Stream Of Josh-Ish-Ness

Song Of The Day -

"Do You Want To" by Franz Ferdinand

List The Top Three Favorite Plays You Have Seen In Orlando Since You've Lived Here -

Nirvanov, Studio Theatre 2004 & Playfest 2005
The Blue Room, Fringe 2004
Fish Tales And Swan Songs, Fringe 2004

The Best Theatrical Experience For You In Orlando -

Something I've been in? My top three are Noises Off, Rocky Horror, and Oedipus. I am, in my own way, really kinda proud of those shows. I might add to that Horror Over Drinks - just because it was great to be a part of all the chaos of Fringe, those people, that energy. It was scary and fun, like being kissed and kicked in the balls all at the same time.

The Play You Must Do/See Before You Die -

Picasso At The Lapin Agile
Art
Beyond Therapy
Lobby Hero
Kid-Simple
The Pillowman

The Physical Trait That Most Identifies Who You Are And Why -

I don't know. My eyebrows are pretty much married to me.

Change One Thing About Yourself -

My serotonin reuptake system.

We All Have/Experienced "One Thing" That Changes Our Perception Of How We View And Live Life, What Is Your "One Thing" -

Maybe this is part of the problem - I don't feel like I had that moment with my "One Thing" yet. No wheels of fire for me. I'm still waiting.

If You Could Be Another Person For One Day Who Would It Be -

Some random six year old kid who's gonna spend the day at a playground.

If You Were To Do Any Profession Outside Of The One You Have Chosen, What Would It Be -

Tinker tailor soldier spy. Something dangerous, but if you survive, you end up with a great memoir.

Of All Of Your Friends Now - Which One Would You Have Been Closest To In High School -

Ha, if you think I'm misanthropic now, you should have seen me in high school. I don't know - it's hard to picture you guys in high school. And I was sort of a creepy loner, clique-less. I probably would have wanted to hang out with all of you - but I would have been, at best, a third tier friend of a friend.

List The 5 Most Important Qualities That You Look For In Your Lifetime Partner -

Sense of Humor, Intelligence, and three Qualities To Be Named Later.

What Do You Need To Be Doing Right Now That You're Not Doing -

Figuring out how to start what I think may be a one man show about my two grandfathers.

At This Very Moment - Which Of Your Friends Do You Feel Closest To -

Close. Probably the only person that knows 80 to 90 percent of me is Amber.

What Is One Thing You Would Do All Over Again - If Given The Chance -

9/4/05. 9/13/05. 9/26/05. 10/9/05.

What Is One Thing That Makes You Happy That You Haven't Done In Awhile

Spending a rainy day on the couch watching old movies.

One Quality About Yourself That Others Both Love And Hate -

I don't know. I could hazard a few guesses but I'm not going to.

Top 5 Things You Do Best -

Tell a joke.
Tell a story.
Throw a party.
Cut my hamstrings.
Smile and smile and smile and remain a villain.

Top 5 You Wish You Were Better At -

Fighting.
Debating.
Bending People To My Evil Will.
Wish My Memory Was Razor Sharp.
Wish I Could Give Off That Vibe That Says, "Don't Fuck With Me."

Of Everyone You Know - Who Could Win On Survivor -

With a little luck and a loose, adaptable plan - any of us.

Top 5 Favorite Words To Say -

Moot
Nosh
Atavistic
Humbug
Hippodrome

What Is Your Favorite Thing About Your City -

The amount of greasy spoon diners near my house.

5 Material Possesions You Wouldn't Want To Part With -

My journals, photographs, box of mementos, a few of my books, that's about it. Of course, I've also been known to threaten to burn all my shit - so, depending on my state, I could probably lose it all.

What Is The Perfect Amount Of Money To Earn In A Year -

Enough so you know your bills are taken care of.

What 5 Famous People Are Most Like You -

Lewis Black, Larry David, Ricky Gervais, Dane Cook, and Beck.

