Thursday, May 31, 2007

June 1st

35 years old this Friday June 1st.

Does it mean anything? The past ten years? In 1997 at this time, I was just two months and one summer class of German II away from graduating from FSU.

I wouldn't want to solely live in the past, still I wouldn't mind one of those out of body flashback experiences.

Sometimes aplace can seem special and essential even though you have to leave it. So much of Tallahassee, Florida in the mid nineties was like that to me. I lived in an apartment the same size as the one I live in now, it had central air and the rent was a whopping 235 dollars a month. I spent most nights at the Epitome coffeehouse which was this sprawling basement coffeehouse with access to this new this they called the world wide web. Also, they had the best black bean quesadilla I ever ever ate.

I use to spend my days at the University library which had more books that the Harold Washington. I would listen to John Zorn on m walkman and read articles from the Performance Art Journal and Yale: Theatre from back in the sixties and seventies.

Did I have more hope back then or was it a different quality of hope? I still hadn't gone to NYC. I still hadn't written a complete play or conceived of any of the things I did under the monkier of The Mammals. I still hadn't seen a Fellini Film, A Guy Maddin Film. There were untold treaures yet to be encountered. I remember thinking (god I hate the way this sounds) but I remember looking at my reflection in the glass of the Path train from hoboken to NYC thinking "I'm looking at the future of American Theatre". I look at my past reflection, I think about that kid and both have a little spasm of embrassment as well as a longing for youthful bragidociousness (sp?).

I have things I would not trade and that would prevent me from jumping backwards in time. The scripts I have written, the work I've done in the theatre...I wouldn;t want to lose those.

Yet there is melancholy

I'm not old, but any stretch but shit I'm out of shape.

Monday, May 28, 2007

The Meatlocker

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.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

How's the writing?

So, it looks like I've got my reading of the boxing play scheduled. Nice. Everyone I asked said they would do it. That's a good feeling.

Even more material for it is coming, which is an opposite for where I was with it say 12 months ago. Back then I felt I had this play inside me but I couldn't find the pathway, the journey towards the final destination.

Now, I'm becoming aware (more like remembering) that in the end, I'll probably have to do some cutting and that could be tough since I'm falling more and more in love with it everyday. The world of the play seems fuller and more rich even day and the reading is the penultimate personal event now for my summer. July 15th

Also, been actively reexamining, editing the novel. That leaves me hot and cold. Man, this novel business is tough. Editing is harder than writing. I may skip ahead in the novel, the exposition I feel is necessary in the beginning is starting to wear on me, if I jump into the meat and work my way out for a few days, maybe that will refresh, maybe that will get the voices more solid more purposeful more along the way I want them.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Chapter One - The Old Skillet

Chapter One – The Old Skillet

How do these mice live out here on the Old Skillet? Perhaps they aren’t mice. Maybe they’re what’s left of the coyotes, dried up canine scabs self trying to steal a little government issue before they take their sweetest surrender. I used to think those rodents could burrow down deep, and that somewhere miles down underneath were ancient Indian aqueducts.

This patch has always been a hard place, but it wasn’t always the Old Skillet. People started calling it that after the military put down a camp. According to mother, when the buzzcuts moved in to the valley, the whole of the area surrounding has gone from the pits to the shits. The temperatures have been up well about average so much so and for so long, we're thinking about setting newer averages, less hospitalible averages.

There’s something about all them buzzcuts humping around that turned this spot of heavenly desert into a damn dust bowl. Once they were done, they picked up most of their gear and left for points elsewhere. The only thing they occupy now is the old VA hospital. And even that has been practically decommisoned. No longer a medical facility more like a non founded rest home for veterans from the various desert wars.

atheism is the new black

Probability's Choosen

That is what they are

It was just good genes, circumstance, and frustration at their politcal impotence

These variables made them what they are. Probability's choosen.

Proof versus truth
Soul versus personality
The miracle of evaporation

The constant improvement of science...

A sort of objective improvement that organized religion can't seem to replicate.

They can not sway those who believe in god and prayer and ritual...they have banging their heads, shrugged their shoulders...

Regardless of what they think about another human's belief, what do they think about the other human?

Can this other human, this believer, survive their scorn?

Friday, May 18, 2007

Life as of late

Arik Martin is a very old friend. We hadn't seen each other for approximately six months. Now that he lives in LA and I am back in Chicago, once every six months is about how often we'll get to see each other face to face.

It was a great thing, for both of us. I think we happen to do well at questioning each other, challenging each other to do better at striving for goals and dreams.

I am going to get into some better habits. I have been letting the little things in my life stop me from achieving the bigger wants.

Firstly, a read thru of the boxing play
Secondly, getting the Mammals website back up and running.
Thirdly, starting some other projects I have been wondering about.

Coming back to Chicago was the first step, but guess what?...that step is over. You just caught up on your back rent, you have an awesome job, better than any job you've had in quite awhile.

I dont habe time to waste. I have to write and produce and do the things I want to do. Push push push dont stop.

other stuff as of late...Dada...

Well, it has been a challenge. We have to reschedule the last French meeting.
The whole approach, the whole dada thing is a bit of a see saw. Somedays I'm up for it, and other days I'm down on it.F or me the thing I never get tired of is being in the room with people who want to make art.

SKALD - Great thing. But....ho ho ho there's a but?

I wanted to hear more people telling stories about themselves. For me the truth is always much more alluring in this sort of storytelling situation. I think using the SKALD to work on your stand up chops, or to challenge your improvisational skills...well I think it is unfortunate. I mean in this city, who is lacking when it comes to places and situations to brush up on your improv?

There was at least one story, actually told during the improv section that was true, the word given to imrpov off of just awoke something true in the teller and even I was drawn in. Studs Terkel-ish.

The only sort of SKALD improv I really would embrace is someone who does such a convincing job of fabricating a tale. Get me to believe something about them that is totally made up.

Maybe the workshops are the best thing for me to put my energy into. I want to see something different from mere performance...I want the experience of sharing...that is what I think is transcendent in this whole SKALD situation.

That being said, even the stuff that wasn't to my taste was strong good stuff. If you are reading this please note I support and think the SKALD is going to be a fantastic night of theater.

Still, as much as it achieves...I'm dreaming of something even higher.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Dark Toad Jelly

Jolly
Smiling
From
Beneath
Devoid of
Breath
I couldn't do that
Smiling
Smothered
tongue
hidden
beneath lips
beneath
Stirring
up the
dark dark jelly
turning
jelly
into
shape
Tadpoles
wet
dream
mud pie
toddler myth

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Back to NaNoWriMo

Ok. Havn't posted alot to this blog lately. Been busy getting used to the new job and thinking about other items of interest.

But, I am back (I think).

For me there are alot of irons inthe fire right now. Asst Directing for WNEP Dada show, Jen Ellison doing a reading of my show "Breed with Me", but the thing that has got me today is...I started seriously editing the novel i wrote for NaNoWriMo.

And, it is not half as bad as I feared. Sure there is alot of "arranging" I need to do. While writing i just put it down on the page and said worry later. And there is a lot of Grissle I can trim. But the narrative is there and a ton of interesting thoughts some fully penned out in as a first draft (well duh, Isn't that what you wrote after all.) Could I possibly edit this thing into a novel? Really...?