Sieze The Day - Pull The Trigger - Drop The Blade - And Watch The Rolling Heads

I feel like I exist right now just to get myself to the end of the week when and where I might be able to relax and have some fun.

Jack & The Beanstalk. The World. The Emporer's New Clothes. The Midas Touch. Peter Pan. Rapunzel. Just a few of the Tarot cards that came up in my last reading with Marcie. (She's really good).

I'm planning on seeing PRT's Summer Shorts tomorrow night, if anyone is game.

Steve Miller, I'm trying out this new font and letter size for you so you don't have to rearrange and scramble my blog - but I have to say that this size and font makes me feel fat and useless and thick, so, I'll be back on my finger-down-my-throat-skinny font pretty soon.

Yesterday at Swank was sooooo boring, please, if you don't have anything going on tonight - drop in (watch, I'll say that - and tonight, I'll be too busy to talk).

And now, the question of the day:

How sexy is your soul?

Laments The Child Star Of The Josh Geoghagan Show

Laugh track is broken
I'm not on the same sitcom
This time slot sucks balls

A Sort Of Snapshot

Dropping off applications. That's the only thing I promised myself I would do today. It's hotter than Satan's cum outside. I can feel my scalp starting to burn just from the walk down the stairs to the car. My car looks like it has eczema - bright metallic blue next to dull, faded patches. Mange. Scabies. It always looks as defeated as I feel. I'm almost positive that the car has as much loathing for me as I have for it. It's a talent I have - giving personalities to inanimate objects. Just creating more plots and enemies. The steering wheel is rubber-y, wet, hot tar. My palms burn as I touch it. Brer Rabbit. The whorls and loops of my palms and fingers shift and they feel like they're melting. Wicked, wicked witch. Maybe if my fingerprints are gone, I can be someone else for a change. I clench the wheel harder. If my hands were sheep they would bleat. In a movie or a dream sequence, there would be steam snaking its way between my fingers. But there's not. I'm very much awake and this is very much just another couple of minutes of my life. There's just the bright windshield, the slow trinkle of air from the AC, that insect sound that you only hear on hot days, and the smell of 500 once wet now dry Orlando Weeklys. I usually keep my windows rolled down and it rains in my car. A lot. My hands feel completely fused to the wheel. If I were the Zodiac Killer - I wouldn't kill people so I could have slaves in the Afterlife, I'd kill people so I could have air conditioning units in the Afterlife. What would Anubis make of my soul? Watery and weak, sinewy and bitter, black and burned...with just the faintest traces of something decent and sad. I smile and think to myself: I deserve this, somehow. I know I do.

Where Are My Pants, Ma!!!

You call this a day off:

Cleaned the house, check.

Blogged, check.

Masturbated, check.

Filled out Library applications, check.

Watched Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, check.

Made a few phonecalls/text messages, check.

Left the house......oh, wait....oh.

Love Will Keep Us Together/ Love Will Tear Us Apart Again

I always cheat at Marco Polo.

I think about my maternal grandfather's suicide almost everyday. In a weird way, I admire him.

I think about how much of a hardcase my paternal grandfather was.

I love rollercoasters but don't want to stand at the top of a ladder..

I get vertigo.

Self deception is mother's milk to me.

I love spoilers.

I love reading the last page of a book or a play first. Hell, I'll even read the last poem in a collection.

I wish I was slick enough to be a con man.

I hate my teeth.

I always get this nagging feeling like I'm in the crosshairs of a rifle.

Sometimes while someone's talking to me ( a friend, a stranger) I'll wonder what they would do if I sudden;y kissed them, or what they would do if I suddenly stabbed them. It's scary how often this kiss you/stab you thought crosses my mind. It just pops in there - can't help it. Oh well.

I could watch great white sharks all day long.

I think about cunniligus 1500 times a day.

Since I'm not in a show - I feel like I've been playing musical chairs for the last year and a half - and the music finally stopped and I'm just standing here - with nothing to do.

I wish I truly felt cooler about this California vacation.

