposed to be alone, that even though I was not conscious of it, I was digging so hard to make up for lost time. For lost time to the love making and the crooning and the swooning. I had something else in mind other than falling in love. I didn’t come to this infidel’s world for that. Infidel…infidel…are those the sinners I keep chanting about as I dig? Yes a voice says. Yes those are why. Hate hate as hard as you can because they took away your mother. Our mother. Now I remember. I remember it all. I remember her dead body and I remember the priest

I am getting a sense as I get closer to the rim that something is wrong. I just can taste it in the air, the sort of way you can taste pheromones I can taste trouble. As I get to the rim I see her, my nightingale something is wrong she is all disheveled like she has been attacked, I can see brusies on her throuat and hands and she is locked the door behind her. She is locked something inside? What could it be? Oh no! Brothers! Brothers! I am filled with blood lust I want to cut them. She is mine she is not yours I will not share her. She is nto a meal, she is not an infidel she is my mate and I will cut you for attempting to breed with her. But she is running now, she sees me and her eyes are full of fear. No that cant be, she is going to be my lover, the mother of my children. I will rip off this jaw bone if that is wahts sperates us as species. Anything I would give anything to know that woman. I chase her for a little bit begging and pleading at the top of my lungs but it is no good she is fast too fast the speed thast only fear can bring. My brothers are fast too, fast on my trail or hers? I decide that the only way to save her in this moment is to turn around to face them. I am out numbered but I can give her time she needs to find a safe place a safe haven. And if I can survive the passions of my brothers then maybe I will find her again on this desert. That was my only choice and so with that I turned to take them on. We met with pistols drawn but before I shot was fired something struck me from behind. I passed out. No instead I pulled to side to wait for my brother to pass by and then I would attack him from the rear. I didn’t know that there were going to be 2 of them so when the first pasted I got out of my hiding place and aimed my pistol at his shoulder I didn’t want to kill him, I just wanted to stop him. My plan was to fire a warning shot past his shoulder and when he turned around shot the pistol from his hand. It is a trick I’ve done before. Now that my memories were returning…I remember ed that I was an excellent shot. All the brothers were. But I would have the drop on him because his back was to me, but I had my back to the third brother and he did the same trick to me just seconds after I did it to him. But I stopped them. I hope it was just the two of them

How many of us have arrived I asked

You are looking at it

Just three then?

Thursday is on his way. Thursday is not going to be happy. Thursday will be mad at all of us. But, we blame you. You were the leader the eldest, you were the one who set the example

Did you? Did you touch her?

Quiet brother. Be quiet don’t ask questions. It is you who will be interrogated.

I prayed that nightingale would stay away from the hospital so that my brother would not find her there as the other 2 had. Stike that last bit as I had. I guess the other two had done the same thing.

They closed in on me one from behind the other from the front. I was struck from behind with the butt of a gun.

Dark now. Black. I want to be touched before I pass out. Call out for my nightingale.


Chapter - Mongesse abduct the Nurse

The sun was rising. The sky was pink. Usually this early morning you can hear nothing. The wind always seems to subside with the dawn. The silence is broken by the soft drop of a single drop of dew plopping onto a rock or attempting refuge in the sand. All night the only sounds I could hear were the beating of my chest and the rasping of my breathe. I ran and when I couldn’t run I crawled. But now I ws lying on my back trying to capture my breathe trying to capture any bit of strength and trying to figure out now where I could go. Maybe this was it? Maybe I was going to join mother now. The sound of it ws so pleasant. It would be selfish of me but I would ask her to cook me biscuits warmed over with melted govt cheese. She would give me a look half loving and half scolding but she too would be so overjoyed to be with me and in my prescene tht ahse would make them happily and we could share them. I could tell he about my man or at least about the first night. I would leave the rest out of the tail. But she would know that something amiss happened, but now that we have both made it to the promised land of heaven she would let by gones be by gones and just kiss my forehead and say that doesn’t matter now. All the matters is we are togther. We are family and we are knit togther in a weave that time and flesh cant unravel. Not anymore. Have anther biscuit dear. I’ll make as many as you wish.

A memoery a mirage, a wish fulfill vizulaized? I don’t care. It’s nice and I don’t hear any bedoiun steps closing in on me, I can hide in this refuge for a few minutes more, I think it gives me strength.

My mother has a ladle which in drops into the big hot pot of govt cheese that has been melted into a sauce. By itself it is not much, but she has some secrets on how to make it better a mother’s screts and she wont share them with me until I too am a mother. This is a sauce that you don’t just make, you make it with love for your children. I gladly make it for you unitl you can make it for my grand kids. Then It hits her we are not in the material realm anymore and is it too late for that. If tears can be shed here they are. We both cry and hold each other. Then my stomach does cart wheels. I don’t know what it is. Mother what is happening? She says it might be labor pains.

Did you impregnate me fonda? Is this your child in here? How could that be? I bled so much red sand last night? I look around and don’t see the sand today no trace of sand in my nostrils or mouth or vagina like I was so sure of last night. But how could I be sure of anything. Not one fonda but three. Talking TVs and now my dead mother and I are talking about grandchildren and cheese saude recipes for govt cheese. Mother waves goodbye. You are too confused my child and my being here in your mind is too much right now so I go, or if you must then put me back on the shelve of your mind and take me out again when there is less. You need your wits about you, dear your in incredible danger I fear and this nostalgia is only a salve a temporary rest that might not be the best for you what it danger came upon you while you were deep inside your mind fantastising about me? Wake up baby. You must wake up.

I fell asleep on the rocks. And now I was awake. You know how when we are in dreams sometimes we aren’t sure whether it is a dream or reality but as soon as we wake up actually open our eyes and get up off the bedm the or chair or the floor we know what was a dream.

Off in the distance of the horizon in the direction of the hospital I see a disturbance in the sand. It appears as if a number of the inmates were floating towards me. On a cloud of sand, or more like a block of sand. A huge block about as tall as a floor at the hospital and about a wide as 3 beds lined up length wise. How many of the olders were on this block of sand and how was it moving. Maybe I was wrong and I had not yet woke up. They were moving fast right for me, I thought about fleeing, but I had been doing that all night and there was no way I could out run this block of sand they had. So I stood there to take it what ever it was that was rushing toward me what kind of sand made chariot with olders at the helm. And just as I might have guessed once it got close enough for my to make out faces the one driving or aiming or controlling this huge block of sand was the judge. But the horror or horror was that I did not recognize him because of the missing nose because of the two dozen or so olders riding the desert beast they all had there noses cut off, they were all of them every one bleeding profusely from their face some wore the wound proudly like a badge of courage others were covering there wound trying to rptect it from the heat and sand, some still seemed to be in throws of the initial pain such a wound make when it happened.

The judge was identifiable though at the head of his group of mad men. In addition to his nose it appears that he had cut of his ears as well. He sure kept his tomgue though cause over the breathing of the piece of snad rock a breathing than never stopped I could still hear him yelling but this time he was yelling “We are the mongeese” and they chanted after him. Like the chants we used to do in my grade school, the double dutch calls we made out to each other. One person yells and then the rest repeat rhythmically. The judge got a hold of me with the peepers and turned the sand block beast right for me and then as it got closer it slowed and I could see that it was no block of sand but a huge engined wagon similar to the one that the mailman used to move across the desert pan the desert skillet. I could see it had been expertly painted so as to look like sand it was camuflouge

The judge looked so satified at me. As if he had won.

I know

What do you know

I know something is wrong

How can you tell

Your wandering alone here in the desert. You aren’t on your way to the hospital. You’re disshevelled it doesn’t take a genius. Any mongoose even a baby mongoose could tell.

What is with this mongoose crap

That is what we are. We are the mongeese. We are those who came who sacfice our flesh and ourselves to the cause of destroying the serpent we are here tostop the apocalypse and be warned little girl. You can not stop the mongeese.

They all shouted to each other like pirates even the ones still in the those of emmense pain.

Did these men cut of there own noses?


Do you realize how dangerous that is?


We have to give them all medicial attention. How long ago did this happen did you keep the noses. Perhaps we can even attach some of the noses.

We made the noses into a big broth and we each drank deep from it, that is how we are now one brotherhood we never want to return to being just men, we aremore and I would think that a little appreciation is in order

He sneered. So have you discovered the truth of what I told you yesterday before you released our wrath?


That the sand dancers have no word in their vocabulary for freedom?

I tried to change the subject my anger was back now. It put my fear to one side and I was almost grateful for that. So I asked him where did you get this machine?

