11/7/01
My ideal girl would be very comfortable with her natural beauty.
She would explain to me what it's like to menstrate.
She would have a beautiful tummy and wide, ample hips, and know how to enjoy a good meal.
She would love to wear long, flowing skirts, Chuck Taylor Sneakers, 1970s TV-character t-shirts and costume jewelry; sometimes in the same outfit.
11/11/01
She must like to be sung to.
She must be able to regress into a four-year-old for playtime and exploration.
She must like oral sex, show and tell me how to do it right for her, and beg me for it.
She must like hugs.
She must glance over at me with knowing eyes, speak a silent language only the two of us know.
29 January 2009
25 January 2009
Prologue: Year Zero II
“So this is what Death feels like...”
Yesterday, July 29, 2001. Bloomingdale, IL. Stratford Square Mall. 12:06 p.m. Sitting outside the Food Court staring at children tossing pennies into the indoor fountain
This is exactly where I was when I realized what death was.
Numerologically, for me the day was a 7, indicative of its time in a nine-day cycle to get in touch with divinity and to be alone and ponderous. It was also a Sunday, sacred to Wiccans and other magickians as the day to praise Saturn, the Roman god of death. For most of the rest of America, Sunday also represents the end of the week, the day to sober up from the frivolities of the weekend and ready themselves for the work week ahead. Even God himself stopped creating life on Sunday and took time to look back over all he hath done.
Spiritually and culturally, everything was in place.
And there I sat, in the middle of a temple of suburban overdeveloped commercialism, watching snot-nosed suburban Abercrombie & Fitch kids toss shiny pennies into the timed choreographed blasts of an upward-shooting Disney-imagineer-styled indoor fountain, and the clearest thought that entered my head was,
“So this is what Death feels like...”
Seventh chakra fully open and glowing. The pinnacle of Maslow's hierarchy attained.
Self-actualization.
White light. White heat.
White noise.
All else droned out.
“So this is what Death feels like...”
Let me tell you a bit about myself. I'm twenty-three years old. I have spent the last six years of my life living alone and independently in a college town. Iowa City. “The Athens of the Midwest.” The first four-and-a-half of those years I spend studying towards a B.A. in psychology, which I attained. I also, through that time, acquired a huge circle of diverse and close-knit friends, held a salaried position as a nursing assistant in the psychiatric ward of the University of Iowa hospital, and met my officially first and hoped-to-be-final girlfriend.
I was deliriously happy.
The latter year-and-a-half I had free time to pursue other interests. My eternal desire to be an actor. A burgeoning desire for screenwriting and film. Performing my own monologues and poetry in front of a crowd. Moving in with my girlfriend and planning to follow her to Pennsylvania for grad school once she finally got out of college.
Nothing in life could seem to be better.
Then, all of a sudden, right around October of 2000, a 7 month for me, things began to change, to die. My girlfriend and I re-evaluated our relationship and decided that at our youthful age, we could maintain our devotion to one another (under the same roof) and start to venture out to try new terrain. She was in school. I was a working stiff. She had my car, my attention, my resources, all donated to help her get through school easier. I had a 40-minute walk to work at 6:00 am most days from a basement apartment located 25 minutes walking from anywhere social in town, friends still in school whose schedules were incompatible from my erratic non-9-to-5-Monday-through-Friday work times, and a growing sense of ignorance from her. I gripped harder, she shunned stronger.
She had study sessions, alcohol and flirtations galore.
I had a basement, alcohol, and independent films to relate to.
Things didn't work out.
We eventually grew so much tension between us that we both moved out to go our own way. Both living alone. She grew closer to her cultish new friends and even developed a new love interest. I grew deeper and deeper into myself, studying Taoism, Numerology, Chakras, and dreaming of going off into the world to strike it out on my own.
Everything in Iowa City reminded me of her.
Every CD in my collection reminded me of her.
Every book I read reminded me of her.
Everything I wrote was based off my memories of her
(including this)
Somehow we still kept in touch
Albeit rather painfully at times.
Depression set in. Low-grade alcohol dependence. Increased marijuana use. Stolen barbituates from the hospital. Panic attacks. St. John's Wort, Kava Kava. A pack-and-a-half a day smoking habit. Four-and-a-half hour conversations with myself in my secluded one-room apartment. Shaven head. Meditation. Insomnia. Money spent frivilously on myself to buy happiness; New clothes, good food, pot, Daily six-packs of Milwaukee's Best. A failed relationship with an immature, guarded 19-year-old. Impotence. Mental breakdown.
I was beginning to resemble the psychotic patients I took care of.
I should have known. Numerologically her destiny number is a 7. She's a Pisces, too flighty and idealistic for a grounded Libra like me.
I broke. Hit a dead end.
Nothing to do but go back to the place that bore me.
So yesterday I sat, three days after I moved back in with my parents. Sat categorically broke, with less than $150 to my name and no independent savings. Sat in an area of the country I was so happy to leave, an area based on brand names, strip malls, SUVs, ritzy designer homes, snobby upwardly-mobile families with more money than they can deal with. Sat in this testament to consumerism watching this water fountain, this antithesis of a fireworks display. Sat without a friend to call my own save the two people who were about to beg me to move back in. Sat with my crumbled dream 240 miles away with friends I froze up too much within myself to enjoy during our last weeks together. Sat numb in a web of overlapping villages where every restaurant advertises a children's special and a senior discount daily. Sat without guidance, an art-house theater, a community acting troupe, or any kind of burgeoning bohemian underground. Sat in a land of career mobility, fluorescent lights, resumés, aggressive office mentality, softball Friday nights, corporate mentality, and automation. Sat in a target audience I was too old, too young, and too intellectual for.
Mid-twenties breakdown.
Ground zero.
“So this is what Death feels like...”
Thing is, I still love her even though I can't bear to speak to her. She will still be the death of me.
Yesterday, July 29, 2001. Bloomingdale, IL. Stratford Square Mall. 12:06 p.m. Sitting outside the Food Court staring at children tossing pennies into the indoor fountain
This is exactly where I was when I realized what death was.
Numerologically, for me the day was a 7, indicative of its time in a nine-day cycle to get in touch with divinity and to be alone and ponderous. It was also a Sunday, sacred to Wiccans and other magickians as the day to praise Saturn, the Roman god of death. For most of the rest of America, Sunday also represents the end of the week, the day to sober up from the frivolities of the weekend and ready themselves for the work week ahead. Even God himself stopped creating life on Sunday and took time to look back over all he hath done.
Spiritually and culturally, everything was in place.
And there I sat, in the middle of a temple of suburban overdeveloped commercialism, watching snot-nosed suburban Abercrombie & Fitch kids toss shiny pennies into the timed choreographed blasts of an upward-shooting Disney-imagineer-styled indoor fountain, and the clearest thought that entered my head was,
“So this is what Death feels like...”
Seventh chakra fully open and glowing. The pinnacle of Maslow's hierarchy attained.
Self-actualization.
White light. White heat.
White noise.
All else droned out.
“So this is what Death feels like...”
