Friday, July 31, 2009

Tony Hooper, 3rd Grader, Casts His Independent Production of Disney's Aladdin

First of all
I can't cast Lucinda
Because she eats crayons
And she doesn't have black hair
And Jasmine has black hair
And she's wicked dumb
Because she eats crayons
They make you dumb
That's my first of all

Second of all
I can't cast Fat Pants
Because Aladdin isn't fat
He's what Mrs. Brugel calls 'svelte'
And Fat Pants is not svelte
And he can't sing
Unless he's singing 'Booty Fresh' by Tang
Which is not a real song
Because it came out a month ago
And it's sooo old now
So they should stop playing it
And Fat Pants should stop singing it
And my little brother should be kidnapped
That's my second of all

Third of all
I'm playing the Genie
Because I'm really good
And I don't mind painting myself blue
Or doing what Aladdin tells me
If Aladdin is played by Nicole
Which Mrs. Brugel calls 'non-traditional casting'
But I don't care
Because Nicole has short hair
Like my funny Aunt Jennifer
Who's married to my funny aunt Karen
And it looks wicked good on her
And she can sing songs really good
And she has black hair
But she doesn't want to be Jasmine
'Cause she's scared of tigers

D...Franklin can be Apu
Because he eats bananas a lot
And we're best friends
So I have to throw him a phone

Lastly, Mrs. Brugel is making
What she calls 'a cameo'
As the Sultan
Because she's put on weight
That's what my Mom says

Now I just need a Jasmine
But my sister can do it
As long as she doesn't kiss Nicole
Because then it'll be weird
And my grandmother won't come
Because she's not progressive

We're going to do the show on my birthday
And it'll be amazing
So come and see it

Thanks

When I Wasn't Looking

When I wasn't looking
The rugs disappeared
They were not pulled out
They were simply gone
Right out from under me
As they say

Then again
They might have gone over me
Who knows?
Who knows how they went
Where they went

When I wasn't looking
The food went bad
The milk went sour
The cheese disintegrated
The pretzels turned into...

Well, they became more like pretzels

Rodents crawled into heads of lettuce
Making tiny little homes
Where they raised families
And had many adventures
As if on a Saturday morning cartoon

When I wasn't looking
The books on my shelves
Changed covers
So that now
I have no idea
What I've read
Or what I know
Or what I don't know
Or what's become of Anna Karenina
Or which of the Little Women dies
Or if Mr. Frog contracts some form
Of deadly cancer

When I wasn't looking
People came in and out
Looking around
Trying to find me
And I wasn't here
But I was

It's hard to explain

When I wasn't looking
Other people were looking for me
Trying to find out
Where I'd gone
And I stood there
Standing in front of them
But not knowing they were there
Just that they could be there
And that if I kept still
They wouldn't see me

That it would be better
If I stayed quiet
If they didn't find me
So I did
And they didn't
And I stood there
Not seeing them
Not seeing me

When I wasn't looking
The mirrors turned inside out
And the right knob on the faucet
Makes the water go hot
And the left knob
Makes Orangina come out of the faucet
And the light switches
When switched
Cause the Discovery Channel
To be projected onto the back wall
Of my rather insignificant home

When I wasn't looking
All my addictions metastasized
Into a giant man
Who held me down
And clawed his way into me
Until I became that man
And he became me
And we prank phone called
Several bakeries
And a bank

I became the villain
In the story of my own life

When I wasn't looking
I became this person
The person I am now

I became untrustworthy
I became untrusting
I became nasty
I said nasty things
I was hurtful
I was full of myself
And full of vile characteristics

I became a bad friend
I became a hard person to love
I became as dark
As the dark I was seeing

I bumped around
Crashing into people
And screaming at them
For being in my way
When all they were doing
Was standing there
Watching me flail
Unable to help
Because I wouldn't allow it

Because I was better
Than the help being offered

When I finally opened my eyes
And looked at everything around me
I could have been sick
I was, I was sick
At everything I saw

But with that being said
I can tell you one thing
The light
That brilliant light
The first light I saw
When I opened my eyes

That felt damn good

The Auction

-- For Burr --

"The Auction"

Cynthia bid on the Nero sculpture
The one with the body of Joan Collins
And the face of the Emperor
Sitting atop a gerbil
Smiling

She wanted to give it to her sister-in-law, Mone
Who would be dumb enough to believe it was art
And feature it prominently in her front hallway
Which would repulse Graf's mother
Who would promptly cut Mone out of the will
Because Graf's mother was that kind of a person

She bid low
Believing nobody would want it

She was wrong

Bahra bid on the sculpture
Because she loved Joan Collins
She loved Dynasty
She loved Fallon
She even loved Dominique
And in her home country
It had only been on for a few years
So she was still caught up
In the Moldavian terrorist cliff-hanger

She was planning to buy the sculpture
Chop off the head of Nero
And send the whole thing to Mrs. Collins

'From Your Favorite Oil Baroness'

Then they would become great friends
The best of friends
They would sit by a pool
And playfully mime a catfight
Perhaps falling into the pool on especially hot days
When there was nothing else to do

Just in case
Bahra had extra lily pads put in the pool
On a weekly basis

She bid immediately after Cynthia
Perhaps a bit too soon
Cynthia seemed surprised
And prepared to up the bidding
But Dalo beat her to it

He wanted the sculpture because it was campy
He wanted to put it next to his giant portrait
Of Whoopi Goldberg having tea with Andre the Giant
Dalo just loved the sort of thing
His partner, Jreu pronounced "John"
Used to find all of it fun
But now he was a big saggy poop

When Dalo brought home a hamster cage
With a life-size Sigourney Weaver in the middle of it
Jreu threatened to move out
If he didn't take it back

'Take it back? How the hell am I supposed to take it back? I MADE it!'

Jreu didn't understand Dalo anymore
Nobody did
Except his Ant Pauline
Who was sitting next to him
Still looking wonderful at one hundred and three

Dalo bid and then bid again
Which promptly confused the auctioneer
Who didn't even have time to stop him
Before Cynthia jumped in with another bid
Which sent up a bid from Bahra
And before long
There was a frenzy

When it was all over
A collector from Nicaragua
Who wanted the sculpture
So that he could display it
In his Room of Virgins
Bid the highest
And got the goods

He did it over the phone
Which everyone found to be unfair
Even though it was perfectly within the rules
Ant Pauline spit on the floor
When the auctioneer yelled out 'Sold'

The three other bidders
Left dejectedly
To separate cafes
Where they considered their loss

Cynthia decided to leave her husband
Bahra decided to sell her television
Dalo decided to make a jukebox out of hair
Ant Pauline decided on the pudding

All in all
The day was not entirely unsatisfactory
Not a bad lot at all

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Nine Photos: Part Two

-- Take nine random photos from Flickr's "The Last Seven Days" and connect them in some way. All photos have to appear on the same page, no mix and matching--that would be too easy. Use only nine lines per section, but break them up any way you want. (I hope I'm not the only one to give this a try, because it's really a lot of fun.) This is my second entry. --

"Nine Photos: Part Two"

I. The Tree

I want you to kiss me
Underneath that tree

I'll close my eyes
And you can pretend
I'm anyone you want

Just watch
As the summer sun
Drapes over me

And I'm exactly who you want

II. Fireworks

I don't want to live in the city anymore
I can barely see the fireworks
Through the buildings

I hate the 4th of July
It's such an odd holiday
Not romantic
Not family-oriented
Just patriotic

It doesn't help that I'm alone

III. I Can't Hold You in My Hands

I can just see the headlights
I can't see the car
I can't see if you're waving
Are you waving?

I should have told you to come back
Now all I have is the image of the headlights
On top of my palms as I held my hands out
It was like I was holding fireflies

I stood there until they disappeared

IV. Sight

You left your stash
I went through it
It was...

I had fun
With what you left
More fun than what I had
With you
When you were here

I wonder why I can't see

V. Fireworks, Again

I have to wear this stupid hat
Because otherwise they'll see my hair
Janet really screwed it up this time
I can't go to her anymore
She just doesn't listen to me

I'm glad you're here this time
I'm not mad at you for leaving
I'm just glad you're back
Really

VI. Honeybee

You can't take anymore
I don't know what you want
I just know there's nothing left
Please, God, Christ
There's NOTHING

God, it stings
It actually stings
Can you believe that?
Can you believe that it really stings?

VII. Prairie

I don't know why I got out of the car
I didn't really think he'd drive off
Who ever drives off, you know?