They have been dropping more than just grapefruit and saline in this desert

Who are they

The govt, the military

They dropped this machine

They did in pieces and I have been spending my evenings, we all have actually constructing this out of the camulfogues pieces parachuted for the past 12 months within a 2 mile radius of the va hospital. We are the last great stand against the desert dangers. We thought they had all been corralled but they haven’t a final tribe exists and we are going to stop them.

At that point a net was throw over me. It tangled me quite good but it took those old mice men at least five minutes to haul me into the back of the machine. It might have even been comical if it weren’t me, but it was me. In the back of the truck there was blood and bandages everywhere a couple of the old men were pleading with me for help, one even asked if I would kill him because he couldn’t stand the pain anymore. I could see strains of gangrene growing across the judges face. I told him of this and he just insisted that that meant they were running out of time. Nothing could stop his descent into the dirt from which he made he claimed and no worrying over gangrene could stop that now, we have very little time. We must find them and kill them. He wanted me to lead them to him. I would not. I was able to untangle myself from the net and started punching at the old men, which ever one was closest. With them all somewhat weakened due to blood lose or infection they fought back feebly. All except the judge who still seemed to have sort of super human strength. He grabbed me again and threw me from the back of the truck cursing me as loudly as possible. Damn you girl. I will find them myself. He didn’t know where he was going. But anyway that meant nothing to me. He threw me off and now the sand block machine was driving off in the distance swearving and buckling. I think it almost turned over. When I landed I had broken my forearm I could feel it and I could hear it. I had no choice now. I had to go to the hospital. It was the only place I think I would have been able to properly set it and I wanted to get some antibiotics and such. I was going to probably have to try to hike out of this desert and all those noseless faces reminded me of the importance of having such medicines when you travel through such hard harsh terrain. And at least it appeared the most crazy of the old mice men were on their wild mongeese chase through the desert probably to castrate fonda form having gotten his cock inside me while none of them ever could. That was mother’s reasoning comoing out of me. Anyway off to the hospital.

Friday, November 24, 2006

19160 NaNoWriMo

this means that tomorrow I will probably break 20,000 words. I should be proud to have done this much during a moving month

There wasn’t much talking. I have never seen a woman this close up. When she stood next to me some kind of magic was happening. I felt like nothing mattered but her. She took me to her home and then we were taking off our clothes. I’m not sure if I had never made love before. It all seemed very natural but I wasn’t able to recall any previous experience to compare it with. All I knew was that in that moment she was the most important thing in the world to me and whatever or wherever I had come from didn’t matter as much. While I held her I could let go of my fear, my anger and my past whatever it was.

And when it was finished, I held her. She never challenged me about the scarf. She let me wear it. But she wanted a kiss so I asked her to close her eyes tight. She did. I trusted her, never a question of my trusting her. She was true. Shw was pure pure like sky cloudless sky nothing like I had been led to believe…wait led to believe who would have know to convince me that she was not true. She was blinded temporarily I kissed her and the disturbing hiccup of history was smoothed over like ice cream on the tongue. She told my breathe was cold and it remnded her of the sea. Now, that I remember the sea no so long ago either she apinted this beautiful pictures in mind of the way she believed the sea to be and lands beyond this desert, the lands that were…hers…yes…hers…not mine, but even if they were hers I think she might never see them. So why take away her allusions, why ruin it for her, she has so little here and appears to have just lost her mother, why take away those dreams. Because!!!...what? There it is again. A voice. Angry hateful. I hold her and rebandage my mouth and chin this seems to help with the voice. And then I leave to go outside I want to see the stars to see if they remind me of something I want them to be my stars I want to catch a glimpse of a constellation and go oh yes that it mine that is familiar, I’ve sleep comfortable as child under those stars. But no. It wasn’t like that.

There was the sand in here backyard and a small indentation. It wasn’t where the grave was thankfully the cacti marked that oh my god what would she have thought if I had accidentally unearthed that, it was at the property edge. A small dip in the earth a dip that beconed to me almost as strongly as nightingale, but having just had my appetites for her sasiated the desire for that concave bit of earth was overwhelming. It was cold in the esert night not for her but for me and that idea that that concave was warm or a pathway to warmth and that I could do something with it. So I got down on my belly and rubbed my way gentle like over to it I spun and spun in it I got the dirt under my fingernails and my in between my toes and then I started to dig. And the voice of anger inside attempted to make peace with me and thanked me for digging. I asked the voice or voices why and they said because that is why you are here to dig. Voice voice I heard voices of some distant relatives. Nightebgale she hears voices too fo her govt talking to her through the tv. She hasn’t told me, but I knew that it will happen I have been briefed…I have?

Yes…it will all come to light my brother. I say this outloud to myself in the hole. She is outside wants to come into my hole with me, and the voice I know but don’t know at the same time asks her to stay outside the hole. The hole is ot for her. It is for the seven. Seven snakes. Seven borthers, of one mother sent to see than sinner dine in hell. Sinners. Sinners this word escapes my lips in hisses as I dig and dig in a direction that instinct dictates.

I wont let the those voices spill her blood. No they agree not that. Why? What is she that she stopped you from digging. Really am I asking my voices that or vice versa. Sinners Sinners Vice Versa over and over. And now hands full of snad I see mother again. She is smiling even as six cradles rocking angrily behind her. It is ok my sons. Don’t fret amongst yourself you are seven sons and must walk and eat and breath together. That is what your mother wants. Do what mother wants. Sinner Sinner. I don’t know how long I’ve been in this hole. I pretend that I am digging a tunnel to heaven where there sits my nightingale and she splits like an atom into multiple mighengales all as soft and mirror reflections of her. All wanting me to fertizle them. All wanting to make a new world in this desert. A world of love where brothers need not furrow there brows in fear anf anger but can tame the wind and the sun and climb and burrow into the heavens and feed on eggs and not worry about who sees them feeding. Not to be ashamed of there jaws. Seven brothers and seventy thousand sons. Oh my. But only with my nightingale now no other will do.

18215 nanowrimo

There were two voices calling. Two thoughts fighting inside. The first one was strong with intensity but much less focused. Powerful but emanating from a greater distance. It was a voice that old me not to go into the hospital. It was tinged with anger and fear but without clarity. The other voice was very near in prioximty so near in fact to call it a voice is not enough, the compulsion towards survival doesn’t have a language doesn’t have a voice it has something deeper more primal and it made me take 2 steps forward for every one step backwards that the angry fearful voice motivated.

Eventually I staggered to the entrence when I was there I felt as if I was going to have to fight to be treated. There was an obstacle to my survival even here at this haven this site of mercy. It was as if the bowels of the building were growling at me, something beneath the floor boards themselves. As if this building was a haunted house that was possessed with a soul that wanted some sort of price from me. Again without conscious rational I feel my blood rise as well. Instinctively I could feel my fangs moisten. I was itching to dig them into some piece of flesh not out of hunger but out of the sheer unfettered yearning toward vengeance, It was the colors, the colors of the flag I saw from one of the old broken window frames. It was like a red cape to a bull, I felt as if I was going to charge. I knew that such an act would end my life. I felt that it would be a pointless exercise and that I was meant for something more something better and again there was a femiinie lilt to it. Was that you mother, I feel an arm wrapping around my waist I feel an embrace that is meant to protect me. Who is that? Is it real, is it happening now or just remembered. Not having your memories annondated in your head fucks even with your concept of now. I thought it was mother, I thought she step out of the hospital doorway to shield me to cure me to figure out what is wrong some other day, she granted me recess, so desperately needed. But as soon as her face came into focus It was a new face, it was the face of my nightingale. It was a face so beautiful so brown, so dark and lovely, almost as dark as…as dark as her face. Her being mother. But this is not mother mother is not so young, so smooth to touch, mother doesn’t make your hair stand on end like that, mother does tighten your loins like that. Mother does something else. This was nightingale.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Dirty Toliet Scene

Look at that!


Who does that? Who takes a crap like tht and doesn’t flush the toilet.

I don’t know

He didn’t forget. You don’t take a dump, wipe your ass, and then forget to flush the goddamn toilet

Maybe he missed

He missed?

I don’t know maybe.

How can you miss? And if you did miss, can you miss and then in all good conscious say ah forget about

The next guy will take care of it

Somebody took a crap and then left their feces for everyone to see


Yes everyone

How is everyone going to see that?