I need more money (everyone can go ahead and give a big, 'Hell Yes' to that).

I need to get out of the house today.

I need to hear some cogs whirling around.

I need to shave.

Josh Division

I'm glad I'm not a funeral director.

I feel a strange sense of brotherhood with other Left Handed People (except for those Uncle Tom Leftys - the ones who suck up to the Right Handed Man)

I wish I understood quantum physics.

I secretly despise you.

I'm up and down.

I'm trying real hard to act like I'm NOT nervous about my Mad Cow audition and my Rep callback.

Music from WICKED makes me want to kill.

My bellybutton smells great (to me).

I miss you.

I miss yoga.

Cleaning feels me with a sense of peace I've never found with religion.

I want to go rollerskating.

My favorite song (right now) is 'Chicago' by Sufjan Stevens

I love reading to little kids.

When I look in the mirror - I see something malformed and horrible.

I'm scared of ending up in a wheelchair.

Happy is hard - sad is effortless.

I like my jobs.

Things are going going gone.

Smile and smile and smile and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow....

Here I Sit, All Broken Hearted...

Just a quick ghetto ninja style post (from the bowels of the Downtown Public Library) to say hello....

Meeting Sarah for lunch in five minutes at the Pita Pit...doesn't leave me much time to gnash my teeth about any of the teeth-gnash-worthy things going on...oh well, the secret to being a bore is to type on your blog and prove it...

BANG! The World Is Round!

Made/Forced Mom to tell her two best stories this weekend:

The Morpha-Dyke Story &
The One About The Retard Who Wanted To Take Her Under The Bridge With Him.

It was good to see her.
I'm glad I stopped by.
Wish the weekend had been longer.

I'm kicking myself for NOT eating at Pizza Palace - since that's one of the few things I wanted to do.
Oh well, next time.

Me? I'm Full Of Impotent Rage.

Last night's rehearsal for SOTR was pretty interesting. David and Steve told everyone the background of why they wrote the play, where some of the themes come from, that sort of thing. Then it turned into an interesting discussion about violence and history and America and fight-or-flight and nature and change and - well, hopefully, if we all do our jobs right, people will be having conversations like that in the lobby, on the car ride home, the next day at work...
The whole thing is one of those sticky issues...the more you get into it the more layers you uncover and the deeper you are...
And, at some point, we were talking about guns....gun laws, responsibility, power.....real 'red in tooth and claw' type stuff...and it occurred to me...I'm not the kind of person who ever needs to own a gun, a weapon. I'm just the kind of high strung/tightly wound person who would make some sort of costly mistake. Luckily for myself and everyone else...guns freak me out. A lot. I've never held a real one, never shot one. Don't want to.

But.

But...there's part of my brain that knows that holding one, shooting one...would feel a person up with a sense of power, of control. Could give me that feeling.

This is my take on the play: Most of us, in this day and age, spend our lives as cogs....we do what we do and it doesn't really matter...except, most of us are under the delusion that we ARE DESTINED FOR GREAT THINGS....WE ARE DIFFERENT...SPECIAL...NOT LIKE THEM...this is, maybe, the American Myth, the cult of celebrity...call it whatever...everybody, on some level, feels like they're unique (maybe not understood in their own time - but still special)...then, every once in a while, a situation comes along that shows us the harsh reality...YOU ARE A COG...now, if you're lucky (or maybe, at least RICH, WHITE, STRAIGHT, and MALE) you won't get too many of these wake up calls during your life...but some people aren't so lucky...some people are given pretty brutal slaps-to-the-face...SHEEP...COG...DISPOSABLE...and some people aren't meant for such revelations...and so, some people, full of the American Myth (I'M IMPORTANT, I MATTER) can easily find a form of power, of veto, of expression, of control, of revision...through the use of violence. The editorial in the form of a U-Haul. Here's what I think about how I've been treated, how my people have been treated. Here it is, writ LARGE. Now, you'll have to see, now you'll have to hear...now you'll have to pay attention.

I'm not a cog.

You can't treat me this way.

This isn't how it's suppose to be.