I should use this time to reflect
It'll be dark soon
I could go on a soul walk

I wish I wasn't allergic to everything
I wish he'd come back
I can't be alone out here

VIII. The Faces of Eggs

They're cute
Did you make them?
Did you do that
To cheer me up?

Okay

I appreciate the gesture
Are you going to hide them
Make me go find them?

Is that the game we're playing?

IX. Playing Cards

I'll put it all on the table
Against you leaving
How does that sound?

Don't tell me what I can do
I know the rules
This is my bet

Are you going to see my bet?
I'm betting you don't leave again
Are you going to bet me or not?

When I'm Coming Home

Walter, would you please
Please just for now
Stop asking me
When I'm coming home

I told you
When he's better
When he's better
Then I'll come home

Not before
Not until
Not unless he's better

How better?

Did you really just ask me that, Walter?
Did you really just ask me
How much better our son needs to be
Before I will return home
To the castle
So that you can have clean socks again?

Let's see

When he can do his Katie Couric impression again
Or his John Updike impression
The one that doesn't make sense
When he can laugh at all
Without descending into a choking fit

Then I'll come home

When he can tango
When he's able to learn, anyway
When he can even be considered mobile

Then I'll come home

When the pain stops
And I mean all the pain
Not just the pain the drugs kill
But the pain from the blow his pride suffered
From being forty-one years old
And having to ask his mother
To brush his teeth
Because he's too weak to lift the toothbrush

When he can lift that toothbrush
Along with a fifty pound weight
Then I'll come home

When I don't have to rub his back
Every time I wake up next to him
Because he's crying in his sleep again
At least he sleeps, huh Walter?
At least there's that

When he can hold down food
When he can eat my mango pudding again
When he can eat my eggplant
When he can eat my chickpea salad
That's when I'll come home

When his eyes look at me
And don't beg me to stay
That's when I'll come home

In other words
When he's better, Walter
When our son is better
Then I'll be home

And just so you know
When I get there
The first thing I'm going to ask you
Is why you weren't here

Good-bye

Somebody Better Call Jesus

Anybody got a phone?
Anybody?
A phone?

Cause this bitch
Is gonna need a phone

In about five seconds
This little trash basket
Is gonna need to call Jesus

So I hope somebody has a phone

She's been running her nasty ass
All up and down the boulevard
Like she's saying good-bye to Hollywood
And Hollywood keeps telling her
To GO already

She needs to be healed
She needs a miracle
She needs the Virgin Mary in teakwood
Or shit like that

She needs St. Bernard
To come slobber on her face
Cause she's nasssssssssty

I don't have it in me to help her
I don't have the time
I don't have the patience
I don't have a stick big enough
To slap the stupid out of her

So she needs to call Jesus
She needs to get him on the phone
And ask him to come pick her up
Because she is lowdown grisly

She's been hurting her friends
She's been hurting her mama
She's been hurting herself
And she'd have tried to hurt me
If I hadn't broken her thumb
When she tried it

I broke it because I love you
You dumb bitch
Now stop crying
You're getting my sofa wet

I can't have this anymore
I can't have all this unpleasantness
Laying around my house
Eating my good cookies
From the nice bakery
With the smiley faces

She's filled with desire
And with my fresh-baked donuts
And with evil thoughts
And evil intentions

So she needs something
She needs a nice something
A nice man with a car
Who can come along
And take her somewhere
Where I can't get at her
When I find out
How many of my shoes
She's been trying on

Except every man that shows up here
Smells like a dead giraffe
And cleans out my candy jar
So the only man coming to this house anymore
Is gonna have to be Jesus

So somebody better call him
Better call him up and tell him
That his newest project is sitting right here
Right on my sofa
Drunk like a little nasty ass leprechaun
And waiting to be collected

Somebody better call Jesus
And tell him she's here
And tell him when he gets here
He better not talk to me
Because I'm not too thrilled at him
Trying to pass off his nasty jobs
On me

Perry and Greg Go to the Movies

It starts during the coming attractions
They stop watching the movie
In favor of other thoughts

Perry and Greg sit next to each other
Watching a movie they didn't really want to watch
In a movie theater in a mall
Somewhere outside the city
Next to a suburb where Greg lives

They're watching the movie
Because it's something to do
Because in less than five days
Greg is going to Ithaca College
And presumably they should do something
Something commemorative

And this is the best they could come up with

'That looks good.'
'Yeah.'
'Is that Maggie Gyllenhaal?'
'Yeah.'
'She's fucked up.'
'I know.'
'She was in "Secretary."'
'Yup.'
'Did you see that?'
'Yeah.'
'You did?'
'We watched it at my house.'
'When?'
'When you came over that time.'
'Oh yeah.'

The girl in the trailer
For a movie called 'Nosa'
Which is, I would imagine
About a secret cult

That girl
Is not
Maggie Gyllenhaal

It's Bryce Dallas Howard
Not that it matters

They're not watching the movie

Perry is thinking
That when all these movies come out
Greg will already be at Ithaca

Seeing all these movies
With his new college friends
While Perry sees them
With the assholes like him
Who couldn't get into a good college
And who's too proud to go to community college
So he'll end up working retail
Which is fine, because it's lucrative
But still he feels pretty lousy

'That looks good.'
'Yeah.'

Perry will call every day
But he won't
He knows he won't
He'll try to
But it won't happen
It'll be too weird

How can you call every day?
They don't even talk every day now
They just see each other every day
And when they do
They don't talk

They just sit
They sit and watch movies
They play guitar
They eat
They get high
They watch more movies

But they don't really talk
And they don't talk about how they don't talk
So now they're pretending they'll talk
Once Greg is gone

'I didn't know Sanaa Lathan was in this movie.'

Greg could give a flying fuck
About Sanaa Lathan

He's not really even sure
He knows who Sanaa Lathan is
He thinks she might have been in Love and Basketball
But then he remembers that was Gabrielle Union
Or was it?

'Was she in--?'
'No, that was Gabrielle Union.'

Weird
But not weird
Because they do that all the time
So that pointing it out
Now seems stupid

Was it possible somebody else would be able to do that?

Somebody at Ithaca College?
Somebody in the Physics Department?
Somebody who would willingly see five movies a week?
Sometimes two in a night?

It didn't seem likely

Greg doesn't really want to go
He'd be happier going somewhere close by
Somewhere where he'd still know people
Where he wouldn't have to give up familiar settings

Like the restaurant where they serve that pie late at night
Like the club he snuck into to see Van Gogh play
Like the guitar store he and Perry stand outside of
For at least an hour
Every Saturday afternoon
Talking to the employees when they go break
Like that girl Perry sort of might have a crush on
But who probably likes Greg more

He'd really like to stay
But he knows if he did
He'd hate himself
He'd feel like an asshole

He wonders if that's how Perry feels
And at the same time
He knows it's how Perry feels

'Is that her boyfriend?'
'No, it's the guy who killed her boyfriend.'
'Where they twins?'
'Uh...they might have been?'

They might as well leave
Neither one likes the movie
And they could easily sneak into another one
But that being said
They're fastened to their chairs

By a pulsating fear
That when they get up
And walk out
Something they've done three times--

All Three Mummy Movies

There's a fear
That Greg will keep going
And walk right to Ithaca College
Leaving Perry standing in front of the movie posters
Wondering where to walk to

'This movie sucks.'
'Hardcore sucks.'
'Does that apple mean anything?'
'She's eating it.'
'But does it mean anything?'
'It means she's hungry.'
'Shut up.'
'You shut up.'

Perry finds his eyes
Climbing right up the screen
Right onto Sanaa Lathan's face
Clinging to her projection
Hoping to hang out

Hoping to slow down the movie
Slow down the film
Have the characters stop where they are
And just wait
Just wait

Please, just wait
Can't they just wait
What's the hurry?

Honestly, what's the hurry?

'I have to pee.'
'Don't.'
'Huh?'
'Uh...nothing. Never mind.'

What an idiot
Why didn't he just kiss him?
That would have been less gay at least

'Never mind. I'm cool.'

The credits snuck up on them
It was one of those endings
Where it just...ends

'That sucks.'
'Fuck that.'
'That really sucks.'
'Seriously, fuck that.'
'Yeah.'