No one is going to sit down while that’s in there. Everybody is going to pass that toilet up until someone with no choice has to get rid of it, like the janitor

I’ll get rid of it for you. (Flushes toilet)

That doesn’t solve anything

What do you mean

I know now. I still know what he did

You’re crazy

I’m not going to sit on that toilet seat after a man who is capable of something like that? A man who is willing to put his feces on display for the whole world to see is capable of anything

Anything. Lke what

He may have urinated all over the seat

Really, all over it


Urinated copiously over the seat. Wouldn’t you see it then

Not necessarily

You wouldn’t see that? You wouldn’t see a wet, yellow seat?

Not it he wiped it away

Well if he wiped it away then who cares

Toilet paper would get rid of the wetness but not the bacteria

You want me to go and get you a can of Lysol so you can take a dump in the toilet and leave me alone.

No, I’m just going to hold it…maybe I’ll got to a different floor

Monday, November 20, 2006


The key hits the lock. It’s a pad lock on the outside. I have a padlock on the outside and a hook for the same pad lock on the inside, that is in addition to the regular lock on the door. He was inside in a second. In another second he’s pants and shirt and coat were already on the floor and he has standing on top of the mattress with his fingers grasping in and out in and out all grabby and needy. Where was the statue that wouldn’t move until the last moment when we were being watched. I couldn’t help but laugh a little bit, I think he was laughing too or at least smiling but you couldn’t be absolutely sure with that bandage on. His member was wagging up and down up and down like a arcade game

Whats happening to you?

Come here. Come fuck me

Just like that?

Whats wrong. You did yesterday and the day before that.

I need a little something more that your cock telling me its time. Haven’t you noticed what a mess I am.

I don’t care about that

You don’t

Just so long as I can lie down and have sex with you

I walked awau into the other room and I could hear him sigh as aubile as a donkey nehhing.

What wrong don’t you want to do it? Did I do something wrong?

Yes! Yes you did.


You’re making it seem like it is all that matters. That you aren’t even interested in me.

I don’t understand. Don’t you like doing it? I like doing it.

He reached to touch me and for the first time I found myself recoiling from his touch. It saddened me for a split second and then I was mad. Mad at him for making me feel like this. It might be selfish but I was mad at him for making me mad at him.

Why are you so impatient

It’s just that I ready cant you tell


Don’t you like it?

You could have wrapped it up like a birthday present

I’ve been having it like this, like this hard since I saw you outside the infidel ward

Outside the what?

The hospital. I mean the hospital

I stop I’m confused

Where’s yours?

My what

Your enthrobbed errongous zones

Same place they were last night, but they are enthrobbed pal.

Why not

Because you’re pissing me off

What did I do? What’s wrong what’s different.

Yesterday and the day before you were loving. You were gentle you were slow handed. You took your time, you relished ever second up to the doing it. Now you just want to get it done so that you can go back out to your other fucking hole. You love that hole in the earth why don’t you go fuck that tonight.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry It’s just. I’m so new. To all this. I want to do it right. I want to be happy. I want to make you happy.

Which comes first

Umm…You. I want o take you happy.

Do you know what happened to me today?


I told him the whole tale. He lightened up and seemed especially moved that I was so willing to defend our love, he didn’t say a word he just listened. A couple of time I was having rouble finishing the story or completing a thought because well there were 3 of us. Me, Him and he outrage boner. I think it had grown an inch or two sicne we got inside the cabin

Mother had never told me anything about that. I had seen erections before, but they were prarire dogs or they were olders barely able to sustain anything for longer that a couple heart beats.

I was distracted even a little scared. I don’t remember it being that big yesterday or the day before. Did he really get all of that inside me? I asked him to cover up.He sort of whimpered.

Don’t whimper alright. Your not sick your not hurt. Trust me I seen that stuff everyday.

We’re not going to do it

Not if you whimper

So we are going do it.

You put your pants on and I’ll think about it.

So he put his pants back on and listened or tried to listen to the rest of my story.

Im sorry they hurt you.

Quiet. He reached out to touch me and I let him. Then before I could relax in his embrace, I felt his finger nails at my buttons. I remembered that damn mailman on my mother and how parastic it seemed. Loving Fonda wasn’t like that before tonight.

Scolding him wasn’t working and telling him it wasn’t going to happen wasn’t a reality either the truth is I wanted to close to him, I wanted his love to cleanse away the hate I had been neck deep in at the hospital. So I tried another approach I tried to coax him into behaving a little better.

Please you must take your time, if you go so fast it’ll be over before you know it. I want it too, but I want it all night.

I can do that.

Slowly gentle don’t treat me like a thing you have to disrobe. Treat me like a you love me. Don’t handle me rough. That mean man hurt me. I need to to sooth it away to kiss it and make it better.

You mean I can kiss it. It’s not just meant for this. He laid on top of me so I could feel that thick cable pulsing inside his pants.

If you kiss mine I’ll kiss yours. I didn’t know what I was saying suddenly the act of touching that close got me drunk. His musk his glow was like too many beers like wanting another one and opening it and putting it to your lips before your goodie to shoe side can talk you out of it.

Kiss me dow there slow and cold with that sea breath you’ve got

Ok but you have to blind fold yourself first.

If I cant see it how can I find it to kiss it

I’ll help you

I laughed, I’m sure you will. I was teasing I could have found him easily. Suddenly he was everywhere. I pouted gently.

I want to watch. When will you let me watch.

Where I came from, you aren’t allow to watch

But you don’t live there anymore you live here with me. Your ways shouldn’t stop you here in our desert

He covered his ears quick and suddenly that hot rock of his shrunk. Quick like criminal fleeing a scene

No, no, no I cant I cant. Please you don’t understand. He was off the bed in an instance and cowering in the corner.

Did they do something to you?


Your people, did they cut your face or mark your skin in someway? It’s ok, you can tell. I’m a nurse

I want to do this so much, but you must never again ask that of me, please please don’t insist. He was weeping now. He was hurt and lost and I felt so guilty. I told him it was ok. That being in his embrace was more important than looking him in the eye when he took me. He probably smiled. He smiled with his eyes at least.


When we got back to the cabin. I stopped to check the mail. I don’t know why. There never is any mail. Maybe I just wanted to do something that made it clear that this was my house, what better than opening the mailbox even if its empty. As I did Fonda moved forward and stopped at the door. He didn’t go in. He just waited at the entrance for me.

Now seemed weird. I turned to look at the tunnel, probably to get him to look at it to, to gauge from his reaction whether or not he was going to spend the night in there while I slept or whether he was going to stay under the covers with me. He stayed aimed right at the door almost eager almost on tip toes like a trick or treater waiting for the door to open. I took a step toward the tunnel again to draw his attention there. Nothing, I looked at the opening, it appeared that the the sand that had been misplaced out of the earth had been leveled into a short mound that rose made 2 feet from the ground level but was spread out 20 feet from the mouth of the cave. I couldn’t be sure but it almost seemd as if a dim fire light was emenatting, the sun had not gone far enough below the horizon to be sure. But I was certain I hear an echoing throbbing sound from the cave. I remembered those stupid outlined maps that the olders had painted along the floor of their hospital ward. Is it possible? Cold the tunnel fonda mad had gone that far? Wouldn’t there be more dirt? It was only thre days ago and those bastards are paranoid! It was a good five or ten miles to the hospital.

I thought better of taking another step to the tunnel. If it wasn’t on fonda’s mind then maybe he would be mine all night. Don’t tempt him any further toward the cave. Look at him he cant wait to get inside I guess. A little boy almost. Like an anxious virgin. Well I wan it just as bad as he does. Though he’ll have to be gentle. What am I saying he’s always gentle. Open the door let your lover in.


I stepped outside the hospital. And like twice before there was Fonda. Though today he looks even stronger and taller. Maybe I just needed him to be taller and stronger today. This day where I almost killed one of my own patients. I walked toward him slowly. I wanted him to come to me this time. I wanted to know that he could intuit my need. I wanted to nursed to be looked after to be protected and his walking toward me would somehow prove something to me. Something unspoken that he could see inside me and know where I needed the most, know what I needed. We had savored and driven each other how about now though? How about the quiet time? The moments divorces from our libidos. Were just each others fuck buddies or could we be linked in some more important way. Especially given the subtext of my argument with the judge, I wanted this. And I wanted it here in front of the hospital where those spying eyes could see. I wanted every mouse in that decaying old building to witness that I was right, that what we had, me and fonda was pure special and stronger and essential.