What Is The #1 Political Issue A Public Figure Must Stand For In Order To Recieve Your Vote -

I just don't think that people should put a lot of energy into laws that take away rights from people or treat a segment of the population like second class citizens.

When Do You Feel Your Very Best -

When I'm making someone laugh.

Which Of Your Friends Do You Feel The Least Connected With Right Now -

Probably a tie between Marcie and Jeff.

What Is Your Favorite Memory With That Friend -

Gaming at Marcie's, or Marcie reading my Tarot.
Going to Mark and Lorna's with Jeff, or any number of long conversations we've had.
Again, I wish my memory was sharp enough to split atoms - but it's not. I know that I miss both of them. And that's a silly, pointless state to be in. It's probably past time that I caught up with them.

Protect Me From What I Want

Loath the routine, fear the change. I don't mind being disliked, hated. A villain, a bastard. It's better than being a ghost, better than being furniture. And easier than being a hero. There's just some part of me that wants people to tar and feather me. Goat song. Am I slightly in love with the chaos in my wake? Is that the only thing that I can create? A room full of mousetraps and nowhere to jump. Or is that an optical illusion? Is that what I allow myself to see? How long can a hold my breath? Why do I insist on letting myself lose? Entropy, apathy. Blinders. I've never fought for anything...my whole life, never stood up for myself, for anyone, never protected anyone...run from conversations, choices, fights, the future. I'm a coward and it has to stop. It's ruined my relationship, my friendships, my connection with my family. It's like freezing...it's so easy to sit down and go to sleep...when you should keep moving, fighting. I'm scared of everything...and whether I like it or not...I need to start being an adult...I need to make myself...better. I need to find the winner gland. This isn't who I suppose to be. This isn't how I should let myself be. Sisyphus doesn't have a choice, he can only roll the boulder. I'm not damned, not yet. And if some of the mousetraps are real...well, nobody said that walking forward would keep you safe from a little pain.

Fun Is Fun And Done Is Done

...now let the bullshit apologies begin.

But first...
Any survivors out there? Did everyone make it home okay?
I guess if you didn't, you won't really be able to read this, huh...

I'm going to go throw up, brush my teeth, take a shower, get into some pajamas, drink four large glasses of Gatorade, take a nap, get up, clean my house, get dressed, go get some coffee, and not answer my cell all day.

Peace out.

Never Before The Big Game...

Hopefully, tonight will be really fun. You know, safe, responsible, Victorian fun. Eyes and clocks and expectations and guilt and asides-to-the-audience and double-talk and what-the-fuck and pulse pulse pulse and drink and wonder and mess up and smiles-that-don't-touch-eyes and memorandums of prior conversations and hey-it's-cool/it's-not-cool and tiny mental fences and Ghost of Christmas Past and lost highway and rudderless and I-fucking-knew-this-is-how-it-would-play-out and more rounds and confusion and guilt and the shape of all the things I love and can't touch or shouldn't touch and unsaid and unknown and Surrender, Dorothy and nevermore and balm of Gilead and double faced Janus and Montague's Love Quandary and kiss me/kill you and loud loud loud music and bass and thump and sweat and a conundrum wrapped in an enigma covered with a riddle and sprinkled with secret sauce and the direct mathematical equation relating to Misery and Ecstasy and pent up shut in stifled down and free agency and everyone throwing in their opinions like dice and bad advice and lamenting the past and brooding on the future and IHOP and Jagermeister and puppies-with-smashed-in-heads and blink gulp pop grin and the joke is always funny when it's not on you and hopefully tonight will be fun.

Safe, responsible Victorian fun.

So, spread your legs and think of England.

It's A Third Nipple. It Gets Hard. It's Awesome.