Let me tell you a bit about myself. I'm twenty-three years old. I have spent the last six years of my life living alone and independently in a college town. Iowa City. “The Athens of the Midwest.” The first four-and-a-half of those years I spend studying towards a B.A. in psychology, which I attained. I also, through that time, acquired a huge circle of diverse and close-knit friends, held a salaried position as a nursing assistant in the psychiatric ward of the University of Iowa hospital, and met my officially first and hoped-to-be-final girlfriend.
I was deliriously happy.
The latter year-and-a-half I had free time to pursue other interests. My eternal desire to be an actor. A burgeoning desire for screenwriting and film. Performing my own monologues and poetry in front of a crowd. Moving in with my girlfriend and planning to follow her to Pennsylvania for grad school once she finally got out of college.
Nothing in life could seem to be better.
Then, all of a sudden, right around October of 2000, a 7 month for me, things began to change, to die. My girlfriend and I re-evaluated our relationship and decided that at our youthful age, we could maintain our devotion to one another (under the same roof) and start to venture out to try new terrain. She was in school. I was a working stiff. She had my car, my attention, my resources, all donated to help her get through school easier. I had a 40-minute walk to work at 6:00 am most days from a basement apartment located 25 minutes walking from anywhere social in town, friends still in school whose schedules were incompatible from my erratic non-9-to-5-Monday-through-Friday work times, and a growing sense of ignorance from her. I gripped harder, she shunned stronger.
She had study sessions, alcohol and flirtations galore.
I had a basement, alcohol, and independent films to relate to.
Things didn't work out.
We eventually grew so much tension between us that we both moved out to go our own way. Both living alone. She grew closer to her cultish new friends and even developed a new love interest. I grew deeper and deeper into myself, studying Taoism, Numerology, Chakras, and dreaming of going off into the world to strike it out on my own.
Everything in Iowa City reminded me of her.
Every CD in my collection reminded me of her.
Every book I read reminded me of her.
Everything I wrote was based off my memories of her
(including this)
Somehow we still kept in touch
Albeit rather painfully at times.
Depression set in. Low-grade alcohol dependence. Increased marijuana use. Stolen barbituates from the hospital. Panic attacks. St. John's Wort, Kava Kava. A pack-and-a-half a day smoking habit. Four-and-a-half hour conversations with myself in my secluded one-room apartment. Shaven head. Meditation. Insomnia. Money spent frivilously on myself to buy happiness; New clothes, good food, pot, Daily six-packs of Milwaukee's Best. A failed relationship with an immature, guarded 19-year-old. Impotence. Mental breakdown.
I was beginning to resemble the psychotic patients I took care of.
I should have known. Numerologically her destiny number is a 7. She's a Pisces, too flighty and idealistic for a grounded Libra like me.
I broke. Hit a dead end.
Nothing to do but go back to the place that bore me.
So yesterday I sat, three days after I moved back in with my parents. Sat categorically broke, with less than $150 to my name and no independent savings. Sat in an area of the country I was so happy to leave, an area based on brand names, strip malls, SUVs, ritzy designer homes, snobby upwardly-mobile families with more money than they can deal with. Sat in this testament to consumerism watching this water fountain, this antithesis of a fireworks display. Sat without a friend to call my own save the two people who were about to beg me to move back in. Sat with my crumbled dream 240 miles away with friends I froze up too much within myself to enjoy during our last weeks together. Sat numb in a web of overlapping villages where every restaurant advertises a children's special and a senior discount daily. Sat without guidance, an art-house theater, a community acting troupe, or any kind of burgeoning bohemian underground. Sat in a land of career mobility, fluorescent lights, resumés, aggressive office mentality, softball Friday nights, corporate mentality, and automation. Sat in a target audience I was too old, too young, and too intellectual for.
Mid-twenties breakdown.
Ground zero.
“So this is what Death feels like...”
Thing is, I still love her even though I can't bear to speak to her. She will still be the death of me.
21 January 2009
Poem: Won
I am wan.
Pale-faced and shrivled, nothing left but a hole
Alone with myself, a figure of solitude
Fully encased in a thick, constrictive shell, meek as a mite
While inside my mind inflames to the strenuous strain
Grating away as I compress down low to rest
Pale-faced and shrivled, nothing left but a hole
Alone with myself, a figure of solitude
Fully encased in a thick, constrictive shell, meek as a mite
While inside my mind inflames to the strenuous strain
Grating away as I compress down low to rest
Break the flow of pain, let it wash out
My self begins to emit a change, magnified by a
mere roar
A magnificent change, a time to begin myself
Shhh-out against the pain to force a break
My self begins to emit a change, magnified by a
mere roar
A magnificent change, a time to begin myself
Shhh-out against the pain to force a break
Wrest myself up high as I come, pressed with great
Strength stemming from my mind aflame with wise wile
Might like a mean, well-constructed truck driven in a caged fool
Too, solid, my figure alone
Whole, yet left everything shifted and facing no pale
I am one.
Strength stemming from my mind aflame with wise wile
Might like a mean, well-constructed truck driven in a caged fool
Too, solid, my figure alone
Whole, yet left everything shifted and facing no pale
I am one.
18 January 2009
Compassion For Boxing Lessons
Thoughts turn to vapor before their conception
Is it Zen or apathy?
I hear music, but it won't invoke anything
It stays static in the air
Won't give a spark, won't stir the coals
Just lingers in the air
As if it liquefies into water and slides off my oily mind
But even my oiled mind won't set into motion
Insert coin here
Turn the crank
Hook up the cables and give it a boost
Nothing
Quiet
Dormant
Stationary
I am aware of
Bad pop music on the jukebox
The smattering of people among the rather vacant booths
The fact that I've have half an hour before rehearsal and I've done nothing really practical today
The fifth-rate prose I've written after months of a dry spell
The day feels frivolously wasted
I'm not even daydreaming, a scary thought
Is it worth it?
Is this a much-needed rest, or am I succumbing to my Libran laziness?
I should exercise
I should try to work up an appetite today
I should make the day worthwhile somehow
I should go out and do something
But I don't feel like it.
Angsty
Desireless
Pensive about wanting to be pensive
Frustrated
I want to sleep and start the day, the year all over again
Fucking time won't allow
Unidirectional bastard
I want to do nothing and have everything completed
But it's not happening
Broken responsibilities
Casting off necessary ballast
Piece-of-shit goddamn motherfucker
Fucking with my head
Making me feel useless
Unworthy
Stupid
Like a goddamn boil on the face of humanity
Pissed-off
I want to break something
I want to smash plates on the floor and listen to every delicious crash
I want to beat the shit out of a random passerby
I want to come home bruised, bloody, scarred and satisfied
Fuck guns; What a pussy way to inflict pain
Let's tussle on the ground, pull hair, tear skin, dig in nails until blood pours out
Punch in the gut and make him deflate and melt into a puddle on the pavement
Stand over him and just cackle as I kick him in the ribs until something snaps
No remorse
Not one fucking ounce of remorse
Walk away proud, content, and ready for more with the biggest grin on my face
As if I just came into a virgin who fought back
Walk around and have people not respect but fear me
Know that I have such power over them
Never take anything back
Never worry about the consequences tomorrow
Never be scared anymore
Fuck up someone's face until their Mom doesn't even care to know him
Make it deliberate, unrepairable, permanent
And sing arias all while it's happening
I have wanted to smash a guy's nose into my knee
Drive bone into bone into brain
Leave a crimson butterfly stain on my pant leg
Not smack someone across the head but emboss my knuckles into their cheek
I'm just pissed off and frustrated
Repressed, I guess
It's been so long since I've regularly been a part of my friends' lives
Since I've been a part of someone's intimate life
Since I've been a part of her life
I miss her. A whole fucking lot
But I don't like what she's become
A selfish drunken tart with no sense of object permanence
She daily hangs off the elbow of that alcoholic asshole author
And still, for reasons only Allah knows, she floods messages on my answering machine
And like a goddamned dog, I hear the beeps and salivate
Let her mop up the floor with me
Ask for nothing in return, even plead for no remittance
Stupid-ass weak-kneed motherfucking pussy
I'm way too good
Not only for her but for most everyone else I know
I'm too good for my own good
Need to be like every other 23-year-old
Need to learn to play by the rules, even if the rules were written by the largest group of freeloading retarded monkeys
Motherfucking psychotic hedonistic meat puppets
Apparently, the true love doesn't enter life until your 30s
Any earlier and it's a mutation, an anomaly, a freak of human nature
“You haven't experienced enough to really know what true love is.”