We stood there looking at each other. For longer that normal, no moment just our eyes locked. It was almost like a gun fight from a leone film. I used my periphiy vision to see it his hands moved up slightly, not for a firearm but instead for my arms, I hoped for that forward motion of his hips coming closer, propelling him to me. After the wind stopped blowing, I grew frightened again. If he didn’t claim me. If he didnt take me away and make me an honest woman, could those olders somehow reclaim me as theirs, could they shoot out a harpoon pierce my side and drag my roaring flesh back inside the hospital to never again leave? Could they make me their servent for eternity, some sort of potential concubine for their misplaced lust and yearning for conquest. Could they make a whore out of me. Would the judges fingers be just the first of many arthiritc digits to venture where I’d rather they didn’t? Fonda don’t you see? Like the sperm to the egg you must come to me.

The tension rose and then it waned and no moment. I could hear the timepiece the music the tinkle like in a few dollars more was winding down, would I die it we ran out of music?

My eyes fell. I looked at my feet my torso, my wounds? Was I suddenly not worthy of his affection? Could he see what had happened. Now that the old mouse’s figers had beaten a path into my vagina was fonda suddenly thinking I was unclean? Was he questioning my willingness? Maybe he thought I asked for it, or I liked it. Maybe it was just a matter of time before one of those old sons of bitches trying to rape me. Mother always though it was apossiblity and that it would hurt me, not just the skin and tissue and the organs, but something that white blood cells and blood clots cant cure something spiritual and irrepreable and even though the walking corpse didn’t get it all inside, did he get enough. Enough that fonda knew enough that I was like the spoiled piece of grapefruit to him now? Why else would he who so loved me not move toward me.

I loathed myself. I touched my mouth and found mud, a mix of desert sand and saliva. I am hideous. I am worse than a witch. I hated. Full to brim and my anger was turning into tears. No. No like this in front of the olders. Please fonda. Please and before I knew what happened I slowly lifted my hand and fingers plead toward fonda.

Finally he moved toward me. Slowly and sort of sideways but after he had made just a step and covered a single yard, I was on top of him desperate to be held. Was this just a contest of wills to see which of us more power over the other? He held me tightly and whispered in my ear

Your tears are precious to me.

From behind I heard a chours of cat calls and moaning, slowly we were being showered with empty cans and bottles, fountains of urine were stretch and straining to reach us but over ripend prostates frustrated those vultures, and then I hear a voice from above. I always thought of hell as down below until I heard that garbled hateful curse from the fifth story window frame. It was the judge, his bone exposed maybe ven his brain if I looked long and hard enough through that hole in his face that I started and he finished.

He was holding a series of syginges in his left hand like a vaudevillian knife thrower. Above his head was one with the needle aimed straight down like a scarifical blade. He bellowed.

Wait! Wait! You have no yet taken back what you said. You have still to admit to the superiority of experience that we your elders have. They have no word for freedom and you are no excused from your duty till you admit that to me. Admit that to us! That is the price you must pay if you want to continue to enjoy the hard won freedom that I and all these men fought, bled, and will die for. You must concede that the life you have is more glorious, more free that anything else that those sand dancers can provide because they don’t even understand the concept of freedom.

More howling from the inmates. A colostomy bag bursts just out of reach

I whisper I fonda’s ear

Let us go. Now. Let us go forever. I don’t want to return

As you wish

He turned and ushered me like a parent might. The bellowing beforwas nothing to the monkey howls were heard now. Still as loud as the olders got I could still hear high above them all that voice straight from hell, that curse that echoed from the mouth of the judge.

Thursday, November 16, 2006


Now there was fear and trembling in the hospital. The judge was heard to be screaming from his room. He locked the door and started screaming and yelling. I thought he had lost his mind but he was just taking a temporary trip, a bad trip yes.

I could still taste his blood in my mouth and my pussy strung bad from where he had been grabbing. I had a station a nurses station that was supposed to be off limits, hospital personel only, I hadn’t been in that room for as long as I can remember. There were no other personel so it should pretty much be as I left it years agao I suppose. I thought I still had the key on the ring. I did. One of those old fashion keys, a cartoon key, a western key I guess. The door itself didn’t have a lock but there was cage grate in front of the door that the key opened. When I got inside the room there was the first aid box I had remembered. The room itself was decoarated with get well cards and well wished and drawing sent in by grandchildren who must have grown into grandparents themselves by now. Another nurse had put them up there. Everytime one of the olders died that was he lttle sort of tribute to them.

I examined myself in the mirror. It appeared that I was going to be ok. I had some red marks on my throat from where the judge had clenched at me and my privates were alright I just needed a bath to get the funk of that old mouse fingers off me.

I don’t know why maybe it was just to have an excuse not to leave, but after I had wiped away the sweat and tears I started taking a look around this room, maybe I was trying to figure out if it might be a good place to hold up if the judge or any other of these olders tried to pull any funny stuff like just now. The cage maybe could give this room some security until whatever crazy old mouse went out of his mind would just settle down and put his fingers back in his pockets. I started thinking about fingers. I hadn’t really looked at mine. There was blood and rust in the crevess and wrinkles in the lines of my prints. I needed to get that stuff out of those creveass. I started looking for more alcohol. I found a child’s lunch box. Inside it were lipstick and eyeliner. I had only seen these before when I was very very little. There were other nurses of course who might have had some makeup on, but to be this close to it, to touch it, these little pieces of magic, these items that would trnaform a woman into an object of desire, these traps, these little traps. Maybe this was a mousetrap , a lunch pail full of mouse traps for these old mice. But they coudltrp more than mice. I could hold Fonda closer to me, tighter to me, if I hide just right behind this paint, he might just surrender to me completely . he might wake out of that hole never to return just stay by my side in my bed holding me tightly. Maybe if I were suddenly so pretty he could resist showing me his face taking off his bandage and letting me see that mouth that so attracts me. If I give him just enough mystery maybe he’ll abandon his own. My fingers were so clumsy with it. At first I pushed too hard onto my face. I thought I could hear laughter a woman’s laughter but it had to have just been a faded memeory or mother of course she would have laughed if see could see me now. She didn’t believe in any of those vanity trappings. But, was she as ever as alone as hollow as sratched up as I was right now. I needed to feel appealing now. Especially now. Whatever charm I had physically, did the judge peal that away. Would fonda have the desire to touch me I was afraid I needed something without bath water I needed somoething more if fonda was going to touch me to love me. I needed love so badly know. Desperately I need love. I took my fingers and tried to reshape the lipstick it was too hard though. So I started taking a finger to the tip and dabbing on my lips. The eyeliner was too much I couldn’t bring myself to actually get that close to my eyes with the sharp point. I looked like a clown all those tears and that red mouth. Then I put a little bit just on the tip of my nose.

Sound cue the screaming of judge banging on the walls, there aint no word for freedom in their god damn fucking forsaken language and I want to hear you say it.

I wiped my nose with the tip of my sleeve. I need to get out of here. I wasn’t safe. For the first time ever I really felt like I wasn’t safe. So I close the door locked the cage and ran for the entrence of the hospital. I was gasping and out of breath by the time I got there and he was standing in front of the door way like he had the two night previously I was so glad I didn’t want to be alone I didn’t want to have to worry about facinf any of the olders or the judge alone. Once we got far enough away we wouldn’t have to worry anymore casue mice don’t go so far. A mouce can chew away at you while you stand or sleep but if you put enough distance between you and the mouse there aint nothing he can do.

When did my life become a series of confrontations?

10000 word shout out

I am tickled to be over 10,000 words into my novel. It's aint a very written novel, but it sure is over 10,000 words so far. I am also about 10,000 words behind where i "should" be. Got to buckle down if I'm going to get 40000 words in the next 14 days. well just keep typing.

Friday, November 10, 2006


The second time the tv started shaking and smoking, I was at more resistant to it. Maybe I was itching for a fight even if it was with the laws of physics and science as I knew them to exist because of the hullabaloo at the hospital with the olders.

This is not happening
This is not real

This is happening
This is real


You know I’m real

I was holding the unplugged cord in my hand like Heracles throttling the serpents in his bed. I tried to make my fingers as small as possible so that I could use them to enwrap the unplugged cord to smuther the parallel fangs. I wanted to cover then to sheath them to make sure that not was feeding these fangs. I wanted to traverse all the rubber that housed those haunting teeth to know that no electricity was there to feed this demonic beast that demanding my attentions.