Just need to type a little. It's the begining of October. I'm in a show at Theatre Downtown again. I have both a computer and a beard. I'm full of my usual unease. I can't relax but I can enjoy riding on the plasma car at work. I should be asleep - but I feel a compulsion to write. Even this trite shit. I'm confused and annoyed. And it's most likely my fault I'm in that state. I have glowing glyphs for Confusion and Annoyance circling around my head. Gnats. A tourney of gnats. Totems. Burning bridges, having fun. I have fun everywhere I go. You have to make your own fun. Ad lib. Did you witness this miracle, Mrs. Clemm? Blue flowers. There's a certain laugh that just makes my brain go supernova. Certain smiles. There are certain patterns, shapes...moments where I wish I was some other version of myself - The Josh From The Universe Next Door - He'd know what to do, have a plan, some prospects, a future. He'd be alive and glowing. He'd burn brightly. There would always be an Answer, a Snappy Comeback - there would be confidence oozing off of him in radioactive purple waves. He would smile and people would feel like the Ape touching the Monolith. These tapir bones would make good weapons. I'm really an anorexic girl, looking in the mirror - all I can see are flaws. I can't hear the laughter, I just hear the gaps in it. I never want to answer my phone. I never want to stop. I don't want to be here. I'm not in love with my illness. It's two in the morning...I'm having so much fun I'm getting a nosebleed. Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid. Fuck the Josh From The Universe Next Door...I never liked that guy anyway. Bet he doesn't have a sweet beard like this....

You're Lucky Lucky, You're So Lucky

I'm am running on two hours of sleep right now. Because, of course, when you have to get up and go to work at nine in the morning - you stay up with your cast until five in the morning, celebrating the fact that POE (for good or for ill) has finally opened. Speaking of which, I'm at the edge of being late for call - and if I sit still any longer, I'm going to fall asleep right here on the floor.

Toe In The Pool

Staring at all this white space. It's hard to begin. It's hard to find the thread. It's hard to even remember what I'd want to say to you anyway. Beginings are tricky things. I could go on and on about the logistics of costume changes or about a wooden and steel apparatus that helps me unspool red ribbon - but we haven't talked in so long I feel like that would be like opening to the middle of a very boring book. Over the past couple of months you've become this relic - transmissions from the midnight radio - faint, dusty, less and less a part of me...more of a fixation. Keeping up with the bloggers. And now I've got you in my hot little hands and what...where are all the words...where are all the stories...the fucked up and the funny shit of the last few months...beginnings are a delicate time...they can't be forced.

I'm Mongrel Irish. Eventually, I'm Going To Fight, Sing, Or Write A Poem.

What are these little glamers and raptures? This Compulsion. This Skill for Chaos. Kaotic chic. What is this small penny arcade charisma, this weak Pied Piper energy? Mad-eyed glee. Selfish heart. Secret, haunting doubt. Fears...madness. Loathing. Self-loathing. Hatred. We Do Not Sow. Come, Reap. Rumors. Gossip. All my tiny hologram daemons - mocking and cavorting and bouncing the tennis ball against the wall of my skull. Flim-flam. Humbug. Construct. If you were in here with me - you'd understand why I'm surprised that any of you are around at all. It's amazing to me. And it makes me think there's some horrible problem with all of you. Maybe. But enough of that boring old maelstorm...that ever-decreasing-concentric-circle. My Paternal and Maternal Grandfathers fistfight in Heaven. Things are fine. Things are busy. Things are scary. I miss things. Like some ancient, forgotten railroad to Solomon's mines - jungle-hot and overgrown. This is where I was going a thousand years ago. This is the Road I was on. Wasn't it? Paved with these stones. I don't know. I was never handed any maps. All my mother's letters begin: Maybe now you'll go back to school. School. Yes, maybe. Another stone in my pocket. Another yellow brick. Red and yellow, kill a fellow. Red on black, good for Jack. I jumped off the boat and swam for shore. All the detritus and wreckage ended up on the beach - buried waist high. Easter Island Abstractions. Their meanings rubbed away - just the suggestions of faces, names, places, half-truths, complete lies, unfinished memories. Wheels within wheels within wheels. So many parts to play. And it's about time I decide to be TInker, Tailor, Soldier, or Spy. Tick, tick, tick. Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey!!! Lazy Mary will you get up, we need the sheets for the table. I need to grow the fuck up. Well, okay, I've mapped my navel enough for today. Just needed to get some of that out. This ghetto-ninja post brought to you by The Downtown Public Library System.