The biggest lump of pure Grade-D bullshit I've heard
Motherfucking puritanical dribble copout
Music again
The same fucking song I heard twice over when I was in here earlier today
Ate too much too fast
Getting too tired to be rageful
Blah
Nothing
If I were a cartoon, a black scribble cloud would form over my head
Good Motherfucking Grief, Charlie Brown
I'm not happy
I haven't really been genuinely happy since things were going wonderfully with her.
I know she's happy. Weirdly happy. My fucking eye.
The girl could find happiness in a motherfucking scratch on the wall to stare at.
I wouldn't be bothered as much, but everything's happening right under my goddamn nose
I worry to death when I don't know, I beat myself up when I do know
I want to not care
I've overpaid my dues and there's no fucking rebate
Time to punch the clock and return to me
And what a mess I am
I don't understand...much, really. I like to think I do, but it all comes back in my face and I end up looking and feeling like an idiotic fool
Self-esteem shot through the basement
Happens way too often
Can't really shut it off
Listening without digestion or reaction; a fool's game
I've lost sight of how others see me
I reinvent myself every day
Consistency for shit
I need to buy a strong, steadfast personality and implant it into my spine
Right now I can be anyone at all
Right now people want someone for the moment
I don't match
I have become cumbersome to this world
Clunky and tangled, a child's scribble of impotence
Even my dick agrees
Male sensitivity isn't supposed to be inborn, it's supposed to emerge from the female in your life
She can “change” him for the better
Uh-huh
My ass.
This is who I am, and I can't hide from it.
Right now I hate the situation, but, God help me, I can't pass on just yet
I want a lot of what I haven't got
I'd gladly trade
Two pounds of sensitivity for two of aggression
A good listening ear for an everpresent libido
Compassion for boxing lessons
All who I am for a girl to want me
Fuck shit goddamn pissant cocksucking bastard
I feel
Unacceptable
Rejected
Disposable
Unnecessary
Stuffed into a shoebox and shoved on the top shelf of a guest room closet
Saved for later
I need an expiration date
Mold away, decompose and help form other, better things
Is it Zen or apathy?
I hear music, but it won't invoke anything
It stays static in the air
Won't give a spark, won't stir the coals
Just lingers in the air
As if it liquefies into water and slides off my oily mind
But even my oiled mind won't set into motion
Insert coin here
Turn the crank
Hook up the cables and give it a boost
Nothing
Quiet
Dormant
Stationary
I am aware of
Bad pop music on the jukebox
The smattering of people among the rather vacant booths
The fact that I've have half an hour before rehearsal and I've done nothing really practical today
The fifth-rate prose I've written after months of a dry spell
The day feels frivolously wasted
I'm not even daydreaming, a scary thought
Is it worth it?
Is this a much-needed rest, or am I succumbing to my Libran laziness?
I should exercise
I should try to work up an appetite today
I should make the day worthwhile somehow
I should go out and do something
But I don't feel like it.
Angsty
Desireless
Pensive about wanting to be pensive
Frustrated
I want to sleep and start the day, the year all over again
Fucking time won't allow
Unidirectional bastard
I want to do nothing and have everything completed
But it's not happening
Broken responsibilities
Casting off necessary ballast
Piece-of-shit goddamn motherfucker
Fucking with my head
Making me feel useless
Unworthy
Stupid
Like a goddamn boil on the face of humanity
Pissed-off
I want to break something
I want to smash plates on the floor and listen to every delicious crash
I want to beat the shit out of a random passerby
I want to come home bruised, bloody, scarred and satisfied
Fuck guns; What a pussy way to inflict pain
Let's tussle on the ground, pull hair, tear skin, dig in nails until blood pours out
Punch in the gut and make him deflate and melt into a puddle on the pavement
Stand over him and just cackle as I kick him in the ribs until something snaps
No remorse
Not one fucking ounce of remorse
Walk away proud, content, and ready for more with the biggest grin on my face
As if I just came into a virgin who fought back
Walk around and have people not respect but fear me
Know that I have such power over them
Never take anything back
Never worry about the consequences tomorrow
Never be scared anymore
Fuck up someone's face until their Mom doesn't even care to know him
Make it deliberate, unrepairable, permanent
And sing arias all while it's happening
I have wanted to smash a guy's nose into my knee
Drive bone into bone into brain
Leave a crimson butterfly stain on my pant leg
Not smack someone across the head but emboss my knuckles into their cheek
I'm just pissed off and frustrated
Repressed, I guess
It's been so long since I've regularly been a part of my friends' lives
Since I've been a part of someone's intimate life
Since I've been a part of her life
I miss her. A whole fucking lot
But I don't like what she's become
A selfish drunken tart with no sense of object permanence
She daily hangs off the elbow of that alcoholic asshole author
And still, for reasons only Allah knows, she floods messages on my answering machine
And like a goddamned dog, I hear the beeps and salivate
Let her mop up the floor with me
Ask for nothing in return, even plead for no remittance
Stupid-ass weak-kneed motherfucking pussy
I'm way too good
Not only for her but for most everyone else I know
I'm too good for my own good
Need to be like every other 23-year-old
Need to learn to play by the rules, even if the rules were written by the largest group of freeloading retarded monkeys
Motherfucking psychotic hedonistic meat puppets
Apparently, the true love doesn't enter life until your 30s
Any earlier and it's a mutation, an anomaly, a freak of human nature
“You haven't experienced enough to really know what true love is.”
The biggest lump of pure Grade-D bullshit I've heard
Motherfucking puritanical dribble copout
Music again
The same fucking song I heard twice over when I was in here earlier today
Ate too much too fast
Getting too tired to be rageful
Blah
Nothing
If I were a cartoon, a black scribble cloud would form over my head
Good Motherfucking Grief, Charlie Brown
I'm not happy
I haven't really been genuinely happy since things were going wonderfully with her.
I know she's happy. Weirdly happy. My fucking eye.
The girl could find happiness in a motherfucking scratch on the wall to stare at.