You have no fuel there fore this can not be happening
If this is not happening than why must you protest so adamantly. Your continual protest proves this is happening

I rebuke you nightmare. I rebuke you demon
I m no demon I am flesh and blood as you are
You are not. You are an empty shell an empty husk that no longer receives transmission. You are good for nothing except as a receptacle for my magnetically taped dreams
I don’t know what the hell your talking about. I am not your TV. I am using your TV. Soon I wont even need the TV to talk to you but only if you’ll open your mind to me. Please turn the TV around. Please let me in. Im real. Even though I’m not like anything you’ve experienced up till now. I assure you am I real.

This is a dream. My mind is playing tricks on me. My perceptions are week from too much male. I need to stop this. I need to turn off this part of the dream. Go away or I’ll destroy this TV. Now that I have my man I don’t need this TV

You need me. You need this TV. I’ll go though. Don’t destroy the TV. I plead with you. But when I return soon, please converse with me , please give me a chance. I leave you in peace now, in the hope that you’ll take it as good faith that I mean no harm and wish to speak with you probably tomorrow. When you are alone.

The sputtering tv stopped.

an actual post yes friends an actual post

So, I am sitting here in the Atlanta office on my last day of work before I take a short vacation only to return and give my notice and I'm thinking about the past 12 months and what I've learned about myself and life and the whole big burrito.

Whereas, I will still give my 2 week notice, this week is my last full five day week here and so perhaps somewhat prematurely I'm trying to get all philosophic.

i would have to blind not to have noticed parallels between my countdown to getting out of Atlanta and my countdown one year ago to getting out of Chicago. The only thing I can say to that is that sometimes you dont know what you've got till its gone. Despite all the things I loathed about Chicago, my friends, the art, the theatre company...I have spent alot of time these past 12 months thinking about it. I needed the break from big city life and who knows I might need another break after staying there again for a few years, but I need to get back into it now. It's just about right.

I need my friends and they are in Chicago. I dont laugh and love as much as I did there. My life, the daily grind is definately easily down here but life is less worth living for me personally here. I denied the call for 12 months, got fat on honey, biscuits, and sweet tea and now I need to return to the city.

The only possible other path would be Seattle, but with no network there, I would be too too lonely.

I will have a car this time, which will make somethings more difficult, but there are benefits. I can leave the city any night or weekend that I want. If I want to drive up to milwaukee and goto miller park and renaissance books that I just do it. I can also drive to Busch Stadium, Comerica Park, and the jacobs field to see games on a weekend if I want.

The big thing I have missed desperately down here I think are the used book stores. There arent any good used bookstores down here. There is one that is so cramped I cant stand it, and the other one is one of those bookstores with lots of cool books but most are not used. I miss powells and the used book stores on clark.

And I love the idea that I am contemplating what show to put on first when I get back. Lord that feels good. I love the fact that there are people there who are willing and able to collaborate with me. I cant wait to take some of the blogging/journalistic lessons I've acquired down here and apply them up there.

Oh yeah, the little coffehouses. Down here it's either Waffle house or Starbucks there is no inbetween. Which sort of blows my mind but its true. Not as much mom and pop down here as I thought. Maybe that's just becuase Atlanta is too big for mom and pop even if it is southern.

I love the south and will return will freqency on 3 day weekends and what not, but I cant live down here anymore. Not right now. I need to cold, crisp, provacting winds of chicago to get my creative blood boiling. I need those bug libraries and tiny coffehouses to get me going. I need it now. A year ago I wouldnt have believed it, but now I do.

Are you nervous Bob? Hell yes. But I'm going home. And that gives me some comfort.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Seven Snakes - An Idea for a play (Bump)

Previous post I've bumped for obvious reasons -nanowrimo

A science fiction performance in thirteen scenes

The Seven Snakes are seven brothers.

They have been sent to perform a fatua.

Scene One - First brother appears he doesn't remember his mission, he falls in love with a nurse

Dial In One - The agents attempt contact nurse via telepathic dial up. Difficult due to it being inital contact.

Scene Two - Second brother appears and pretends he is the first. He sleeps with the Nurse.

Dial In Two - An attempt to interogation is made, the nurse decides it is a dream and dismisses it

Scene Three - Third brother appears during coitus with second brother, nurse in confusion flees

Dial in Three - Explain the dial in to the Nurse

Scene Four - The fourth brother arrives and interogation of the first brother is carried out. First brother wants to abandon fatua, Fourth brother does not

Dial in Four - The fifth brother was abducted in route and questioned strenuously while dialed into the nurse

Scene Five - The nurse returns, the fourth brother threatens to kill her if the fifth brother is not released

Dial in Five - Some how during this dial up the sixth brother is able to ascertain the whereabouts of the agents and frees the fifth brother killing many agents in the attempt.

Scene Six - The Sixth and Fifth brother arrive. A procedure has begun it is the fatua. They are forcing the first brother to perform with them.

Dial in Six - The last agent warns the nurse that seven snakes together with mean the end of the world as we know it. She must find a way to stop the union of the seven brothers

Scene Seven - The first brother kills himself rather than allow them to perform the fatua. Without him there are only six brothers and the fatua can not be completed. While remaining brothers fight over whether or not to kill or have coitus the nurse she flees. And prays for a seventh and final dial up to tell her what to do. But, the seventh dial up doesn't happen.

I got the idea for this play from a native american tale told by Joseph Campbell on the Power of Myth tapes. The images and the ideas of that tale have stuck with him and I've wanted to shape something performative out of them someday. Who knows maybe this is the model finally.

Monday, November 06, 2006


Didnt write for the nanowrimor at all this weekend. I just was having such powerful headaches that I was relatively exhausted for most of the weekend.

I did finish my skit for Radio Hour and heard it via speakerphone so that was cool. And Thanks to built up vacation this is going to be my last full week of work this month!

Thursday, November 02, 2006 blog folks

What does theatre do/accomplish/have that other forms of narrative perfromance do not? What is so special about theatre...

Aside from the fact that it is live and there is an audience...there have to be other things that can differeniate it from its kindred mediums.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006


I use to make manifestos. i dont think I'm going to anymore

Where the f*ck's your manifesto?

Manifestos get in the way of my art

Monday, October 30, 2006

That wonderful sound!

Saturday I had something quite wonderful happen. Something that hasn't happened to me in over a year. I got to hear performers speaking words that I had written. Ok it was over a speakerphone, but since it was a radio show script...well that made it all the better.

The only downside was when the sketch was over and they had to hang up the phone. i wanted to be there in the room with them twice as badly now that I had been teased by the hearing of those words.

Man, I cant wait to get back!

Thursday, October 26, 2006


Trying to remember why I got hook in the first place.

Of course there were my delusions of grandeur, my childhood desires to enter the world of George Lucas and the understanding that acting was a way in, also the enormous wealth that those people always seem to be displaying.

I needed attention. i felt that my day to day life wasn't fulfilling so what better way to escape into another world than to get up on stage moving in that world with eyes of dozens or hundreds or thousands upon you reacting to everything you say or do. What a power trip.

Friday, October 06, 2006

My hope

My hope is that soon this blog will return to the issues that feel the most pressing the most interesting to my conscious...namely theatre and art.

I am so engrossed in the negative. I hate my job. I dont hate the people I work for, but I hate this situation that they have created there. It is poisonous to me. So, much so that I've been asking myself, if It would be better to make my leave sooner. By sooner I mean at the end of the month.

I am sure that they will screw around with that final check. I am sure that I will have significantly less in the last check. And, I dont see the point of giving them anymore of myself if that is going to be the case.

Maybe, I should just bite the bullet and leave on the first. Just move into the next part of my life...all this waiting is just stabbing away at me.

coffee and conspiracy

How important is coffee? It gets to be real important after a while. The coffee in my office sucks. It's some sort of brand you can buy in 25 pound bags from Sam's. It pretty much makes a pot of brown water with no flavor that will definately give you a case of daily GERD.

People are now spying on other people here in the office pretty regularly. There is such an air of anger and distrust in this office it is palpable like fog. I've been spied on by my manager, by sales (wanting to find out who can act as secretary to know...hey dont look busy could you make a couple calls for me)

Ugh! Just three more weeks of face to face and then im out!

Monday, October 02, 2006

another one about the same stuff as so many others

Thinking about the future. It's almost like new year's day. I get to come up with a new list of resolutions for my new/old life I'm returning to in chicago. Oh you cold strumpet. Oh you whore bitch lover I cant live without. I'm sure glad I didn't give all my sweaters away to goodwill when I moved south.