They sat there
Through the key grips
And the assistants
To the assistants

While a thematic song played
And right up until
The ushers came in
To sweep up the popcorn

'So it's over.'
'Yup.'
'It fuckin' sucked.'
'Yeah, it did'

For a second they just hung there
Eyes locked forward
Sweaty palms pressed down
On the armrests

And they sat
And wondered
If maybe another movie
A better movie
Would be coming up soon

Geena Davis

She explores me
She constrains me
With her tainted archery
And her bewildering gift
For shining cutlery

Geena Davis

She deviates my septum
She protrudes
Begging me to kill her
So that the story can end
On a high note

Geena Davis

She lifts me up
Into the haylofts
Where she enters me
Insisting on no protection
Because I have nothing to fear

Geena Davis

One time she punched me
Leaving a bruise
Shaped like an almond
And brilliantly stated
That it reminded her
Of Jeff Goldbum

Geena Davis

She's in MENSA
But she likes line dancing

She's in my mind
But she haunts it cautiously

She's careful

Of her footsteps
Of her left wing
Of her tubing
Of her kerchiefs

She's oh so careful

Geena Davis

She bellies up
Enough cash
To land on her belly
When the nelly boys
Sing sailor songs to her
On the shores of Lake Herself

Geena Davis

Trace the lines
On my skin
Where you have left
The remains
Of her Oscar
Ground into powder
Pouring into my pores

Geena Davis

I wish I could tame her
But she eats the night
And spits it into sunrise
Every day a new challenge
Pursued by Commander-in-Chief

They say her name
On Indian reservations
Made in Indian restaurants
Where Bombay maitre d's
Demand her presence

Present me with a worthier foe
Show me where to go
Where to sign up
So that her arrows
Can make their way
Into my soul

She is the inner
She is the outer
She is the center

She is the priest
She is the bitch
She is the madonna

She is Speechless
She is Cutthroat Island
She is The Long Kiss Goodnight

She is Beetlejuice
She is Thelma and Louise
She is The Accidental Tourist

A word
Cannot be a word
Cannot be enough
Cannot be more

Than her

Geena Davis

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

I'm Putting It All on You

I'm taking all my chips
Watch me now
I'm taking them all
And I'm putting them down

I'm going to step away
Step away from the table
And let them lay there
Right where they are

I'm going to let them sit
Right there on your chest
Right where it all sits
Right where I can see your breath
Manifest itself
Let up into my gamble

I'm doing it, babe
I'm putting it all on you

Smart says I spread it around
Smart says I play the field
Smart says I keep some stash
Close to my heart

But I don't want to be smart with you
With you I want to be stupid
I want to let it ride

I want to see the possibility
Of everything I have
Evaporating into the air
Directly above your body

I want to see the opportunity
For the dollar signs
And the numbers
And the values
Run down to nothing
Right in front of my eyes

I want to take a chance
On busting
Just to imagine
Me walking away
From this without you
Is enough to make me want to grab

Yank back everything
And walk away
With the little we have

But I want more
I want more than what's there
I want double
Triple, more
Than what's there

I want it all
I want to take it
And put it all on you

So there it is
It's just sitting there
Waiting to multiply
Waiting like me
To become more
Than it is right now

There it is, babe
I'm putting it all on you

What He Pays For

He took me to Rio
Like, last week
And bought my new suit
So you know
I wouldn't look passe

Am I right?

Kids
Anyway
But he did

He pays for the trip
He pays for the hotel
He pays for the drinks
And there are lots of drinks
I mean, we drink
You know?

We have to drink

He puts money in the joint account
And when we get home
I do a little shopping therapy
To cure the blues I get
From being back home
Here, where it's so not Rio
Where it's so blah-zitty blah
You know?

He pays for the car
He bought the car
But it was for me
A present
And you shouldn't have to pay
For presents

That's how I look at it

He pays for the meals
He pays for the food in the fridge
Which isn't much
Because, I mean
I'm not a big snacker

He pays for the new chairs
When I need new chairs
Because chairs need to circulate
You constantly need to be
Circulating your chairs
Otherwise your home
Doesn't feel like home

You need to constantly
Be changing seats
Seeing the room
From different angles
To have new perspectives
So you don't wind up ignorant

That's why
He pays for the chairs

He pays for my hats
Big blue hats
That I wear
When I'm sad

I don't why
I'm sad so much
You know?
I just am

And he hates to see me sad
So he gets me these silly blue hats
That I wear out to different places
And we laugh all the time
Because I look kinda silly
But luckily it's because
I'm really tiny
So it's okay
Because it's good to be tiny

If the hats look good
It would mean
That I have a giant head
Which would be bad

So I wear them for camp value
I guess you could say

He pays for me
To take my friends to lunch
I think it's cause
He likes to show off a little
But that's okay
My friends still eat
Don't they?

Hiselia has these teeth
That her man is paying for
They're awful
Buck, stick out
You know?

So he's getting them taken care of
She used to be with this guy Frank
Who I really liked a lot
But he just couldn't give her
The things she needed in life

Wally gives her sooo much
Plus he's a good guy, you know
Not a bad guy, I would say
And he's paying for the teeth
Which is a gift to us all

Trust me

Dreena just sits there
And mumbles shit
That nobody understands
Because we keep buying her drinks
Because, you know
It's funny

Gotta stay entertained
Somehow

Anyway

He pays for the manicures
He pays for the pedicures
He pays for the massages
Which I need
Because I get stressed
So frequently
It's such a problem
My shoulders are like pork chops

It's gross
How tense I am

He pays for just about everything
Which is really sweet of him
I love him, you know
I really do

He gives me so much
I'm really lucky I have him
Not many guys can afford
To be that nice

Monday, July 27, 2009

Fill This House With Flowers

I want to empty out this house
And fill it with flowers

I want them to pour forth
Like a flood
Like I'm flooding the place
Like you're flooding the place
With flowers

I want them stuffed in sofa cushions
I want them left on windowsills
I want them planted in the bathtub
I want them sprinkled all over my hardwood floors
I want to see them poking out
From underneath my front door
When I come home at night

I don't know why
I deprive myself
Of things I love

I don't know why
I don't just eat ice cream
Whenever I want to

I don't know why
I get up every day
At the crack of dawn
To excercize
To do something I hate
Because I think I have to

Maybe I have to
But I also shouldn't have to
It should be a choice
And if it is
Then why am I choosing it?

How many years
Can I really be adding onto my life?

Isn't it just as likely
That they'll find a lump tomorrow
And everything I've done
Up until this point
Will have been useless?

Maybe I'm rationalizing
Maybe it's so
I can just eat the damn ice cream
In the refrigerator

Maybe I'm wrong
For wanting that

But flowers

What could be wrong
About wanting to surround yourself
With flowers?

What could be more natural
Than that?

If I made a list right now
Of all the things
That would make me happy

Flowers
Would be on top

And that's accessible
It's not money
It's not power
It's not some man

Just flowers

So why not do it?
Why do I know what
Will make me happy
And yet deny myself
That very thing?

Because I want someone else
To give it to me?

How ridiculous
How absolutely ridiculous

I'm going to fill this house with flowers

I'm going to stop waiting
For somebody else to do it

I'm going to go out
I'm going to clear out
Some road-side stand
And I'm going to make this place
A goddammed greenhouse

And every day I'll wake up
And without any cliche at all
I'll be smelling the roses

I'll be surrounded by beauty
I'll be enveloped by nature
I'll be wrapped up
In things I love

And I'll have done it for myself

I'll have taken this tiny place
And made it overflow
With flowers

Letter to a Grieving Father

-- One of my favorite things I've ever written was a piece called "Letter to a Grieving Daughter." I wanted to do a second piece, but with a different tone. --

"Letter to a Grieving Father"

Dear Dad,

I'm asking you not to write a book about this. I realize you may think this is unfair of me to ask, but I really don't care. Honestly, I don't care what you think.

I saw it. I saw it in your eyes at the funeral. As people were passing by us in the receiving line telling us how sorry they were, I saw that look that says--"I have to write about this."

So I'm asking you not to--it's as simple as that.

I know it's how you process things. I know it's what you do. I know it's who you are. I realize that, for you, it may be theraputic.

But I need you to realize that she wasn't just your wife. She wasn't just yours. And you're not allowed to just open up her life to the world, and yours, and mine along with it. Just because it'll make you feel better.

It's not that I don't understand. I write too, remember? Of course you don't. You've never really thought of me that way. You scan everything I read and then nod and hand it back to me. You've been doing that since I was a kid. I doubt you read my book, but I didn't say anything because you gave me a blurb for the jacket anyway.

I've thought about writing about Mom. About the past six months. About the Hell. I even jotted down a few lines in a brand new notebook. A shiny notebook just waiting for me to tell it all my horrific anecdotes about treatment, and tumors, and crying until you can't cry anymore, and screaming after that until your voice is hoarse and the pillow you're screaming into takes on a permanent indentation of your tear-streaked face.