I wouldn't be bothered as much, but everything's happening right under my goddamn nose
I worry to death when I don't know, I beat myself up when I do know
I want to not care
I've overpaid my dues and there's no fucking rebate
Time to punch the clock and return to me
And what a mess I am
I don't understand...much, really. I like to think I do, but it all comes back in my face and I end up looking and feeling like an idiotic fool
Self-esteem shot through the basement
Happens way too often
Can't really shut it off
Listening without digestion or reaction; a fool's game
I've lost sight of how others see me
I reinvent myself every day
Consistency for shit
I need to buy a strong, steadfast personality and implant it into my spine
Right now I can be anyone at all
Right now people want someone for the moment
I don't match
I have become cumbersome to this world
Clunky and tangled, a child's scribble of impotence
Even my dick agrees
Male sensitivity isn't supposed to be inborn, it's supposed to emerge from the female in your life
She can “change” him for the better
Uh-huh
My ass.
This is who I am, and I can't hide from it.
Right now I hate the situation, but, God help me, I can't pass on just yet
I want a lot of what I haven't got
I'd gladly trade
Two pounds of sensitivity for two of aggression
A good listening ear for an everpresent libido
Compassion for boxing lessons
All who I am for a girl to want me
Fuck shit goddamn pissant cocksucking bastard
I feel
Unacceptable
Rejected
Disposable
Unnecessary
Stuffed into a shoebox and shoved on the top shelf of a guest room closet
Saved for later
I need an expiration date
Mold away, decompose and help form other, better things
14 January 2009
Poem: Know This Is True
For The Girl
When I dream I can see...
An essence of beauty, so wholly complete
So perfect in my eyes that none can compete
A modern Pygmalion, Helen of Troy
Could wish to achieve this though devious ploy
Skin smooth as chenille spun by a silkworm
Botticelli body, heavenly and firm
Hair finer than spiders' webs, softer than down
Great ocean of red locks where one prays to drown
Her eyes grey as stone; a flint with sparks afire
Her talented hands teach muses to inspire
When I dream I can see...
Her back is a magnet my hands cannot leave
A tailored embrace, fit like arms through a sleeve
The sight of her causes mens' knees to collapse
One scent and a woozy drool, heartbeats in lapse
Her smile, a porcelain glow filled with pride
But brighter much more is the light from inside
Wisdom and intelligence beyond all scope
A strong, driven, undying beacon of hope
Her quest for fulfillment is, itself, an art
A six-year-old spirit dwells within her heart
When I dream I can see...
One day not far off when we'll stand together
White lace and black suitcoat, bouquet of heather
A nervous ascent toward symbolic Oneness
A family-filled hall, tear-strained with happiness
I'll promise I'll love you through all that will come
You'll know this vow holds; already it's been done
Our hands will be bound in a gauze made of trust
We'll not be 'part through whate'er's to come of us
Then they will congratulate with wine and song
Though I can't help but know I've felt this all 'long
When I wake I can see...
It's not just a vision, my dream is alive
All that I would want is laying by my side
As if desires formed in my sleepy head
Flowed out, made a wish, crafted her in this bed
But she is reluctant, she won't hear my praise
She thinks that the world casts a cold, mocking gaze
My voice has gone hoarse in attempts to persuade
Her of her majesty: Shadows in the shade.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Please know this is true, dear: That you are divine
None less than your quality claim hearts like mine
Ere will I be true so long as you accept
The mirror's reflection, a benchmark done set
Appreciate all who you are in my eyes
Not just my beloved; a sought-after prize
Believe that you are the One, out and within
For when this light hits you, our love can begin
When I dream I can see...
An essence of beauty, so wholly complete
So perfect in my eyes that none can compete
A modern Pygmalion, Helen of Troy
Could wish to achieve this though devious ploy
Skin smooth as chenille spun by a silkworm
Botticelli body, heavenly and firm
Hair finer than spiders' webs, softer than down
Great ocean of red locks where one prays to drown
Her eyes grey as stone; a flint with sparks afire
Her talented hands teach muses to inspire
When I dream I can see...
Her back is a magnet my hands cannot leave
A tailored embrace, fit like arms through a sleeve
The sight of her causes mens' knees to collapse
One scent and a woozy drool, heartbeats in lapse
Her smile, a porcelain glow filled with pride
But brighter much more is the light from inside
Wisdom and intelligence beyond all scope
A strong, driven, undying beacon of hope
Her quest for fulfillment is, itself, an art
A six-year-old spirit dwells within her heart
When I dream I can see...
One day not far off when we'll stand together
White lace and black suitcoat, bouquet of heather
A nervous ascent toward symbolic Oneness
A family-filled hall, tear-strained with happiness
I'll promise I'll love you through all that will come
You'll know this vow holds; already it's been done
Our hands will be bound in a gauze made of trust
We'll not be 'part through whate'er's to come of us
Then they will congratulate with wine and song
Though I can't help but know I've felt this all 'long
When I wake I can see...
It's not just a vision, my dream is alive
All that I would want is laying by my side
As if desires formed in my sleepy head
Flowed out, made a wish, crafted her in this bed
But she is reluctant, she won't hear my praise
She thinks that the world casts a cold, mocking gaze
My voice has gone hoarse in attempts to persuade
Her of her majesty: Shadows in the shade.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Please know this is true, dear: That you are divine
None less than your quality claim hearts like mine
Ere will I be true so long as you accept
The mirror's reflection, a benchmark done set
Appreciate all who you are in my eyes
Not just my beloved; a sought-after prize
Believe that you are the One, out and within
For when this light hits you, our love can begin
11 January 2009
Monologue: The Last Word
(Open on a man sitting on a bench reading a newspaper)
Heh heh heh. Get this shit. “Small-town lawyer appointed to President's National Legal Board. Attorney vows to bring sensibility to government”, (turns page) “Firefighter receives medal for valiant rescue of woman from South Side inferno.” (looks further down page) “Local Girl Wins Talent Search: Filming slated for 2012” (puts paper aside) What a waste of newsprint. (addresses audience as if passerby) Am I right? I mean , do you really wanna wake up in the morning with your cup of decaf and your Egg McMuffin and read this? Just like you woke up yesterday and read the same crap, and tomorrow you'll wake up and find the exact same paper on your doorstep. 'Course not, man, you expect something better. You read the paper 'cause it's the daily diary of history and you don't wanna read all about how she's always got a crush on this guy in biology class, do ya? NO, you wanna read about how she got to second base in the back of her Dad's Cadillac. You wanna read about how she's terrified of askin' her father for a ride to the abortion clinic, huh? You wanna skip that basket of bread and butter and go right for the veal scallopini. Am I right? 'Course I'm right, you know that.
(holds up paper)
Now these people, they're the crush. They think they're making a difference, but they're nothing but a drop of water in the bucket of history. Just like a high school crush. You know what a crush is, don't you? It's a whole lot of time and energy and nervous posturing that results in a brush of hands in the hallway of life. Just like these people. They're nothing. (opens up paper again) Look at these stories. The lawyer out to shake the system. Great, another blood-sucking shyster with “good” intentions goes out to take on Big Brother. You know what they say about good intentions, right? He's gonna end up a patch of asphalt on Highway 666. Ans how many of the government know-it-alls started out the same way as Mr. Smith here? All of 'em, every single last one of them. Once he gets a taste of the power and knows how the game is played, he's gonna take off the sheepskin, too. A recipe for disaster, that's what you got on the front page of your morning news. What a way to start your day. You deserve something better.