I will miss the south in certain ways. I will miss the sweet tea (I once accidentally called it sweat tea in an email). I will miss the trees. The green green trees, a forest's worth right outside my window. i will miss all the space in my huge apartment...(although to be honest, it is just a space to spread out my dirty clothes and crumpled up unpaid bills).

1) I will write everyday (although not always in this blog.)

2) Before I leave I will go to the Georgia Aquarium

But, I cant wait to
goto the Art Institute again.
To see a Bears game.
Eat at the ESPNzone without having to pay for valet parking,
concert series next summer in millenium park,
Work on Clay Continent with my good good friends
Wrigley, The Cell
The Harold Washington Library
Take a class at the old folk school

Lord I think its going to be tough at first. Looking for work and even missing my old job at the AMA. But who knows I might get an even better job. I might be able to survive by just temping like I did in NY for a year and a half. Who knows???

3) Go see at least one play a month

wow who would have thought for an enthusist like myself I'd have to make such a resolution (cynicism, exhaustion, etc)

4) Lose the weight. Get healthy. Live long and happy

My back is aching me and it's my own doing for getting so heavy and out of shape. I remember last baseball season being able to break in to a sprint, now I'm afraid of straining my back rolling out of bed. I've had it with this.

Friday, September 29, 2006

radio hour idea

Idea for ARH

Fu Manchu breaks into the Eqyptian Wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Natural History. It appears that Nayland Smith while on an exploration of the Nile uncovered an eqyptian sarcophagus that has been purposefully sunk to the bottom of the Nile.

The exhibit, sponsored by Dunbar, is going to opened tomorrow. So tonight whist sipping champagne and smoking cigars, Nayland and his friends are alone with a few security guards

Fu Manchu has heard tell that the Mummies used Tanis leaves to preserve themselves. These tanis leaves also are thought to have the key to immortality. The tanis plant which srpouted these leaves has been extinct for eons. However, it is believed that many of the old Egyptian Pharoahs were buried with a surplus of tanis leaves in case they needed them in as currency in the afterlife.

So, Fu believes that by stealing the sarcophagus he could brew the tanis leaves drink the potion and rule the world from beyond the grave.

Once Fu subdues Nayland Smith, he still must fight the dreaded Mummy inside the sacrophagus

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Less than 90 days

I dont know how many days specifically are left. I think I will be making November 30th my last day. That will get me an extra 1000 dollars toward the relocation.

So, obstacles? Well on the positive side, the old job could want me back sooner. I think they will be able to give me a position eventually, but i dont think that the odds are they will offer me something before the end of November. The more probable obstacle could be the company deciding to let me go. They know I'm not happy. I know that they are looking for more trainers. I dont think they can let me go right now. They've got me scheduled for work through the end of October, but you never know with these clowns.

Anyway, I should be here at least through the last week of October.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

back from arridzona

Forget Hotlanta, for true heat go to phoneix, AZ. Man it was hot. Lows in the high eighties. And all the dry air, I felt like I had a dust ball in the back of my throat for the whole week. I will say that the city was laid out superbly and that the Diamondbacks' stadium was the nicest baseball stadium I've ever been to.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

future muthafuqa

1. Clay Continent

A four week run in the Fall of 2007
Preceded by a number of performances based on the original concepts and directed and designed by a multitude of my friends and collaborators from Chicago. Various spaces or various types all over the city, promotion becomes perfromance...all of these little playlets, perfromances become something living breathing rather than a post card or a poster or a clever image...

Turn the prmotion, the marketing into performance...
If branding is about telling stories well then hell fire we can do that. Stop thinking of ourselves as sell outs or artists. New thinking about the play...turning it into the project. A small team of artists who are experimenting and playing and having fun and creating literallyin front of the audience. Sort like rehearsals in the open thoughts...

One day the papers are going to stop covering the work so stop depending on the papers, forge relationships yourself. Dont had some one a postcard they need to feel something if they are going to come to the big damn shindig in the Fall...

2. Ten Suits

The idea - Father of a privately owned corporation dies and leaves the company to his 3 sons.

33% to the machievallian "conservative" son who will crush anything to keep the fortune alive and within the family

33% to the idealist son who thinks that sacrificing this fortune in the right way could possibly transform the world for better

34% to the son who just recently was render cripple and mute...what does he want? Is he still a person who a say? Or do the other 2 brothers simply have to convince the third's adoring and commited wife to surrender his share?

Every scene takes place in a corporate board/meeting room ... from there you can go anywhere and do anything ...dream sequence, drug trip, childhood flash back, stays within the board room but hell damn make that board room as phantasmagorical as possible

Also, I want this to be a team effort, multiple writers as a team writing in a tv series model and for there maybe we can make a theatrical serial performance? 30 minutes episodes? Don are you listening? Who in c-town is listening?


If they will have me, I'm excited to work on ArmRadioHour and SKALD for next year. I think these guys have struck gold with SKALD and I want to participate in any way I can as much as I can. Many of them are my friends, and now that I got this "everything I do has to be a Mammal" thing off my back...I want to work with others in arenas that are a little foreign to me, I want to learn and share by another's rules as well as have my own little sand box to return to.

Now, my folks and others have said, "What if you go back and you hate it...chicago"...well then in 2008 I'll live in seattle or alaska or NYC or LA...but for now...I feel deep in my bones that regardless of any pain or discomfort or what have you I have to do theatre and no town will help me more that c-town. I know that is in conflict with early posts on this blog...but we are allowed to be in conflict. Maybe the grass is always greener...if so then the happiest person is always in motion...I'm in motion towards chicago.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Got the good news today and I think the date of departure is first week in November!

My buddy and his roommate also a friend are going to let me crash there for a short while till the some job and apartment can be secured. Good news definately. Probably means only 7 or 8 more weeks in my current situation, I like that!

Saturday, September 02, 2006


Stuck in a stale hotel somewhere in the mid west, different place each week, forgetful of where, have to remind yourself where you are, where ever it is it sin't home. This isnt your bed. This barely counts as a bed at all. This queen sized sponge isn't your bed. Up half the night fighting fever and panic attack cause you dont know where the emergency room is if this headcold turns bubonic.

Lessons learned over the past week. A week of ups too to be fair. A crazy month on the road. Do it for a short time without the romance of the roadies and groupies and you have a perfect recipe for suck.

I'm tired. 4 weeks straight on the road and so thankful that I get 9 nights in a row in my own bed. It's not just the travel, it's the company I work for. The one time a week they do something right, they want you to thank them profusely and forgive every transgression up till that point.

But, i told myself I wasn't going to think about thiem this weekend, this beautiful three day weekend. So I'll stop right now.

Friday, August 04, 2006

[Primal Branding is a construct that lets you design a belief system using the seven pieces of primal code: creation story, creed, icons, rituals, sacred words, nonbelievers, and leader. Used together these seven pieces of code create a system of belief that attracts brand communities and public appeal for products and services, personalities, political and social movements, even civic communities.]

Creation Story
Sacred Words

Thursday, August 03, 2006

A little embrassed about comments

So, I didnt know that I had to moderate my comments. I had like 25 of them sitting and waiting to be read, so if you posted to this blog and never saw it, well that was my fault.

On the other hand, I was so thankful to see that people were actually reading the things that I wrote.

Who knows maybe that's what I needed in order to start feeling that writing on this blog matters.

Frustrated at the all conversations I wanted to start that someone actually took the bait and I didn't find their to those of you out there freeman, don, scott walters, sk, paul, goose, Rmc...keep commenting...I know how to find them now.

Sunday, July 16, 2006


Going to Paris TN tomorrow. It will be a heck of a Monday. Leave the apt at 5am to get to the airport arrive then drive 2 hours and train until 5pm central standard time. Ughhhh.

Been going to the chiropractor and that has been really helping out. It puts me in a good mood to know I'm actually getting better backwise.

Going Blog crazy

I've created another blog (sometimes I think I've created to many blogs). This blog is solely for the purpose of investigating and remembering those things which gave me inspiration to create art. I will continue this blog as well, but post links to the other blog at when I make additions there.

Monday, July 10, 2006

What the's short

Let's Dance!!!


Today, It sucks. My laptop came pretty damn near to crashing last night. It took me four hours to get it operational again and I didn't get to sleep until 4am. I am a zombie here in the office. I so tired you'd rather be sick sort of tired. Where I actually hurts you head to stay awake.

Anyway. I'm supposed to get my back adjusted again today. I'm looking forward to that. I'm also supposed to do BRAWL tonight. I will but man where am I going to get the energy?