I wrote all that. But there was nothing in it.

They were just words. Words people have written before, but not as well. Not as poignant. Not as enlightening. They just sat there in that brand new notebook.

If I had to use a word to describe them I would say--"accusing." They sat there "accusing" me.

Trust me, Dad. There was no art in those words.

No catharsis. No beauty. Nothing.

Oh, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking if you had written those words then there would be all those things, and more. There'd be a best-seller. There'd be money. There'd be a book tour and interviews on NBC earlier in the morning than I get up--so you could really let loose.

You'd fill up ten brand new notebooks, and a year later I'd walk by a Barnes and Noble and see your face on a poster next to a copy of a book with Mom's face on it, and some lovely title like her name or "Love, Lost."

The comma making it really powerful.

I'm not sure I could handle that, Dad. I can handle her being gone, because I have to. But I shouldn't have to handle your therapy in the form of two hundred pages and a mention on the acknowledgment page.

So I've written you this letter.

I thought about giving it to you afterwards. After all the fuss had quieted, and you were back on your feet again. Then I realized that by then you'd already be halfway through the book and there'd be no stopping you. Then I wondered why I was even protecting you at all. Haven't I lost her too? Isn't she still impossible to me now as well?

Won't we both be waking up from now on without her in our lives?

So I'm going to be insensitive, because--in this moment--that's my therapy. So I'm not going to ask; I'm telling you:

You're not writing that book.

Because if you do, you'll have lost more than her.

Sincerely,
Your Son

P.S. I should mention that you were a terrific husband, from what I could see. You may have been downright awful as a father, and personally, I hate your writing, but you were great with her. Maybe that's why we never got along. Maybe I resented how much you two loved each other, and I always slightly suspected that after you were both done loving each other there was just never anything left for me. Maybe that's why I still haven't cried. Maybe that's why I feel better now than I did when she was still here, and I had to give my life to her. Maybe I'm just a horrible person. Who can say? I don't have a book in me about her, or you, or our lives. Maybe that's why I'm so upset. Maybe I wish I could take all that pain, and just put in a brand new notebook and send it off somewhere to have a shiny cover put on it. A shiny cover and a nice title and a closing sentence. An epilogue. I'd like that most of all.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

My Size

What are you looking at?

Funny
You got less to look at now
But you can't stop looking

Can you?

Funny
Now that I'm down
Almost two hundred pounds
You wanna look

Well go ahead

Have a look

Have a whole bunch of looks

Have two hundred pounds
Worth of looks
And I'll still have some to spare

Now that there's less to see
You can't stop looking
And I'm fine with that

I guess you like
My new size

Funny
All the stuff that hasn't changed
A veritable list of things

All still the same

My eyes
My hair
My bubbling personality

The only thing that's changed
Is my size

Do I see the world differently?
Oh yes

I see a whole lot of people
Who laughed behind my back
Who turned me down
Who thought I was done
Before I even began

Funny
Now that I'm not big and imposing
Nobody's got anything nasty to say

And they think they can smile
They can smile
And all's forgiven

Well maybe it is
You know why?
Because it's easy to forgive
When you're wearing tight jeans

When you're in a t-shirt
And tight jeans
And a belt on its last notch

You can be a downright saint
You can be sweet as pie
You can be anything you want

When you're my size

But you know
Truth be told
I miss the old me
Just a little bit

Because there was so much
That I didn't understand
Because I wouldn't have been able to handle it
I wouldn't have been able
To see the difference in people's eyes

I wouldn't have known
That there was a difference

I wouldn't have thought
That being smaller was better
That being so small
You can hardly see a person

That something like that
Would be preferable

Crazy as it sounds
Crazy, huh?

I miss my size
I miss having all that joy inside me
Because I don't have it now

I guess I just don't have room for it

I Wouldn't Call It Fabulous

It's a lovely outfit
It's just adorable
It's chic, really
It is, It is

I mean...

I wouldn't call it fabulous
I wouldn't go that far
I wouldn't lie about it

But it's all right

It's simple
That's why I like it
I like that it's simple
Remember that thing you wore
To the Bernstein wedding?
That was awful

That was just...

Ugh
Shudder
Hahaha

But really
Am I wrong?

This is much better
It's chic-er, you know?
It's like a tulip
That's what it reminds me of
A little tulip
With a blue ribbon around it
And that makes me happy

Who doesn't like tulips, right?
Am I right about that?

So it's all right
It'll do
It's just fine

I wouldn't call it fabulous
But then again
It's you

It's really you
Isn't it?

Friday, July 24, 2009

We Call It Art

-- This is an attempt at sounding Russian. --

There is no art here. There is only catering. Food brought out and placed on giant tables. Food filled with fatness and gluttony, tucked into the folds and the crevasses of plates already stacked to the brim with it. This food is what we’re being served. We’re being stuffed with ignorance and pleasant nourishment. As soon as we clear our plates, we forget what we’ve eaten. We gobble it all up and then it’s gone, and even our dirty plates can’t remember what it was that we just ingested. That is what we call art. Plates scraped clean because the food on it fails to satisfy us. And what do we do? Do we demand better? Do we say that though things may be hard—rather, because things are hard, we should make ourselves hard? We should make ourselves smarter? We should enrich our lives as best we can rather than take our minds and train them to accept lesser things in greater quantities? I don’t understand this way of thinking. I don’t understand why we don’t just stop altogether. Have the table cleared, sit and look at each other, and try to determine where we went wrong, and whether or not we should start over. That, at least, would be better than what we’re doing now. We’re calling our garbage “art.” We fail at achieving the real thing, so we take anything, and we call it art.

My Old Grey Monster

I didn't expect you today
I thought you were coming Friday
I was going to clean up a little

Not that there's much to clean
Your mother keeps this place spotless
If I saw a streak of dust in here
I'd be shocked

Did she tell you about her plan?
She's going to start scrap-booking
With what, I don't know
God knows she never took pictures
Of anything

. . . . .

This doesn't have to be awkward
We used to know each other
And now we don't
It happens

I didn't expect you to come back
The same person you were
When you left

Although I'll admit
It was nice to see you jump back a bit
When you walked in
Nice to know
That I can still scare you
A little

I suppose I should have moved on
When you got older
And went to college

My friend offered to do a co-deal
Over in Santa Mesa
But it was a closet contract
And I'm not comfortable with closets
No room to move around
I prefer staying under the bed
It's where I feel most effective

Plus, like I said
Your mother cleans this place
Constantly

You should see some of the dumps
My friends work in

I know a guy who almost suffocated
When he was scaring twins
Underneath a bunk bed

That's how much filth
There was underneath
Can you believe that?

. . . . .

So...

. . . . .

Are you still scared of spiders?
What about rabbits?
Remember when you were scared
Of rabbits?

I never understood that
I mean, maybe...
No, can't lie
Never did get it

And Popeye
Why were you scared of Popeye?
Was it the spinach?
Did you just not like spinach?
Was that it?

Oh!

Bread!
You used to hate bread
Someone walked near you with bread
And you burst into tears

Of course, now
Knowing what we know
About carbs
I guess you might have been prophetic

. . . . .

I scared you the most, though
Didn't I?

Didn't I?

Not as much as Popeye
Which I admit, is humiliating
But I did okay
Considering every time you even yelped
Your mother would rush in here
And I'd have to go translucent

You really need a good minute
To work up a scaring
It's a whole production
You can't just pull it off
In a few seconds

God
You were terrified
Terrified of everything

. . . . .

So...

. . . . .

What are you scared of now?

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Conversational Italian

I only need to learn a few key sayings.

One: I need to learn how to ask someone how they went from a loving wife to a heartless shrew. Como se heartless shrew? No? That's not--Okay. That's what I'd like to call--I mean, say--Heartless Shrew. Do they have a word for shrew? How about ball-breaker? There must be a phrase for that. It is Italy after all.

Two: I need to learn how to order a hit on someone. I'll also need to be able to describe the man I'm putting a hit on, won't I? How do you say 'homewrecker?' Is there a male form of that? I know that not many Italian men would want to admit that their wive's Italian teacher gave her a few extra points on her last quiz, but I'm beyond pride. I'm far beyond pride at this point. So how would I describe a balding man with lots of back hair and seven or eight moles? Sietta o ocho? No, not that way? Okay. I'll need to learn that.