(turns page)
Here's that fireman. Hey, you ever get a medal for just doin' your job? 'Course not. You slave away 40 hours a week doin' what's expected of you. (points and talks directly to people in audience) When's the last time you got a certificate for landing that million-dollar deal? Does the mayor come to your house and shake your hand 'cause you did that oil change on Mrs. Jones' car? Or how about a simple thank you for bringing out that guy's coffee hot with two creams like he asked? Nope. Doesn't happen. Am I right? Now, what's a fireman do? He fights fires and saves people, right? Guy does something in his line of work that's right for once and now we gotta stop the city and hold a ticker-tape parade just 'cause he didn't screw up? Is that justice? But you're gonna say, “Oh, but he saved a life. That's important!” Lemme bring something else to mind: What if that lady he saved is a crackwhore and her freebasing started the whole blaze in the first place? Great, now we got a guy not screwing up at work and all he does is keep a drug addict and arsonist back on the street ready to torch another building. And what does the city do? They pat him on the back, give him a hunk of gold, and tell him to do it all over again. It's not right and it's not fair. Not fair to you, am I right?
(looks back at paper)
Oh, the talent search. Don't get me started on this one. Hollywood is such a cesspool nowadays. All TV and movies do anymore is turn kids' minds to goo and make them beat up their best friend. Do we really gotta exploit more chances to raise brain-dead children who kill each other? It's mindless prattle begetting mindless prattle. “Oh, but she worked so hard to fulfill her dream! That's important!” Yeah, she worked real hard. She probably spent lots of time running in place in her room in front of the mirror, eating only a salad a week just to get that “perfect look”. She probably spent lots of her Daddy's money getting cheek lifts and tummy tucks and a boob job just to get that “perfect look”. Any of us got that “perfect look”? 'Course not. We don't got the time or money. We accept our overgrown stomachs, our flabby arms, our imperfect nose. And what do they do with her? They congratulate her self-inflicted torture and frivilous waste of money with a pedestal to present us with another idiotic example of values we cannot attain. She's not changing history. She's killing herself and telling our kids to kill each other. Should we stick her right in the middle of our Monday morning seach for the meaning of life? Please. Now she's becoming a waste of your time and your money. (puts paper aside)
Now I want you all to stop me if I'm not making a lick of sense, but are these the people you want going out to change the world? 'Course not, 'cause they're the wrong people. You know what their problem is? They're delusional people with too much going for them and they haven't a clue how to deal with it. They're the “lucky” ones, born with a high IQ, money to burn, an exciting life, great hair, perfect teeth, so-called talent. They're elitist scum and they think they got what it takes to tell us what to do. Friends, I've read history and I know the ones who actually make a difference are the ones who start off with nothing and then learn the secrets which they share with everyone. That's were true history comes from: Average people who rise up and speak the truth. Martin Luther, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Paine, Rush Limbaugh. Average everyday people. Like us. (points to audience) Like you. Like you. Like me. I got nothing. I'm an ugly son-of-a-bitch with no job, no money, no home, no girl, nothing. But I've been learning. I'm at the library readin' and studin' every day, and I know the truth. And I look around me and all I see are lies, dirty stinking greasy-palmed lies. Am I right? 'Course I'm right. And I'm sick of it. Somebody's got to do something to save the world from the monotonous parade of dangerous deception, and it's up to us, us regular people, to stand up and do something about it. We gotta turn the tide of history.
That's why I'm here today. I'm sittin' on this platform, waiting for the 5:15 because my destiny, our destiny awaits on that train. Today is the beginning of a new era of history, and we're all at the ground zero of a new way of life. No more will we be spoon-fed the lies of society for the sake of conformity. Today our minds will be open to the truth, and everyone will understand our crusade and the news everywhere will ring of a new way of thinking, a new way of life: How things should be. And it's all gonna happen on this train. With us. With you. With me. (pulls out pistol) With this. 'Cause you know what the biggest problem in this world is, huh? Overpopulation, am I right? We got 6 billion people squeezed on this tiny planet and there's so much crap going on. People are starving, everyone's fighting wars, there's not enough food, the rich bastards hoard all the money, the oxygen's getting polluted by too many cars, you can't walk down the street without being mugged or attacked, babies can't dream of becoming President. Our world is becoming hell. And who are the people in the driver's seat? (holds up paper) These crazy pompous asses! They think just 'cause they're so damn special they can write the rules for the rest of us. Today no more. Today we cast off the unnecessary flotsam. Today we thin the herd of the sickly and unjust. Today we make the world a better place. Everyone gets a piece of the pie. Everyone gets their moment to shine. The rules will be rewritten for us by us. We are the future. The future is now.
(looks off Stage Right) Right on time. (puts gun back into pocket) I'm so excited I could burst. Finally we reclaim our birthright. And it all starts with me. (walks forward as if boarding train, but pauses, addresses crowd) See you on the other side.
(holds onto pole on subway train. A couple beats, then he pulls out the gun and holds it barrel pointing to the ceiling)
All right, everyone! Today we're gonna give the world something to read about!
(Gunshots sound)
End.
Heh heh heh. Get this shit. “Small-town lawyer appointed to President's National Legal Board. Attorney vows to bring sensibility to government”, (turns page) “Firefighter receives medal for valiant rescue of woman from South Side inferno.” (looks further down page) “Local Girl Wins Talent Search: Filming slated for 2012” (puts paper aside) What a waste of newsprint. (addresses audience as if passerby) Am I right? I mean , do you really wanna wake up in the morning with your cup of decaf and your Egg McMuffin and read this? Just like you woke up yesterday and read the same crap, and tomorrow you'll wake up and find the exact same paper on your doorstep. 'Course not, man, you expect something better. You read the paper 'cause it's the daily diary of history and you don't wanna read all about how she's always got a crush on this guy in biology class, do ya? NO, you wanna read about how she got to second base in the back of her Dad's Cadillac. You wanna read about how she's terrified of askin' her father for a ride to the abortion clinic, huh? You wanna skip that basket of bread and butter and go right for the veal scallopini. Am I right? 'Course I'm right, you know that.
(holds up paper)
Now these people, they're the crush. They think they're making a difference, but they're nothing but a drop of water in the bucket of history. Just like a high school crush. You know what a crush is, don't you? It's a whole lot of time and energy and nervous posturing that results in a brush of hands in the hallway of life. Just like these people. They're nothing. (opens up paper again) Look at these stories. The lawyer out to shake the system. Great, another blood-sucking shyster with “good” intentions goes out to take on Big Brother. You know what they say about good intentions, right? He's gonna end up a patch of asphalt on Highway 666. Ans how many of the government know-it-alls started out the same way as Mr. Smith here? All of 'em, every single last one of them. Once he gets a taste of the power and knows how the game is played, he's gonna take off the sheepskin, too. A recipe for disaster, that's what you got on the front page of your morning news. What a way to start your day. You deserve something better.