I picked the wrong day to quit amphetamines

Saturday, July 08, 2006

this is an audio post - click to play

I want more Julie Taymor in my life

The latest from Taymor

At the end of the article Taymor claims that she is "puppeted out". I can only hope that she is speaking from the exhaustion of having just put up such a bhemoth of a show. Her artistry as a puppet designer is one of the truly most inspiring things in my life. Every time I see her work, I am filled with glee at the inventiveness and the spectacle. Her work drives me to want to work. She is a fantastical being in my opinion. And, i would give no small sacrifice to know her as a collaborator if such a thing were possible.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

More Odd Thoughts

Imagine the joy of naming things. I read the Front Matter of Moby Dick and see all the words invented all over the world for whale...Part of me envies those old souls who got to name everything in the world. The emmense joy in creating, even if one can not create the world they can emulate that creation as they come up woth names for all the things within the world.

Vision is the comprehension of light. Word as comprehension of molecular vibration.

* * *

Still enjoying the new office. Muprhy's law I picked the worst cube in the office, right next to the bizhub and the fax machine. Which means that I'm in the highest traffic area in the office. Ugggh. Anyway, i may have to angle my monitor to afford me a little more surfing room.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

It's the little things and more on the futue

Starting reading "Writing Down the Bones". One of the authors myriad suggestions fast and early in the book is to get out of the house and go write in the cafe. But where are the cafes down here? There are a number of overstuffed Starbucks, which are comfortable enough, and right now, I'm writing this in a bar (probably the nicest in the area when it comes to brunch and beer). But when I go inside my head, I remember so many other nice cafes. I remember the "Perfect Cup" I remember "Sweet Occasions". I recall how embracing those places were, how comforting it was to come in out of the cold to those places.

I have just now starting finding the strength, determination, whatever to start writing again. Why has it returned? Because I decided to return. Return to the windy city that is. My writing has for longer than I can remember been about empowering my expression as a stage dramatist. I couldn't write previously while been here in Atlanta because I didn't believe that those words would ever seen the light of a stage here in Atlanta. I still believe that. But now that I know I'm returning to Chicago, I know that I will have access once again to the stage.

I've also been reading "Hero with a Thousand Faces". This book has been helping me reassess the choices I've made this past year. The reasons for these choices. It has helped me to understand the impetus beneath my skin to return and also the understanding that to deny this impetus now is a denial of life. I must live as the man that I was meant to be. That means going back to c-town.

Friday, June 30, 2006

A distrust of intellectualism?

Those who deal in extreme obtuse levels of verbosity tend to use their literary prowess as a sort self adoration, a worship of potentialities of the human intellect. Worship of reason. Their deconstructions are a sort of false idolatry to the infallibility of their own analytical reasoning. Any self criticism of their own parts should be taken for what it truly is which false modesty. For even if they deny the divinity of their own ego before the cock crows, deep within their own hearts they remain true believers our the cult of there own self worship.

Too much intellectual verbosity can become an obstacle to action to motion. That which is animate is alive. That which is verbose without being animate...perhaps not alive, or not as alive?

Too much mind.

Just an odd thought today.

What I need



ecstasy as Entertainment

ecstasy aka a state characterized by greatly reduced external awareness and expanded interior mental and spiritual awareness which is frequently accompanied by visions and emotional/intuitive(and sometimes physical) euphoria as a form of entertainment aka a leisure activity consisting of an event and an audience that views the event and participates.

This seems like a wonderful alternate to what passes today as pop culture. But do the masses want ecstasy?

Doesn't ecstasy require something of those who experience it? And with a populace which seems each day to be moving toward the agnostic even the atheistic doesn't the idea of ecstasy seem lacking in validity.

Are we a members of this society safe in social circumstances, safe even to allow ourselves ecstasy?

Is not ecstasy the opiate, the fix, the quality which when once felt by the artist entwines him or her? It is that state of ecstasy which I think drives me at the very least.

I make plays that I want to see. I want performances that are emmersive in their quality.

I want to be a magician. I want to cast spells with my theater. I want to connect with the divine. I want my humanity to be celebrated, analyzed, and elevated.

I don't need a revolution. I don't need to put myself in a place where I'm thinking of nothing but the money necessary to fulfill a potentially narcassitic need. I need to make as many moments left in my life filled with as high a degree of ecstasy as possible.

I need ecstasy. I need to remember this when I start up again in the fall.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Revolution versus Primary

There has been alot of talk on the theatre blogosphere about revolutions, about change, about catching up to other art forms. But you know, I find myself today longing for the virtues of the primal. Primary Colors, Primary forms...

Primative, Origin, Simplicity... These are things that I thing are more elusive to us as artists than revolution.

Perhaps what we require in order to reconnect with ourselves, our art our a return to that with is Primary with a capital "P".

Sunday, June 25, 2006

For Me and for a few others

I am blind
but with my fingertips
I can tell
The curtain is fraying
I fear
it might be torn
But what good were all those rehearsals
All those plucked strings
And deep breathing
and cracked bones
If I dont pull on the rope
Raising the frayed curtain?

Saturday, June 24, 2006

The Revolution!!! ???

A revolution from what? Is this call for revolution, this call for relevance, it is an honest call to action?

My greatest concern is that beneath this call is a bruised vanity on the part of the artist...

Here's a question to ask ourselves before we call to revolution. "What is my 'value' to my audience?" and if we are not happy then the next answer is "Why?"

We have to be carefuly that we are not stalking an audience that would rather just get a restrainting order put upon us.

Are we obsessed? Are we obsessed with a shift in the art? Or are we obsessed with a shift in the audience?

I'm obsessed with the opiate of theater...I like how it takes the edge off my life. I need an audience in order to get this "high". Is any call on my part for a revolution for a relevance simply born out of my own self interest cloaked as a call out to audience to action?

Am I trying to make this world a better place or am I merely trying to make my houses fuller?

So says the devil's advocate...

Friday, June 23, 2006

Ten Suits

Somethings I'd like to see in the ten suits play

1. 2 brothers at odds
2. An interview that is set awkward my the boss' daughter
3. A Psycho-Analyst
4. A Bounty Hunter
5. Tales of mercenaries hired to protect the rain forests.
6. An idealist who surrenders his ideals for the sake of his children's hunger
7. A capitalist scorned who turns toward something selfless
8. Blood

There is nothing 'well-made' about this list of these ideas. These are just the first things coming into my head. It is my hope that from this flotsam, from within this pile of coal, I can squeeze a diamond.

The Board Room scenario appeals to me, because it is an environment I would not so readily have chosen in the past, preferring more phantasmogoric settings. I will undoubtedly make the board room phantasmagoric before I'm done, but hey I want to start with a foundation opposite to the Noir, Sci-Fi, Goth Victorian settings I've gravitated to in the past.

One brother realizes that the corporation in positioned to save the environment. The other brother sees no profit in such a global intervention. 2 brothers struggle

The future

Did I tell you that I going back to Chicago? Well, I am. I can't write down here in ATL. That is a big problem. The writer's block is better now that I've made up my mind, but as soon as the lease expires...then bang zoom back to the Windy City...back to work on the Mammals. Next month (when I gots a little cash) I'm going to get the website back up and running. In the spring, we do 1 or 2 workshops, then in the Fall it's a remount of Mexican Wrestling Macbeth.

I've been skipping all around the blogosphere and been inspired by some of the other artists. I need to figure out the youtube thing it seems like it should be pretty easy.

I spoke with Don Hall, and got good hopes for the Board Room Drama ala David Milch inspired creation thingy...The working title is Ten Suits till I come up with something better. It is also something to dig into as soon as I hit the ground in c-town in November.

I've been hestitating writing about the November move cause I know that if anyone at work cared they could get to this blog, but hey...I need the if anybody from the dayjob is reading this...just let me know that you know.

I think I'm going back on caffeine for a while. I just need something to lift the depression and get my ass in gear and out of bed. I come home from work most nights and just collapse into bed. Waking up in time to catch a little Futurama on the TV and then fall back a sleep. That's the way it has been since I got back from my trip to Augusta.

Speaking of Augusta, I love minor league baseball now. I went to Greenjackets game and had a blast. It was so relaxing and Fun. Capital F ...without all the stress of parking and getting out of the parking lot and high priced tickets...go minor leagues. Before I go back up north I want to see a Barons game and a Montgomery biscuits game.