Three: I need to learn how to say 'beg for mercy.' Beg. Grovel. Plead. Relentless. Mercy. Isolation. Devastation. Desperation. Teach me all these words. I want to be able to tell anyone and everyone I meet what I plan on doing once I find my wife. We were supposed to go to Italy together. That was why she was taking Italian lessons. Can you believe it? Our second honeymoon turned into her first--with Octavio. Who the hell is named Octavio anymore? How the hell did I lose my wife to a Spiderman villain? How did that happen? Can you tell me? No, not in Italian. Can you tell me in English? Never mind.

Four: I need to learn how to say 'I'll sell your cat.' Teach me to say it in a threatening voice, as well. Tone is very important. Before I beg for mercy, I want to have a great, strong tone. Teach me how to say 'I'll break your knick knacks.' 'I'll break your collection of salt and pepper shakers.' 'I'll destroy your Osmond records.' Is there a word for 'Osmond' in Italian? Huh? 'Osmond.' Oh, it's one of those cross-over words. Well, that's one down, isn't it? We're moving right along.

Five: I need to learn how to say 'I'm sorry.' I need to learn to say 'I'm sorry I wasn't sexy.' 'I'm sorry I wasn't exotic.' 'I'm sorry I didn't take that stupid class with you because I was too tired after work.' I know I shouldn't be sorry, but I am. Someone takes something from me, and I'm just sorry they took it. I don't understand that, but that's what it is. Now I'm going to another country to get my wife back, and I don't understand why, because I know she's not coming back with me. But I'm going anyway.

Truth be told, I don't want to learn this language. I don't want anything to do with this language.

They call it a romance language. Why? Because it lulls the people who hear it into thinking they can be the stars of some pulp novel?

Because it makes the people who speak it think they can live like Bohemians and take things that don't belong to them?

Why?

I want to know why.

Maybe I wasn't that romantic, but I was a good husband.

I worked hard.
I provided.
I was faithful.

I don't know why I lost her
But I don't really need to know why
I just need to know
What to say
And how to say it
So I can get her back

I need to speak her language
And then maybe I can understand
Where I went wrong

It Ain't a Rumor If It's True

Somebody's been saying
That I been startin' rumors

Well, let me tell that somebody
Whoever he/she/bitch may be
That I am not starting rumors
I am telling the truth

Because as we all know
It ain't a rumor
If it's true

Now I know some of y'all
Don't like that I tell the truth
Because some of you
Want to be cloaked in lies
Like some shady squire
In some medieval bullshit world
Creeping 'round
Pulling swords out of shit
Thinking you're smart

Then I find out about it
'Cause that's what I do
I find out things
I don't try
I just do

I find out you're pulling on things
You shouldn't be pulling on
And I use my God-given mouth
To tell the person who owns the thing
You're pulling on
Like it's yours
Which it ain't

And you get all mad at me
Saying I'm spreading rumors
Well guess what, bitch?

It ain't a rumor if it's true

A rumor would be me saying
That your boyfriend spoils you
When in reality
He wouldn't give you
Hay from a haystack
If he was sittin' in the haystack
Snacking on Oreos

That'd be a rumor

A rumor would be me saying
That your sister's teeth are busted
When really her teeth are fine
It's the rest of her face that needs work

That'd be a rumor

A rumor would be me saying
That you're a lovely person
And a good friend
Because that shit is straight up fiction

Those would be rumors
But what I'm talking about
Is the truth

And if it's true, sweetie
It ain't a rumor

If it's true
It's just news

Step Over Me

I'm laying down
And I'm not moving
So everybody
Just step over me

You should all be used to it
It's nothing new
I have your footprints
Permanently implanted
On every article of clothing
I own

As you can see
I'm laying in a convenient spot
Right beside the refreshment table
So you can step over me
To get your potato salad
To get your lasagna
To get your assorted chips

I will not be ignored
But I will allow myself
To be avoided

Why not?
I've been allowing it my whole life
Why stop now?

If you wish to speak to me
Just look down and talk
You're all used to talking down to me anyway
I don't see why you'd mind

Maybe we can make a game out of it
Drop food and see if you can make it
Land in my mouth

I'm wearing my nice heels
Maybe I can kick my feet up
And you can use me
As a ring toss

Doesn't that sound fun?

. . . . .

Wouldn't it be so much easier
If we all just took the form
Of what we actually are

If the wallflowers actually stuck to the wall
If the drunks just filled up the bathtub and soaked in it
If the doormats just laid down
And assumed their role

Wouldn't that be easier?

I think so

So just step right over me
Or step on me
Whatever's easier

Right now
I'm all about
What's easy

If You Can't Laugh

If you can't laugh
I suggest running
Because we're all laughing
We're all tripping on the ceiling
Tripping over each other
Trying to find the light switch
So we can shed light
On this confusing situation

Apparently somebody told a joke
And the problem is
Nobody knew it was a joke
Until they were already laughing
So maybe it wasn't so funny
But we just needed to laugh anyway

Who can say?

If you can't laugh
Then look for consolation
Somewhere else
Because we just unlocked the doors
To the clown car
And out came an army
Of funny-faced people
Trying to wipe off
Their made up tears

We bargained with the devil
The devil being the ringmaster
The ringmaster being the ruler
And supreme being
Of that which we call

The Tent

And he told us to laugh
So we're laughing
Cause really
All we can do

Is Laugh

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Kiss Everybody Here

--  It's sort of my version of "That'll Show Him."  --

I'm going to do it, Marky
I'm going to do it, and you can't stop me
I'm so sick
I'm so sick of your envy

Your nasty, nasty envy
Your putrid, filthy envy
Your mucus-filled envy

Full of bile
Full of insecurity
Full of SHIT!

So you know what I'm going to do?
I'm going to kiss everybody here
Everybody at this birthday party!

I'm kissing Raj
I'm kissing Toshor
I'm kissing Dami

By the way
Who the HELL are my friends dating?
Who are these people?
Where do they find them?
Where?

It doesn't matter

I'm kissing every last one of them
To prove a point

To prove that I can kiss everybody here
And still only love you
You!  My little porcupine
My little hot dog
My little almost-man

I can kiss all these art school weirdoes
With their awful haircuts
And their unbathed bodies
And I can still love you!

I'm going to kiss Puka
If he takes his lip ring out
Which, by the way
Looks infected

I'm going to kiss A'Lani
Who is stunning!

. . . . .

...A woman?

Oh my God
I did not know
Swear to God

So wait
Is Danielle a lesbian?
What's the story with that?
We'll talk later

I'm going to kiss Phillip!
The only normal man here
Besides you, Marky

I'm going to kiss
And kiss him
And kiss him

And maybe then I won't have to kiss
As many of the other guys
To get my point across

No--Forget it
I'm not taking the easy way out
I'm kissing everybody here

And when I'm done
I'm going home with you

Get Close

Get close
If you wanna see my eyes
Get close to me
If you wanna see
What I'm saying
To you

Get close
Get uncomfortably close
Get into my space
Get into the crevasses
Of my personality
Where the messes hide
And confide in my ear
By a whispered aside

Get close
I need you to get close
Closer than you are now
Somehow I have portray
That betraying me
Has always seemed to be
A thing people do
While they're far away

So get close
Get real close
Till the heat of you
Beats me into a stupor
It'd be super of you
To do what you can
What you can feel
Okay with doing

Do me a favor

Get close
Get close

Ugly People Live Here

You here to see the ugly people?
They're the only people
That live here

We used to have some nice people here
Kind, friendly people
Who baked pie
And watched tv
Snuggled up on the couch together

But then the ugly people moved in
And now that's all we got
Ugly people

We got a guy who used to be something
We don't know what, but we heard it was something
Now just sitting around
Getting screamed at
By that woman

That woman used to be all right
Until she started screaming
Then she got hooked on it
Like our nephew
Who got hooked on meth
Can't even close his mouth now
Poor thing

Anyway she got used to screaming
And he got used to screaming
And pretty soon the baby joined in
And now they just scream all the time
And sometimes we listen
And sometimes it's because we can't help it

We used to go over there
For barbecue sometimes
But we quit that
After a knife went flying by our heads
When the guy asked the girl
If she'd fed the baby yet

'IT'S YOUR DAMN BABY TOO, GODDAMMIT!'

And the knife went flying
Right by our heads

We never went back after that
But we can still hear them screaming
And the baby right along with them
All going off
Like sirens

It's a shame
It really is
Used to be a pretty neighborhood
Used to be a nice place to live

Now it's just ugly
And ugly people live here

Monday, July 20, 2009

The Villain, Heartbroken

I can't believe you're doing this

And today
Of all days
Why today?

You know I was doing this for you, right?

Well, why ELSE would I blow up the world?
Unless it was so that you and I
Could be the last two human beings
Left in the universe?