Dribs & Drabs

Just thought I'd throw another post on the fire.

I'm so out of habit with this blog that I don't know where to begin (or what I should or shouldn't say anyway)

Rereading The Pillowman for the sixth time. Kevin Becker let me borrow it. It's a fucking brilliant play.

Amber's birthday is tomorrow - many shout outs should be sent her way.

Watched HBO's new show, ROME, yesterday...looks pretty good.

I just added Marcie to my MySpace friends....I love that. But I haven't seen her in ages....I hate that.

Hopefully the next time I see her we won't both end up crying like last time....next time it's all laughter and dancing and bubblegum and rainbows and baking cakes....

But that does remind me to tell Amber that story. And to tell my Dad. I don't know if I have the words to tell my Dad how much I fear his mortality. It just seems like a fucked up thing to bring up to someone.

Susan is the latest Song Of Ice And Fire victim. And like all the others (or should I say, 'like all The Others') she is hooked. The new book, A Feast For Crows, comes out on the 8th of November. Nobody should try to contact me at all on that day.

I can't wait for September.

For real.

The Germans Are A Patient People...And Good Things Come To Those That Wait.

"I look back on where I'm from....look at the woman I've become..."

It just seems like the proper time to change the old blog title.

Had the first rehearsal for Poe tonight. It went really well. It's going to be an interesting show.

There's always more to say...and when I'm a big boy and I have my own computer I promise to bore you to death with all of it...for now, this is it.

It Only Sounds Good If You Say It Out Loud

I still have my sunglasses on. I'm pretending to doze. I just don't have anything to say (Or maybe I don't have anything good to say). I've spent the last two hours training my face to be dead, slack. I've pulled back into my head. This was a mistake. I already know that I'm not going to enjoy myself.

I still have my sunglasses on. There's less and less excuse for this, the sun has gone down. I can feel the good time in the air but I feel detached from it. Like I'm wearing a radiation suit. I don't want to drink. I don't want to talk. I don't want to act like things are normal. I don't want to hang out. But I know it's important to be here. More medicine. Swallow.

I still have my sunglasses on. Okay, okay - list the good things, pan for gold: Beautiful Mess was amazing, they put on a great live show, it was fun to watch Amber with her friends, to watch her work the room, her friends all seemed really cool, and I enjoyed exchanging filthy jokes with the band's lead singer, Michael.

I still have my sunglasses on. I had a dream the other day. I was reading a book and I had one of those moments where you think, 'I just need to close my eyes for five seconds'. So, I closed my eyes and fell asleep (which is unusual for me) and suddenly.......I was standing in a circular office that I KNEW was The Mayor's Office. And, sure enough, behind a huge desk, there's a man...The Mayor. And on the Mayor's desk, there's a RED BLINKING PHONE. I look down at myself and I'm wearing a superhero costume, a yellow costume with a cape. And standing next to me is another superhero, wearing a blue costume. I don't know if he's my sidekick or I'm his or if we've just teamed up for this one adventure. Suddenly, Blue Costume's cell rings and he answers it and gives me and The Mayor a gesture that I just know means, 'I have to take this'. I look at the Mayor and he looks annoyed and he gives a look at the RED BLINKING PHONE and then at me and gives me a gesture that tells me, 'SURE, take your time ASSHOLE, it's just THE CRISIS PHONE ringing'. Then I wake up.

I still have my sunglasses on. Holding patterns. Every other word I won't let myself type. Composing an essay in my head. Holding patterns. Ready for next month. Ready for next year. It's not The End that makes me angry - it's living the next couple of weeks in the remains. I'm ready to pull the tooth, tun the page. Instead, it's this last little wiggle, this last little paper cut. We haven't been friends for so long and now we have to be friendly until we can arrive at the place we've been runnning toward for the last three years.

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.