(turns page)
Here's that fireman. Hey, you ever get a medal for just doin' your job? 'Course not. You slave away 40 hours a week doin' what's expected of you. (points and talks directly to people in audience) When's the last time you got a certificate for landing that million-dollar deal? Does the mayor come to your house and shake your hand 'cause you did that oil change on Mrs. Jones' car? Or how about a simple thank you for bringing out that guy's coffee hot with two creams like he asked? Nope. Doesn't happen. Am I right? Now, what's a fireman do? He fights fires and saves people, right? Guy does something in his line of work that's right for once and now we gotta stop the city and hold a ticker-tape parade just 'cause he didn't screw up? Is that justice? But you're gonna say, “Oh, but he saved a life. That's important!” Lemme bring something else to mind: What if that lady he saved is a crackwhore and her freebasing started the whole blaze in the first place? Great, now we got a guy not screwing up at work and all he does is keep a drug addict and arsonist back on the street ready to torch another building. And what does the city do? They pat him on the back, give him a hunk of gold, and tell him to do it all over again. It's not right and it's not fair. Not fair to you, am I right?
(looks back at paper)
Oh, the talent search. Don't get me started on this one. Hollywood is such a cesspool nowadays. All TV and movies do anymore is turn kids' minds to goo and make them beat up their best friend. Do we really gotta exploit more chances to raise brain-dead children who kill each other? It's mindless prattle begetting mindless prattle. “Oh, but she worked so hard to fulfill her dream! That's important!” Yeah, she worked real hard. She probably spent lots of time running in place in her room in front of the mirror, eating only a salad a week just to get that “perfect look”. She probably spent lots of her Daddy's money getting cheek lifts and tummy tucks and a boob job just to get that “perfect look”. Any of us got that “perfect look”? 'Course not. We don't got the time or money. We accept our overgrown stomachs, our flabby arms, our imperfect nose. And what do they do with her? They congratulate her self-inflicted torture and frivilous waste of money with a pedestal to present us with another idiotic example of values we cannot attain. She's not changing history. She's killing herself and telling our kids to kill each other. Should we stick her right in the middle of our Monday morning seach for the meaning of life? Please. Now she's becoming a waste of your time and your money. (puts paper aside)
Now I want you all to stop me if I'm not making a lick of sense, but are these the people you want going out to change the world? 'Course not, 'cause they're the wrong people. You know what their problem is? They're delusional people with too much going for them and they haven't a clue how to deal with it. They're the “lucky” ones, born with a high IQ, money to burn, an exciting life, great hair, perfect teeth, so-called talent. They're elitist scum and they think they got what it takes to tell us what to do. Friends, I've read history and I know the ones who actually make a difference are the ones who start off with nothing and then learn the secrets which they share with everyone. That's were true history comes from: Average people who rise up and speak the truth. Martin Luther, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Paine, Rush Limbaugh. Average everyday people. Like us. (points to audience) Like you. Like you. Like me. I got nothing. I'm an ugly son-of-a-bitch with no job, no money, no home, no girl, nothing. But I've been learning. I'm at the library readin' and studin' every day, and I know the truth. And I look around me and all I see are lies, dirty stinking greasy-palmed lies. Am I right? 'Course I'm right. And I'm sick of it. Somebody's got to do something to save the world from the monotonous parade of dangerous deception, and it's up to us, us regular people, to stand up and do something about it. We gotta turn the tide of history.
That's why I'm here today. I'm sittin' on this platform, waiting for the 5:15 because my destiny, our destiny awaits on that train. Today is the beginning of a new era of history, and we're all at the ground zero of a new way of life. No more will we be spoon-fed the lies of society for the sake of conformity. Today our minds will be open to the truth, and everyone will understand our crusade and the news everywhere will ring of a new way of thinking, a new way of life: How things should be. And it's all gonna happen on this train. With us. With you. With me. (pulls out pistol) With this. 'Cause you know what the biggest problem in this world is, huh? Overpopulation, am I right? We got 6 billion people squeezed on this tiny planet and there's so much crap going on. People are starving, everyone's fighting wars, there's not enough food, the rich bastards hoard all the money, the oxygen's getting polluted by too many cars, you can't walk down the street without being mugged or attacked, babies can't dream of becoming President. Our world is becoming hell. And who are the people in the driver's seat? (holds up paper) These crazy pompous asses! They think just 'cause they're so damn special they can write the rules for the rest of us. Today no more. Today we cast off the unnecessary flotsam. Today we thin the herd of the sickly and unjust. Today we make the world a better place. Everyone gets a piece of the pie. Everyone gets their moment to shine. The rules will be rewritten for us by us. We are the future. The future is now.
(looks off Stage Right) Right on time. (puts gun back into pocket) I'm so excited I could burst. Finally we reclaim our birthright. And it all starts with me. (walks forward as if boarding train, but pauses, addresses crowd) See you on the other side.
(holds onto pole on subway train. A couple beats, then he pulls out the gun and holds it barrel pointing to the ceiling)
All right, everyone! Today we're gonna give the world something to read about!
(Gunshots sound)
End.
09 January 2009
Prologue: Year Zero
Early October 2000
It was autumn. Shortly after my birthday. Kid A by Radiohead was released just the week before, and a ton of us stood outside Record Collector during the Midnight Sale like a bunch of slackjawed fanboys, a delightful little gift to myself. The Ped Mall downtown was usually a bustle of activity: Students rushing to classes or drunkenly shuffling around aimlessly, townies shopping locally from pushcart vendors, and the occasional vagrant playing music for pocket change. Any time of day, round the clock. But this was 5 in the evening. Dinner time. For a good hour and a half, the wide expanse of brick-paved walkways and gazebos line with newly-renovated benches gave way to a Brigadoon-like period of stasis. AdSheets rolling around like tumbleweeds. None but a straggler walking to and fro amongst the fallen leaves.
The Tobacco Bowl was almost as empty as outside. I was inside, sitting, tending to my projects. Since graduation I wanted to get back to my creative roots, and I was spending my time constructing at first a screenplay and then a series of monologues about the price of fame. My girlfriend, The Girl, walks in and gives me a clipping about a new release in books. It's a history of the Second City, stories and interviews from the people who gave it life and made it big. Complete with a 2-disc set of classic routines culled from live recordings. She asked me what I thought of it.
I loved improv. I practiced on my own and even tried to break into a local improv troupe. But I wasn't in a good mood. Especially with her. We had started to drift apart. She was still in school, I was a graduated working stiff. Her life is lively, mine is mundane. I never saw her at home anymore. I didn't like the guy she was hanging out with, a long-haired hard-drinking intellectual English major who captivated her just a little too much too easily.
I said the book was alright. Nice idea, but I don't know how much of a market there is for it. I wouldn't spend money on it.
She looked hurt. I didn't really care. I went back to my monologues. She disappeared. A few minutes later she came back in, left a plastic bag on the table, and walked out. Inside was a brand-new copy of the Second City book from the article. And the receipt.
I knew it wasn't going to end well.
----------------
Now playing: Radiohead - Everything in Its Right Place
It was autumn. Shortly after my birthday. Kid A by Radiohead was released just the week before, and a ton of us stood outside Record Collector during the Midnight Sale like a bunch of slackjawed fanboys, a delightful little gift to myself. The Ped Mall downtown was usually a bustle of activity: Students rushing to classes or drunkenly shuffling around aimlessly, townies shopping locally from pushcart vendors, and the occasional vagrant playing music for pocket change. Any time of day, round the clock. But this was 5 in the evening. Dinner time. For a good hour and a half, the wide expanse of brick-paved walkways and gazebos line with newly-renovated benches gave way to a Brigadoon-like period of stasis. AdSheets rolling around like tumbleweeds. None but a straggler walking to and fro amongst the fallen leaves.