No, I can't just blow it up anyway!

What would be the point in that?
Then I'd really be all alone
Then there wouldn't be any other fish in the sea
Because when you blow up the world
The fish go with it!

Who is it, huh?
Is he a superhero?
Is he a superagent?
Is he one of my henchmen?

Scary Bill?
Is it Scary Bill?
Because let me tell you something
He's not that scary
It's all in the outfit

Take away those leather bracelets
And he's Punky Brewster
With a sneer

. . . . .

A bassist?
Are you kidding me?
Are you f**king kidding me?

You're leaving me for a bassist?

Just hit the red button
Go ahead
Blow me up
Blow us all up
I don't want time to continue at this point

No, no, no
I'm not killing the hero
It won't make me feel better
So don't even try that

I wait years

YEARS

To do all this
And you pick today
To break my heart

I guess it's better than if you waited
Until AFTER I pushed the button
But then your precious bassist would be dead
And the world would be just a little more QUIETER
Wouldn't it?

I need to swivel
Please, I just need to swivel
I need to swivel away from you
And pretend you're not there anymore

You're so lucky you're not my first girlfriend
Back then when someone broke up with me
I threw them in the Chamber of Lasers
And let God deal with them

God's the name of the guy
Who runs the Chamber of Lasers
He's a little...woohoo...you know?

This is horrible

Who's getting the dog?
Because I can tell you right now
You're not getting him
He hates you

Besides
I've been feeding him narcs
And bits of cake
Because he likes that
But mostly narcs

And where would you get narcs?

Oh right
You're dating a bassist
He probably knows plenty of them

You're not getting my books either
You're not getting my books
Or my DVD player
Or the pink laser

I don't care what I said
I like the pink laser now
It's got a soft grip to it
And I like it

What do you mean I don't use it?

Is that why you're doing this?
Because I haven't killed the hero yet?
Because let me tell you something
I was going to push this button
As soon as we got back from your mother's
That was going to be the first thing I did

Because believe me
Nothing makes me want to exterminate humanity more
Than a visit t your mother's

So don't tell me
I wasn't going to destroy mankind
Because I was

I WAS!

. . . . .

Well, no
Now I can't
I can't do it

It'll just remind me of you
Of all our plans
Our big plans

Remember how we were going to float
Above the decimated planet
In a little space shuttle
Like the one the Russians
Put the monkeys in?

Now what?

Huh?

Now what?

Can you tell me?
Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do now?
Can you tell me...

How am I supposed to live without you?
Now that I've been loving you so long...
How am I...

Okay, fine
But I'm keeping the swivel chair
Now get out of here

I kill anyone who sees me cry
Remember that

Natural

I will stand next to
The naked voodoo man
I will have my photo taken
As if it's natural

I will lay naked on the bed
With my tattoo exposed
For the camera
As if it's natural

I will straddle the folding chair
While the air behind me
Curls into black hair
As if it's natural

I will bend my left leg
Seductively to the right
And let the lightning bolt hit me
As if it's natural

I will.........
I will......
I will...
I will

I will lay on my bed
I will write on the wall
I will crawl up the wall
Onto the ceiling
And swing from the fan
As if it's natural

I will destroy whole cities
Made of Oreo cookies
With my milk flood
As if I am the Oreo God
The Goddess of the Oreos
Named Cookie

I will ask the voodoo man his name
And ask if he can heal me
And when he says no
I'll walk away
Laughing

As if that was the answer
I expected

As if 'No' is natural

I will make love as if I am planning something
As if my mind is somewhere else
And so I'll have the distant look
That a movie star gets
When she makes love
And it'll look so natural

I'll let the black air swirl around me
And carry me up into the barn
Where I'll surround myself with hay
And then jump down onto my butterscotch pony
Riding off into the storm
Like Don Quixote at a windmill

A hero, I'll be
A natural hero

I will hear nasty words called at me
While I pose for my glamour shots
Black marker words scrawled on my stomach
Highlighter marks all over my shins
And a blue sharpie
Writing the word

'Natural'

On my arm
For all to see

I'll rock back and forth
On a bed
Like the kind they have
In scary head hospitals

And I'll say--

I will..................
I will............
I will......
I will...

I will blame my divorced parents
For the sex I have
With men twice my age

I will blame my teachers
For my dissolved desire to learn
And my issues with authorities

I will blame society
For not understanding me
And for television

Blame is what you need to do
To take the pressure off you
It's natural

I'll ride a taxi
To a fancy store
Where I'll try on dresses
That don't make me look fat
And I'll buy them all
And take them back home
To a tiny town on the prairie

I'll walk around town
In my city dresses
Bringing flair to the prairie

Creating Prairie Flair
The new craze
Of the world

They'll watch me stroll
Down their faux Main Street
Where girls get dragged
Into dumpsters

They'll look at me
And they'll say my name

They'll say I'm a natural
And I will be

I will..............................

I will....................

I will..........

I will

Find Someone Who Likes It Broken

You don't want to fix it
I know, I know

You don't want to hear it
You don't want to know
You don't want to try
You don't want to leave
You don't want to go

And be by yourself
And be vulnerable
And be open to admitting
That you're wrong

That there's something wrong

But there is
And whether you say it
Or you leave it silent
It's there

You don't have to talk to it
But it's there

You don't have to say it
But it's present

You don't have to do
A damn thing you don't want to do
But either way
It's there

It's there

You don't want to repair this
But you want me to figure myself out
Figure how I'm going to add up
All the ways this isn't working
And put it down on paper for you
Making a convincing argument
That we'll be fine

That this will be all be fine
That this bubble will never burst
That a kiss can make it better
That it's going to be okay

You want to wake up
You want to stay sleeping
You want me to do the work

You want me to hammer it home
You want me to nail it down
You want me to wrench myself
And tear myself up
Over how I can do it
How I can't make it work

You don't want to fix this
Well here's my suggestion
Here's my estimation
Here's me looking at this
And coming up
With a solution

If you don't want to fix it
Then you better find someone
Who likes it broken

David Mattison

I trained for this job
My entire life

That's how it feels anyway

Have a seat

I know you've talked to my family
They're quite the bunch, aren't they?
Very interesting
It was an interesting house
To grow up in

Do you see what I did there?

I was careful with my language
I used trepidation
Do you know what that means?
It means I'm careful

I'm very careful

Because you never know
Even with family
You never know

I'm very conscious
Of how much use
Someone has

How much I can get out of someone

The fact is
When you cut ties with someone
If we're talking cutting ties
Which I'm assuming we are
If we're talking cutting ties
Then you really have to accept
That one day the ties you cut
May end up cutting you

I call it the 'Behind the Table' philosophy

Just like now
How I'm behind the table
I have the power
Because you need something from me
You need a story
You need material

Don't you?

So I'm behind the table

If we had known each other before now
And you had, at any point
Decided that I was of no use to you
And never would be
Then you'd have cut ties
And I'd be sitting here now
Behind the table
And you'd be kicking yourself

Wouldn't you?

That's why I'm very hesitant to cut ties
Unless more ties will end up being cut
By my keeping ties

Are you following me?
Would you like a drink?
I can get you a drink

I use trepidation when cutting ties
Because I believe
That at some point
Everyone sits behind the table
At which point
You have to be careful
If you've cut ties
That you're not the one
In front of the table

So I'm very cautious
In how I speak
In what I say
In how I talk to people

Because you never know
You just never know

Publish a nasty story
About someone's family
Calling them the Trailer Trash Kennedys
Calling the patriarch of the family
An overrated, wannabe Matisse
Calling the mother a man-eating swamp thing
Calling the children...

...Things children shouldn't be called

Then you run the risk
Of those children
One day
Growing up

It's amazing
What you can find
When you google someone's name
Isn't it?

Resumes
Archives
Old articles they've written...

You should hear all the words
All the ways I came up with
Of protecting my family
Of phrasing their problems
So that they didn't sound so bad

I've been learning
All my life

And the one thing I was always clear on
Was that you have to be behind the table
If you're not behind the table
You're begging for kindness
And that's unacceptable
To me, anyway

I'm not comfortable
Begging

Are you?

The Dirty Letters

Maya was naked when she got the letter.