If any of my old budds are reading this then please drop a quick comment. It's such a little thing, but it would be a nice way to help me aleve a little bit of the temporary depression I'm in.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Writer's Block stops (for now at least)

Now that the windy city is back in my future, I've been able to write again. Now, I'm not saying that the writing is going to stay steady, but I actually have been able to put pen to paper and get something good, interesting, and different on the page for the boxing play...

I've rereading some and that has also helped. As much as it is going to hurt, I'm shutting down the cable TV and HBO on monday. I just can't afford it right now and I want to have more time to write and read.

I'll keep the internet, the MLB.TV, and the XM. Everything else has to go.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Manny the Manager aka Manny Angelo

(Ok...side note...I don't like the glasses. They make him look like Charles Nelson Riley.)

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Six Chambers Six Bullets Six

A western

An acrid old ex preacher who somehow came across a seven chambered pistol and now will not let it out of his sight.

Convinced that the apocalyspe is imminent, he believed that the discovery of such a unique seven chambered pistol is not coincidence.

The majority of dead men who souls has been harvested by Satan, their bones lie in the desert. Corpse created by guns with six chambers holding six bullets offering six deaths. That too is no coincidence according to the acrid old ex preacher.

When the dead rise again, no six chambered gun forged within the machinations and manipulations of Satan will stop his risen servants.

Thus, divinely arrived the seven chambered pistol with which the acrid old ex preacher might be able to thwart off the apocalypse.

Friday, April 14, 2006


Ok, I've got a huge crush on Neko Case. Her voice is one of the most exceptional I've ever heard. She's beautiful and she's the epitome of country noir. I went to her show tonight at the Variety Playhouse here in ATL and it was a fantastic show. Kelly Hogan and the High Dials played first, then Neko gave us a 2 hour show I'll never forget.

I also got her to sign a tour poster for me. I was stupid speechless. I told her that I loved her and the Handsome Family more than any other bands. She told me that the Handsome Family was a favorite of hers too.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

More B Ball

Got to tune into MLBTV a little bit before today's game and see the sox get their rings. Saw Arron get his and the crowds response. Did make me a little teary. We both had to leave c-town.

Get opening day/night...White Sox won opening night. 2 HRs from Thome. 1 for Piazza at his very first at bat as Padre. A grand Slam for A-Rod. Even Frank Thomas got a HR at his first at bat.

The sad story thus far is pitching. Zito, Freddie Gracia, Johann Santana had disappointing starts.

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Baseball is back!!!!

Here are some photos I took of my favs the white soxs when they visited Turner Field
Jim Thome!!!!




Cliff Politte...a great guy!


The Lights!!!

The Distractions!!!

The Park!!!

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Meridian Boxing Club

Meet Tic

Talked about the best fight he ever saw. He could only remember the name of one of the fighters. His guy was getting beat down for alot of rounds then he fades back and gets the other boxer to follow him. just then he lays on a punch, maybe even a suckerpunch and knocks the other guy out.

Tic has been training for 22 years.

Tic does train with too much sparing. Only 2 nights a week cause if yer not careful you can burn a kid out.

Instead he focuses on the fundamentals. Working with the bags, strentgh training.

He talked to us about how promoters and managers can manipulate a contract so that the boxer gets next too nothing. He talks about how the boxer needs to have a lawyer and how most boxers who are going to keep any money they one did it cause they had a good lawyer.

He talked about old fighters who tried their hand at being preachers.

He appreciated our enthusiam. He even told us that if we came back tomorrow they might go ahead and do a little sparing just for us.

When I shook his hand the skin was tough, hard like a baseball mitt. You can tell that Tic has got a lot miles on 'em.

"It got the right look. They tell me to clean it up, but I say we dont want it too clean. You want it to look like rocky."

He told us that he knew a 16 year old who had already had 300 ametur bouts.

The TV had a shot of janet leigh screaming from Pyscho just before I took the picture.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Playwright vs. Director

Creation(Playwright) is not synonymus with interpretation(Director)

Composer - Conductor

Playwright - Director

The conductor has interpretive control, and even has rights to recordings of his/her performances...but has not rights to the notes on the page and any honest comparison to their production choices to another conductors is subjective at best.Aside from my mind this situation sets a precedent that playwright/director situation can emulate.


If a director steals, then it is from another director. Therefore, the director has the right to attempt to sue the other director, but not the playwright, the producing organization, or any other body.

The Conductor has more in common with most theatrical directors than a theatrical director has with a film director.

Although highly valuable, the theatrical director's contributions to the event are subjective. Therefore, aside from blocking, there is no way to objectively judge whether or not one director has stolen from another, such is the fate of an interpretive artist versus a creative artist.

The only measurable contribution a director makes is blocking, everything else while valuable is ultimately unverifible, ethereal and therefore unfit for copyright. I thinks director of a world premiere could ask for a cut of royalties for a specific amount of time, the same way a producing organization does.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

How I See MEATLOCKER, the lead in my next show

Void, then the slow sound of deep breathing. A strong, unapologetic breath that is almost, almost vulgar. A harsh overhead pin of light accompanies every other inhalation, carving out MEATLOCKER'S back from the darkness, a mass of naked muscle in an uncomfortable hue of blue, pocked with purple bruises. It is his breathing that we hear, and as he exhales and his shoulders lower as the light slowly fades back to black to start over again. The second cycle of light reveals more ambience, we see that he is in a locker room. Barely lit are the other boxers he has to share the locker room with. They are shapes only and with the pulse of light they eventually disappear. The sound of their bouts seeps in counterpoint to the breathing. When MEAT is finally alone in the locker room, he cautionly looks around and is relieved. Now with no one watching he feels free to move, twisting his neck trying to get those cords of neck muscle to align, to obey. His arms slowly stretch up and then out. He spins around and we see more bruises down his chest and abdomen.

Do I respect rhetorical questions?

Hmmm? Should I answer that?

I believe that many people hide behind rhetoric. A little bit of Rhetoric can enable motion, but if unchecked it can be misperceived as motion itself.

I have this image in my head of men sitting in a dark room with no windows peering together at a map of a country they've never seen, arguing over which route is the best one to take.

I believe that many people critize rather than create.

Why is that I so distrust this idea of being a "friend" or a "physician" to the audience? It's not rhetorical, but I don't have an answer yet.

Monday, January 23, 2006


We could start with shortening the form. While at the same time expanding the conversation

Take a play and condense it into 15 minutes.

Then have some one else you know do the same.

Then show both pieces. Compare.


Regarding Don's post today, If we think of theatrical venues as ecosystems, changing the paradigm or expanding the ecosystem paradigm beyond the current storyfront venue could be the necessary trnasformation to enable theatre and audiences to better interact?

If the empty space you covet is so cost prohibitive that you can not generate the kind of product you feel is necessary...then find another empty space.

Challenges to overcome, to negoiatate...

I would hope that we wouldn't ignor the form of our empty space.

Friday, January 20, 2006


In our Post Modern world, is innovation even possible?

Is there any possiblity of an avant-garde in it's denotative sense as the forward guard?

Can art be a womb? Or have the million monkeys at a million typewriters finished it off? Is imagination nothing more than a baking sift?

A lot of big words are getting thrown around

Narrative - It isn't going away. The best you can do is hope for non-linear narratives. And realize that the moment they leave the theatre, 95% of your audience will juggle around the episodic images they are able to recall into some sort of linear narrative. Narrative and interpretation are inseparable when it comes to storytelling.

I can't remember the article I read by him, but even Foreman has admitted this, that he need not put or even conceive of any narrative, the audience will do it eventually.

The linearity of the episodes you present can be altered, jumbled, rearranged so as to aid in an attempted ambiguity in your storytelling. But, the audience will rearrange it later after the show to suit them.

One reason why theatre hasn't "evolved" in this country is due to the effects of democracy on our culture and market. WE deserve the president that we get. Not as individuals but as a society. And as a Democracy majority rules via the polls and via the pocketbooks. Result, innovations in expression that the majority find too difficult, too distasteful, too challenging, too frightening...are eventually relegated to the fringe by the members of the democracy.

Boring Bad Theatre? Well, I'm afraid that's democracy at work.

Nobody ever posts comments to my blog. Why?

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Name Yer Poison

Soon there'll be
"Coin Purse Theatre" or
"Invertabrate Theatre" or
"Squatter's Theatre" or
"No-Frills Theatre" or
"Brown Paper Bag Theatre" or
"Table Scraps Theatre" or
"Before the Street Sweepers get here Theatre" or
"I sold my plasma for rehearsal space Theatre"