The Tobacco Bowl was almost as empty as outside. I was inside, sitting, tending to my projects. Since graduation I wanted to get back to my creative roots, and I was spending my time constructing at first a screenplay and then a series of monologues about the price of fame. My girlfriend, The Girl, walks in and gives me a clipping about a new release in books. It's a history of the Second City, stories and interviews from the people who gave it life and made it big. Complete with a 2-disc set of classic routines culled from live recordings. She asked me what I thought of it.
I loved improv. I practiced on my own and even tried to break into a local improv troupe. But I wasn't in a good mood. Especially with her. We had started to drift apart. She was still in school, I was a graduated working stiff. Her life is lively, mine is mundane. I never saw her at home anymore. I didn't like the guy she was hanging out with, a long-haired hard-drinking intellectual English major who captivated her just a little too much too easily.
I said the book was alright. Nice idea, but I don't know how much of a market there is for it. I wouldn't spend money on it.
She looked hurt. I didn't really care. I went back to my monologues. She disappeared. A few minutes later she came back in, left a plastic bag on the table, and walked out. Inside was a brand-new copy of the Second City book from the article. And the receipt.
I knew it wasn't going to end well.
----------------
Now playing: Radiohead - Everything in Its Right Place
03 January 2009
Monologue: A Cup Of Coffee
Honey! Honey! Quick, turn on the news!
(grabs a chair and sits down)
Have you heard yet? Oh, it was amazing!... Shh! Quiet, quiet! Here it is! (stares at imaginary television) There! There's me! See me?... There's the kid. Yeah! No, it's true. It's all true. It was amazing, it all happened so fast. I wasn't even thinking. It was like a reaction, like an instinct, y'know? I just... did it. Oh honey, sit down, I gotta tell ya all about it! (adjusts chair to be more conversational with wife)
So, I'm workin' at the site, right? And you know we're putting up that new hotel, that 900- room deal right next to the stadium downtown. And this camera crew from Channel 4 Neighborhood News comes by this morning and they're filmin' the site, 'cause this hotel's gonna be, like, the hugest in the state or something. It's big. So they're settin' up all their stuff and there's lights and camera and wires everywhere and I'm on the ground mixing concrete, and I can't do my job good 'cause every time I stir, my ass bumps into this huge ('scuse my French) lamp the set up right behind me. And those suckers get hot! Jeez! I think I gotta hole back there, you may gotta fix.
But anyway, so I'm tryin' to work and this crew's comin' 'round askin' the guys on the site what they think the hotel's gonna mean to the community. I'm tryin' to work without burnin' my ass and this broad in a suit and this guy with a camera for a head come up to me and she shoves a microphone in my face and she says, “Do you think this hotel's a good thing for the city?” And you know me, honey, I ain't the most eloquent speaker in the world, so I clam up 'cause I don't know what to say and I don't wanna sound stupid or nothin', but I gotta say somethin', so I just open my mouth and I say, “Yeah, It's a good thing. Keeps me workin', keeps my kids fed, keeps my wife in fancy clothes, and maybe more people'll come see the Blackcats play some roundball.” Yeah, sounded pretty good to me, too. The broad liked it, too. So, we got done, they thanked me, and they moved on to the next guy.
So they get done interviewin' a bunch of the guys and they give us a huge thank you and start packin' up their stuff. And it's about 10 now and I haven't had a cup of coffee all mornin', and I'm gettin' dog-tired. So I tells Jack to make sure the cement don't set and I head off to the cart to get some coffee. And this is where it all happens, honey. Ya better sit down 'cause here it comes.
Okay, so I'm going to the cart for some coffee and you know that cart's right by Shepard Street, and you know how busy that street gets. So I'm walkin' to the cart, and I see this little kid, gotta be only about four or five, playin' with a ball by the curb all by hisself. And I'm thinkin' to myself that's crazy. Who in their right mind would leave a kid alone all by hisself near a busy street like that? So I'm walkin' to the cart and I'm keepin' an eye out for the parents, y'know, maybe they're nearby and I can tell 'em where their kid's at, 'cause I don't wanna see the kid get hurt or nothin'. But, I don't see no one nowhere and I'm lookin' everywhere. And then it happens. I still can't believe it, it's like a movie goin' slow-motion over and over in my head, I can't stop it. You sittin', honey? Awright.
The ball bounces on the curb and goes into the street, and the kid just goes into the street after it, don't look both ways or nothin'. Just goes right into the street. And the light's changin, and the cars are startin' to tear down the street, right at this little kid. And... I don't know. I just reacted, like an instinct, like I said before. I ran after the kid. Just dropped everything and ran. I ran down to the street, into the street, grabbed the kid by the arm, and pulled him outta the way just as this Chevy Nova was gonna plow into him. Guy didn't even see the kid. If I wasn't 'round, kid would've been roadkill. And all I was thin' to myself was, y'know, what if that kid was my kid, huh? I mean, I don't want that to happen to anyone's kid, but what if that kid was mine? And I just ran after him, on instinct, y'know?
(Beat)
Lemme tell ya, I didn't need no coffee no more. I was so wired I could run a marathon. Kid was fine, though. He didn't even know what was goin' on. I asked if he was okay, and all he could do was stare at the street, lookin' for the ball. But he was fine. And, all of a sudden the broad with the suit runs over to us and asks if we're okay. I couldn't say nothin', but I nodded, and she says they got the whole thing on tape and they wanna do a story on it, right there, right now. Serious, honey, they wanted to do a whole news story on me and the kid. So Camerahead comes back and they test their equipment and whatever and then this broad's just asking questions and stickin' that microphone in my face. And I couldn't unnerstan' a thing she was sayin', the whole thing's playin' over in my head, so when the mic comes, I'm just like, “Uh huh... mm hmmm... “, and like that, y'know? So she asks a bunch questions and we get done, and the broad thanks me and calls me a hero. I said getouttahere, but she said no, that I'm a real hero. I ain't no hero, the kid was just lucky. But she asks my number and tell me they want me to come on their morning show later this week. Y'know, that Four in the Morning? They wanna talk to me on live TV. Can you believe that? And everyone watches that show. I'm gonna be a celebrity. Then she gives me her card, tells me to watch the six o'clock news, tells me to keep in touch, and then they take off...
Yeah, I'm gonna do the show. I gotta take a day offa work, but I'm gonna do it. An opportunity to be on TV don't just fall in your lap. And we gotta tell everyone to watch, tell 'em I'm gonna be on TV. I'm gonna be famous!
The kid? No, the kid's fine. No one could find his parents or nothin', but the police came by and they took the kid and said they were gonna help him, so he's gonna be alright.