Well, half-naked
She was changing out of her costume
When she noticed it
Sitting in front of her mirror
Her name elegantly written
In smart calligraphy

She opened it
Thinking it was something from a relative
Her mother had come that night
As well as her college roommate
And she thought perhaps Lucy, the stage manager
Had been given the envelope
To pass on to her

When she opened it
The first word that jumped out at her
Was 'caress'

What followed made her stand there
With no top on
And despite the fact
That Maya was not shy
She was also not an exhibitionist
And would never remain that state
For that long
In front of people rushing around
Trying to get changed
So they could get to the restaurant
Where everybody was eating after the show

She would have moved
But the letter held her there
It had hands that clamped down
On her shoulders
And eyes that bore into her own

It was full of things
Full of dirty things

Actions
Requests
Adjectives

All of them unspeakable

Maya wanted to rip up the letter
And throw it away
But she didn't

She didn't

She folded it neatly
Slipped it into her bag
And got changed
As quickly as she could

. . . . .

Meg got the letter at the box office
She was getting tickets for her brother
When Nelson handed her the envelope

She had no idea what had caused
Her co-star's little outburst tonight
But whatever it was
It certainly made the show more interesting

The envelop was simple
A light cream color

Her name was written in comic book letters
Big goofy script with smiley faces
And the tail on the "g" curled
At least three times

She took the letter
Thinking it was from someone in the audience
Who enjoyed her performance

It was nice being the lead
You got little perks like this
Adoring letters
From people who think
You're the best Alessandra
That ever was

Not realizing that you were just a sophomore
From Florida State
Who couldn't even get a lead
In her school production of 'Kiss Me, Kate'

Here you were
In a lousy little theater in Nebraska
Bringing culture to the deprived

Not miscast by yokels
Who didn't know any better
As your schoolmates were undoubtedly saying
Back home

The first word she saw was 'fuck'
What other word would jump out at you
When that word was right in the middle of the page
And in its verb form

'Anything good?'

The sound of Nelson's voice
Shook her loose from her shock
And she instinctively grabbed the letter
And shoved it into her pocketbook

'Nooo, just...just, you know...yeah.'

Brilliant, Meg, brilliant

'I'll see you at Cap's'
'Cool. See you there.'

Meg was hoping that tonight
Cap's would go easy on the carding
She was a month away from her twenty-first birthday
But she couldn't imagine needing a drink more
Than she did right now

What she wouldn't say
When she saw that word
When it jumped out at her
What she wouldn't admit to herself was--

She was a little thrilled
Maybe more than a little

. . . . .

Molly got the letter onstage
Which was not supposed to happen
Someone had found the letter
Not read the name on the envelope
And put it on the prop table

Molly's character, Rena
Receives a letter in the second act
Informing her
That her sister has died
In a tragic automobile accident

Due to the contents of the letter
Molly's performance
Which was, on any given night
Erratic and dull-edged at best
Attained a level of depth
That downright astounded her co-star

Her co-star happened to be Meg

The first word she saw was 'lucid'
And the only thing surprising about it
Was the fact that Molly was sure
The word 'lucid'
Was not in the letter
Informing her of her fictional sister's untimely demise

Luckily for Molly
Her character is given
What theater people call--

A pregnant pause

--To process
What this new letter was saying

By the time the moment came
For her to burst into fake tears
Usually brought on
By Molly imagining the day
Her kitten went missing
She was still reeling

Meg repeated her cue line
And then repeated it again
But Molly just stood there

Words were jumping out at her

'Breasts'
'Thighs'
'Backside'

At 'ass,' she yelped
Actually yelped
Causing Meg to jump back
Almost expecting Molly to attack her

Then Molly seemed to straighten herself out
She said her next line
And the scene continued

But when Harris came onstage, as the butler
To take the letter from Rena, Molly's character
She did something she'd never done before--

She improvised

'No thank you, Jonathan,' she said, 'I'm keeping this.'

. . . . .

The restaurant was quite the affair
Everyone noticed that something in the air
It had been present ever since Molly went up onstage
Nobody said anything to her about it
Molly was so fragile
Nobody wanted to upset her
Any more than she already was

The three girls sat at different ends of the table
But all of them were engaged in the same activity:

Looking for the author
Of the dirty letter

Maya was convinced that it was Terrence
He was the director's assistant
And was always trying so hard
To make a good impression
When she was around

He'd tell awful jokes
And put on that awkward shade of confidence
That's clearly worn
Only for the sake of someone else

The letter was probably his last ditch effort
The play was going to close in a week
And Terrence must have figured
That it was time to go for broke

But some of those phrases!

'Trickle my fingers down your arms'
'Taste the sweat as it pours out of your skin'
'Bury my face in your--'

God it was terrible

What was he thinking?
Sending her something like that
And what was the point
If he wasn't even going to sign it
To authorize his insanity

Thank God she'd never have to see him again
After next week

She found herself drinking
More than she really should
And before long
She was staring down Terrence
Nearly daring him to confess

When he would catch her gaze
She would bring the rim of her wine glass
To her lips

'Slide my tongue over those lips
Marking them with a soft nibble'

And wait for him
To make his move
So she could tell him
What she really though of him

. . . . .

Meg knew it had to be Harris
Who else could it be?

He wanted to fuck her, huh?
Well, she couldn't say she was surprised
Maybe he and Terrence had been talking
Conversing as men do
And maybe Terrence had mentioned her
Had mentioned how insatiable she is
Once you get her in bed

Dammit, Terrence, couldn't you keep your mouth shut?

Now Harris was obsessed with her
It wasn't uncommon
A leading lady such as herself
Still young and innocent
If only he knew that she was really a lion
Hidden in a lamb's body

She looked a few heads down
Where Harris was sitting next to Maya
And considered him

He was fat
He really was
There was no other way to say it

To even suggest
That he would have a chance with her
Was appalling

One week left or not
She couldn't have sex with Harris

She'd done very well during this production
She'd slept with the director (standard)
His assistant, the assistant stage manager
The two boys playing her brothers

(That had nearly done permanent psychological damage
To the two young men)

She'd slept with Paola, the set designer
She'd slept with his girlfriend (why not? it's July after all)
She'd slept with the playwright when he came to do a talkback
And she wasn't ashamed of any of it
Not a bit

But if she slept with Harris
God, how could she forgive herself?

He wasn't just fat
He wasn't just boring
He wasn't just a bad actor
Who failed every night
To deliver three very simple lines
Without breaking out into a sweat

Still, what he had written
What had sprung from his pen
So unabashedly

'I want to blindfold you and then--'
'--While you hold onto my shoulders--'
'--Until you beg me to stop.'

She found herself devouring
Her blueberry tart
Trying to mask her arousal
As hunger

But it was Harris

He was...
He was...
He was...

The Butler

. . . . .

It had to be Paola
He had come to every performance
And why else?
Unless he was interested in someone
In the cast

But Molly?

Why would he want Molly?
Rumor was that he had slept with Meg

So what was Molly then?
The next rung on the ladder
Well, no thank you
No thank you ONE BIT!

She had no intention
Of taking Meg's cast-offs
Not even gorgeous
European cast-offs
Who worked with their hands
To build massive staircases
And revolving dining room tables

She had half a mind
To walk down to the end of the table
Where Paola was holding court
Like a medieval lord of the manor
And pour whatever he was drinking
Right onto his lap

Maybe that would quell his desire for her

Oh, and the way he tried make conversation
Complimenting her just a few minutes ago
On the natural performance she gave tonight

He nearly made a fool of her!
Although perhaps she wasn't meant to get the letter
Right there onstage
But nevertheless, it was his fault

What kind of a depraved mind
Could write things like that?

'I wish I could be your corset.  To feel your soft skin and beautiful breasts pressed up against me.  I love the flash of thigh that appears whenever you move across the stage.  I would watch your backside for hours and pay gladly for it.'

DISGUSTING!

And to see him down there
Laughing it up
Telling Meg a joke
From across the table
As if they were just friends
As if they hadn't...

And as if nobody knew!

What was wrong with artistic people?
That sex could be so convenient
That it was expected of everyone
To be crass
To flirt openly
To look for someone within each show
To have a six-week fling with
Until the final curtain came down

Molly was not like that
She was traditional
The thought of someone
Sending her a letter...

And yet, it was sort of romantic
Sort of old-fashioned
Despite the letter's contents

There was something dramatic about it
That made it sort of...

Interesting

Not sweet
She wouldn't say...
Well, maybe sweet

Now she was rationalizing
Which was ridiculous
What she had gotten
Was a dirty filthy letter

And there was nothing
Paola could say
That would make her
Grant him forgiveness

Nothing

...Was part of the letter in iambic pentameter?

Was that what that was?

Well, that was impressive
You couldn't deny
That it was impressive

. . . . .

Nelson found them in the parking lot
Going at in the back of Terrence's car
Hands pressed against the windows
Steamed up so badly
There were prints all over the car

It was very Titanic

Leave it to Maya
To be impatient

Once faced with a man
Who had no interest
In what she thought of him
She couldn't rip her clothes off
Fast enough

Meg and Harris hadn't fared much better
They ducked out of the restaurant
Giggling like two kids
Skinny-dipping
For the first time

She must have found the animal side of him
And once she knew it was there
She couldn't resist it
Typical Meg

Then there was Paola and Molly
Who were on the small dance floor
The restaurant set up
Every Friday night

They were pressed together
But in the most natural way
Nelson had requested
That the band play 'All the Way'
And the song had done its job

So had the letters

Nelson had no interest in match-making
But he couldn't take seeing his three friends
Pine after these women
The entire summer

He had tried to tell them
That he understood what the ladies wanted
But they hadn't believed him
So he took matters into his own hands

And look how everything had turned out
Brilliantly

He had even signed the letters
Against his better judgment
Reasoning to himself
That the contents in the body of the letter
Would distract from the clue at the end

He ended each letter with the following phrase--

'I think together we'd be just the ticket.'

Amazing how people don't pay attention
To the man they walk by every day
Who keeps their audiences happy
By giving them what they want
How they want it
And all before the lights come up

Tonight was special thought
Tonight, Nelson had managed the actors
Not the house

And everyone seemed
To love their seat

Every Day's Your Birthday

When you wake up every morning
With the option of making yourself strawberry pancakes
Whether or not you actually make them
When there's the option
It's your birthday

When you go to a job that doesn't involve:

Intricate math (in my case)
Destroying wildlife reserves
Being in the focus group
For a new sitcom
Starring Heather Graham

Every day's your birthday

When you have a grandmother
Who calls you every year
To sing "Happy Birthday" to you
Despite the fact
That you're now a quarter of a century old

When your Mom says 'I love you'
Every time you talk to her

When both your younger brothers
Who most of the time
Are only concerned with basketball
And ITunes
Smile every time they see you

Every day's your birthday

When you get to see one of your best friends get married
When you get to sit next to someone with a great laugh during a funny movie
When you get to spend an hour on the phone
Completely absorbed in someone

That's your birthday

When you get to do what you love
With people you enjoy

When what you do
Is appreciate by anyone

When someone gives you a hug
And holds on for that extra few seconds

That's your birthday

When midnight arrives
And it seems you're just another year older
And you feel a bit of sadness
Thinking of all the things
You haven't done yet

You just have to remember
The words
To the theme song
Of one of the best television shows
Ever

'When the sun comes up'
'And the moon is shining big and bright'
'And the new day promises'
'That everything will be all right'

And look at that
Another birthday

When someone takes a second out of their day
To let you know they're happy they know you

(Remember when Violet says to George Bailey
In 'It's a Wonderful Life'

"George Bailey, I'm glad I know you"

Isn't that the most wonderful compliment
You've ever heard)

When you get to hear that
Regardless of what day it is
It's your birthday

And when you wake up
And keep waking up
Every day

And when you got a roof over your head
And a voice to speak with
And a sense of humor
And the ability to make the best of things

Well then
Every day's your birthday

Friday, July 17, 2009

And I Still Look Good

-- I need a new birthday mantra; this will do. It's sort of like "I'm Still Here" but without the now-obscure references. --

"And I Still Look Good"

I got a flat tire on the highway today
I got broken up with over e-mail
I got trampled on in Barcelona
During a Sting concert

And I still look good

I have a savings account with no savings in it
I have an attitude problem, but enough of one
I have two degrees and no actual skills
Except the ability
To juggle

And I still look good

I lack a stable family life
I lack inherent wealth
I lack what I need
To believe in something
Bigger than myself

I'm smarter than I used to be
But that's not saying much

I'm clever
I'm enthusiastic
I'm querulous
I know big words
And I talk too much

And I still look good

I made it through my childhood
I made it through the public schools
I made it through the private sector

I made it past junior high
With my eyes intact

I made it over the hump
Of my post-college daze
When I grazed on frosted flakes
Convinced I'd wind up
Living in a basement
Playing Scrabble on the computer
Every single day

I'm a little worse for the wear
And I'm still wearing shirts
That are too big for me

And even with old jeans
And crooked glasses
And refusing to wear contacts

I still look good

I'd still rather talk about people
Than talk about ideas
I'm still scared of heights
And I'm still right all the time
And I'm still ashamed
Of the things I can't change

But overall, I have to say
I'm still looking good

Considering what I remember
Considering what I know
Considering all the people I've been
And the friends who've left
And the men who turned out to be boys
The noisy boy turned out okay

And I have to say
I still look good

All things considered
I still look damn good

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

I Must Look Like Him

Do I remind you of someone?

Do I act meek?
Do I have reek of self-delusion?
Are my contusions from beating myself
Over the head again and again
Because your friend told me
Things about me
You observed

Did you think
I'd take that all in stride
And ride out the rest of my life
Stuck with a guy
Who would defy logic
By making me
His fodder?

Do I look like him?
I must look like him

I must have too many pounds
Around my waist
And waste time by trying
And crying over you not being home by one
Instead of out having fun myself
Putting my entire life on a shelf
While you live yours
And sit by adoring you

Did you think that's
What I was going to do?

Then I must look like him
I must really look like him

Do you expect me
To support you unconditionally
When you make irrational choices
Not voice my opinion
When you try and spread your dominion
Into my thoughts and beliefs
I'm sure you've found relief with exes
Who didn't vex you by checking
Where you stood
At any point

Do I look like the last guy
Who cleared out of this joint?

I must look like him
I guess I just look like him
Hell, I must be his twin

Do I have his bad taste in music?
Do I have his minuscule vocabulary?
Did you want to go down to the laboratory
And come up with another clone of him
That goes to the gym
And sprouts his feathers
In front of everyone
At every party
You took him to?

I must look like him
I guess I must
I must look just like him

Well now
At least we have one thing
In common

We're both gone

Aren't we?

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

The Mormon East Side Beach Party

We put the sand in the bathroom
Covered the tile
In sand we bought
At the local hardware store

We think it's the sand
You throw over vomit
But if that's the case
Then buying it was a smarter move
Then we realized

We filled the bathtub with water
Then poured a couple cups of salt into it
To give the appearance of the ocean
We tried to make the water look bluer
By putting food coloring in it
But then Kris got stupid
And poured some green in there too
Claiming that the ocean is a 'blue green'
Which it might be
But now the bathtub looks like a fucking swamp

Way to go, Kris

We had Lindy sit on the toilet
And play lifeguard
So that nobody would drown
In the bathtub

And we got a little plastic shark
To put in the tub
Every once in awhile, we told Lindy
Do the theme from Jaws

'Da nuh....da nuh...da nuh...dun dun dun dun DAHHHH!'

That's how Ricky peed in the tub
Which was gross
It was just...

It was gross

We served cocktails in the living room
With little umbrellas
With lots of sugar
Because it's cheaper than alcohol
And inebriation is ninety percent psychological

People were singing the Beach Boys
And Jan and Dean
And putting on leis
Even though this was not a Hawaiian themed
East Side Beach Party

It was meant to be a Cali party
But nobody seemed to get that through their head
And people kept asking
Where the roasted pig was

Dan Dan and Rissa broke up
In the bedroom
Then had a threeway
With Hinkle
And nobody's sure how that happened

Marsella went out on the fire escape
And called out into the neighborhood
Asking if anyone could see the ocean
Because she couldn't find it
Probably because Lindy shut the door
So she could puke in private
In the sand dune near the sink

Marsella was at a beach party
And couldn't see the ocean
Irony

Gidget was on the t.v.
But nobody wanted to watch it
Except the heroin addict
Dan Dan invited
And after that
Heroin Guy wanted to be called--

'The Big Kahuna'

Whatever the fuck that means

When Hinkle was done with the threeway
He called the cops
And told him polygamy was going on
Right here on the East Side
And what was being done about it?

'What are you referring to sir," the operator asked

'I'm referring to a Mormon East Side Beach Party, you fat fuck,' said Hinkle

The cops showed up
A few minutes later
And the party was broken up

Which really sucked
Because we were in the last round
Of the volleyball tournament
In the kitchen

In place of a net
We were batting a tennis ball
Over a pizza box
Which is fucking hard, man

When the last of the guests left
I collapsed with a girl in the hammock
Hung from the door of my room
To the door of my closet

We swung back and forth
And a gust of air came in from the window
I told her that I did this for her
That we can't afford a trip to the beach
So I brought the beach to her

She loved that

And outside
I could still hear Marsella
Asking where the ocean was