Oh, I gotta tell you what happened next. This is great! So the crew's gone and everything died down and I'm just standin' there dazed 'cause all this stuff just happened, and I just start wanderin' over by the cart, 'cause that's the last thing I was doin' before the kid and everything, and the guy at the cart says he saw the whole thing and he gives me a hot dog with everything and a Coke for free. So I gotta free lunch outta this. And another guy standin' at the cart says he saw the whole thing, too, and he gives me a card and says I can have free dry cleaning for life, whenever I want. So I'm already doin' the celebrity thing now. And all the guys at the site were congratulatin' me and pattin' me on the back, tellin' me what a good job I did, and they all pitched in, and I didn't have to do no more heavy liftin' for the rest of the day. So, yeah, it's been a real amazin' day. Yeah.
Thank you, honey. I'm proud of me, too, but I was just doin' what anyone would've done in that situation. I just didn't wanna see the kid get hurt.
(knock at the door) 'Scuse me, honey. (walks over to door and opens it) Johnny! Hey, man, how ya doin'? You see that? Jesus, it's been an excitin' day. I gotta tell ya all about it.
(End.)
(grabs a chair and sits down)
Have you heard yet? Oh, it was amazing!... Shh! Quiet, quiet! Here it is! (stares at imaginary television) There! There's me! See me?... There's the kid. Yeah! No, it's true. It's all true. It was amazing, it all happened so fast. I wasn't even thinking. It was like a reaction, like an instinct, y'know? I just... did it. Oh honey, sit down, I gotta tell ya all about it! (adjusts chair to be more conversational with wife)
So, I'm workin' at the site, right? And you know we're putting up that new hotel, that 900- room deal right next to the stadium downtown. And this camera crew from Channel 4 Neighborhood News comes by this morning and they're filmin' the site, 'cause this hotel's gonna be, like, the hugest in the state or something. It's big. So they're settin' up all their stuff and there's lights and camera and wires everywhere and I'm on the ground mixing concrete, and I can't do my job good 'cause every time I stir, my ass bumps into this huge ('scuse my French) lamp the set up right behind me. And those suckers get hot! Jeez! I think I gotta hole back there, you may gotta fix.
But anyway, so I'm tryin' to work and this crew's comin' 'round askin' the guys on the site what they think the hotel's gonna mean to the community. I'm tryin' to work without burnin' my ass and this broad in a suit and this guy with a camera for a head come up to me and she shoves a microphone in my face and she says, “Do you think this hotel's a good thing for the city?” And you know me, honey, I ain't the most eloquent speaker in the world, so I clam up 'cause I don't know what to say and I don't wanna sound stupid or nothin', but I gotta say somethin', so I just open my mouth and I say, “Yeah, It's a good thing. Keeps me workin', keeps my kids fed, keeps my wife in fancy clothes, and maybe more people'll come see the Blackcats play some roundball.” Yeah, sounded pretty good to me, too. The broad liked it, too. So, we got done, they thanked me, and they moved on to the next guy.
So they get done interviewin' a bunch of the guys and they give us a huge thank you and start packin' up their stuff. And it's about 10 now and I haven't had a cup of coffee all mornin', and I'm gettin' dog-tired. So I tells Jack to make sure the cement don't set and I head off to the cart to get some coffee. And this is where it all happens, honey. Ya better sit down 'cause here it comes.
Okay, so I'm going to the cart for some coffee and you know that cart's right by Shepard Street, and you know how busy that street gets. So I'm walkin' to the cart, and I see this little kid, gotta be only about four or five, playin' with a ball by the curb all by hisself. And I'm thinkin' to myself that's crazy. Who in their right mind would leave a kid alone all by hisself near a busy street like that? So I'm walkin' to the cart and I'm keepin' an eye out for the parents, y'know, maybe they're nearby and I can tell 'em where their kid's at, 'cause I don't wanna see the kid get hurt or nothin'. But, I don't see no one nowhere and I'm lookin' everywhere. And then it happens. I still can't believe it, it's like a movie goin' slow-motion over and over in my head, I can't stop it. You sittin', honey? Awright.
The ball bounces on the curb and goes into the street, and the kid just goes into the street after it, don't look both ways or nothin'. Just goes right into the street. And the light's changin, and the cars are startin' to tear down the street, right at this little kid. And... I don't know. I just reacted, like an instinct, like I said before. I ran after the kid. Just dropped everything and ran. I ran down to the street, into the street, grabbed the kid by the arm, and pulled him outta the way just as this Chevy Nova was gonna plow into him. Guy didn't even see the kid. If I wasn't 'round, kid would've been roadkill. And all I was thin' to myself was, y'know, what if that kid was my kid, huh? I mean, I don't want that to happen to anyone's kid, but what if that kid was mine? And I just ran after him, on instinct, y'know?
(Beat)
Lemme tell ya, I didn't need no coffee no more. I was so wired I could run a marathon. Kid was fine, though. He didn't even know what was goin' on. I asked if he was okay, and all he could do was stare at the street, lookin' for the ball. But he was fine. And, all of a sudden the broad with the suit runs over to us and asks if we're okay. I couldn't say nothin', but I nodded, and she says they got the whole thing on tape and they wanna do a story on it, right there, right now. Serious, honey, they wanted to do a whole news story on me and the kid. So Camerahead comes back and they test their equipment and whatever and then this broad's just asking questions and stickin' that microphone in my face. And I couldn't unnerstan' a thing she was sayin', the whole thing's playin' over in my head, so when the mic comes, I'm just like, “Uh huh... mm hmmm... “, and like that, y'know? So she asks a bunch questions and we get done, and the broad thanks me and calls me a hero. I said getouttahere, but she said no, that I'm a real hero. I ain't no hero, the kid was just lucky. But she asks my number and tell me they want me to come on their morning show later this week. Y'know, that Four in the Morning? They wanna talk to me on live TV. Can you believe that? And everyone watches that show. I'm gonna be a celebrity. Then she gives me her card, tells me to watch the six o'clock news, tells me to keep in touch, and then they take off...
Yeah, I'm gonna do the show. I gotta take a day offa work, but I'm gonna do it. An opportunity to be on TV don't just fall in your lap. And we gotta tell everyone to watch, tell 'em I'm gonna be on TV. I'm gonna be famous!
The kid? No, the kid's fine. No one could find his parents or nothin', but the police came by and they took the kid and said they were gonna help him, so he's gonna be alright.
Oh, I gotta tell you what happened next. This is great! So the crew's gone and everything died down and I'm just standin' there dazed 'cause all this stuff just happened, and I just start wanderin' over by the cart, 'cause that's the last thing I was doin' before the kid and everything, and the guy at the cart says he saw the whole thing and he gives me a hot dog with everything and a Coke for free. So I gotta free lunch outta this. And another guy standin' at the cart says he saw the whole thing, too, and he gives me a card and says I can have free dry cleaning for life, whenever I want. So I'm already doin' the celebrity thing now. And all the guys at the site were congratulatin' me and pattin' me on the back, tellin' me what a good job I did, and they all pitched in, and I didn't have to do no more heavy liftin' for the rest of the day. So, yeah, it's been a real amazin' day. Yeah.
Thank you, honey. I'm proud of me, too, but I was just doin' what anyone would've done in that situation. I just didn't wanna see the kid get hurt.
(knock at the door) 'Scuse me, honey. (walks over to door and opens it) Johnny! Hey, man, how ya doin'? You see that? Jesus, it's been an excitin' day. I gotta tell ya all about it.
(End.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)