Closing The Year.

2005.
Goodbye, you total douche.
2006.
So, um, what do you want to do?

Sure, Some Frankincense Would Have Been Nice....

I heart my little Ipod Nano. Best Christmas gift, ever.

Baptisms For The Dead.

I've been remembering the oddest stuff lately. Is it cause of the end of the year? The last few months? The last few seconds? I don't know but these strong, random moments will jump right into the front of my mind. I won't go into what they are -- most of them make me feel sad or defeated or suddenly angry. I wonder if it means I'm not dealing with some issues. Like I've dumped a lot of toxic waste deep in my brain -- and now the big, violent yellow containers are leaking these memories at me. This year has - for the most part - been complete shit. I'll be glad to be shut of it. So many choices were wrong and so many things went awry. Or maybe it's not that the choices were wrong so much as I just let myself be too passive and didn't make any choices this year. Ha. This whole entry reeks of dancing around what and who I actually want to write about. Coward. I don't want to bring any of that into the New Year. I'm such a selfish and cowardly person and I've been that way for a long time -- this isn't some self hating post, so hold your comments -- I just feel like -- man, fuck it, I'm almost 27 -- I shouldn't walk with this much fear in my mind -- too scared to leap -- to make stands -- to get the occasional bloody paw -- to pursue...it. I can afford to sit back and let other people decide what's going to become of me. So many little memories, little moments...and yet I can't remember exactly why I'm in Orlando. It all seems....ha....it all seems like a lot of blather...that stuff is bothering me but that's not quite it....cause deep down I know what's kinda bothering me right now and I can't just fucking say it out loud and I certainly can't write it....it's like doing that will make it real (like actually calling my migraines, migraines, makes them more official, like, something I get: I get migraines. No. I get these terrible headaches where light hurts my eyes and my stomach feels awful. Not migraines.) I know what's bothering me - but to think about it, speak it out loud, write it down - makes it more real. I'm such a good secret-keeper...you might not believe that but there's plenty of stuff I haven't told any of you fuckers. When you ask me about this later, I'll smile and make a joke and divert your attention, and I won't tell you anything. Or I'll tell you some shapeless, little lie. Cause if you knew the truth - hell, one of you is bound to be able to give some sort of good advice. But I can't do that. Or some part of me doesn't want that. Long term - deal with this fear. Short term - deal with this other, immediate stuff that's bugging me. I need some good, orderly direction for 2006. A path. A mission. A plan. Some shape to pour myself into. A cult? Snake handling? Eh. These are probably thoughts for a more private journal but fuck it, this is where they ended up, such as they are. And now it's time to hit 'publish post'.

Ummmm....hello......?

So randomly I have an internet connection at home and even though its almost five in the morning and there's really nothing to say I feel like I must post something because any second a butterfly will flaps its wings somewhere in Outer Mongolia sending out ripples of energy that will eventually cause me to sneeze and the internet will vanish like a soap bubble...pop.

Domino Hates Me

Domino needs special food and I have my orders.

Put Domino in the computer room with his food, shut the door. Give Punch and Judy their food - let them eat. Once they're finished - let Domino out of the computer room.

Punch and Judy don't know their part of the plan. Instead of each of them eating from their bowls - they decide to split a bowl - like two legal secretaries sharing a salad. Leaving a whole bowl of food - food that I've started thinking of as Domino-poison.

Domino meows. Loudly. Translated into English it would probably sound something like, 'Hey, fucker, wanna let me out of this room now or do I have to kick your ass?'

But here's this bowl of food. Can't leave it out. I mean - he can maybe have a little of Punch and Judy's food - but not a whole bowl. It's like Punch and Judy were leaving Domino a tribute. Like he's a Mafia Don or an evil idol.

It seems stupid to throw the food out. So, I put the bowl in the fridge. I'll give it to you guys tomorrow. I open the computer room door and Domino cocks his head and looks at me, like, 'Thought so.'

Domino hates me now.

Do I Come Here Often?

Nothing says successful gathering/party like having to spend the whole next day recovering from all your fun and whispering small, silent prayers to your body, your stomach, your throbbing head - tiny quiet lies and half-truths to quell a belly ready to revolt, to force wobbly sea legs to walk straight and not trip or stagger, and more little breathless pleas to the evil army of shoemaker elves in your temples, the ones making hobnail boots and trying them out against the inside of your head.

Lord Protect Me From What I Want.

Half a prayer, half a poem.

You Were Looking For A Way To Change Your Life - You Couldn't Do This On Your Own.

Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. Ideas.

Crest of the wave. Almost-orgasm. Cusp. Edge. Pre-Eureka. Borderland. Way Station. Leaf-and-needle compass. Closing of the Year.

If These Shadows Remain Unchanged

I'm depressed about Christmas.
I know I should just be happy the baby Jesus was born and everything.
Shepherds, Wise Men.
But let's face it....that aspect of the holiday doesn't really have much of a hold on me.
As far as I'm concerned - I celebrate a pagan holiday of merriment, egg nog, electric lights, tinsel, Rudolph, Santa, Heat Miser, The Bumble Snowman, and Yukon Cornelius.
And this year I go into this holiday broke.
No cards, no presents.
And that makes me sad.
The whole season - just a reflection of all the things I can't do for my friends and family -- the same people who time and time again are able to do so much for me.
The metaphor here should be something like a little ragged urchin pressing his dirty face against the bright window of some 1950s uber-perfect Macy's-esque Christmas display. Toy trains and aeroplanes. Elves and bed-wetting dolls. Gingerbread houses and shiny, metallic bulbs. Holly Jolly. Burl Ives.
And it's cold outside.
My holiday this year is going to be a little closer to The Apartment than Christmas Carol.
It's just overwhelming and kinda sad.

We're Going Feuding!!!

In nine hours (we always have an early Thanksgiving) the Geoghagan Family (including a few Duboses, a Hatten, and maybe a couple of Millers and a Hernandez in the mix) will be digging into some turkey, seething with resentment, and possibly even gushing with love for one another from time to time. Comfort and joy, all around. I, of course, have insomnia -- but that okay because I'm at Amber's house where the internet flows like milk of the poppy -- and all I will be required to do tomorrow is eat, nap, drink, make Mom roll her eyes, and tell a few of my family-friendly-yet-still-fiendishly-chaotic-stories. Hope everyone has a great Turkey Day.

Community Chest

So, for the last week and a half I'm had the same thought every night:

"Which of my old shoes am I going to boil for dinner tonight?"

Thank Christ-Shiva-Allah-Odin-Apollo that I got paid today. I couldn't eat another Ramen noodle. It was like being a poor college student without that whole pesky going-to-college-and-earning-a-degree aspect. I've had feverish, wet dreams about grocery shopping for the past three nights.

But isn't it funny how relative everything is? When I got to the bank with my check in my hot little hand -- there's a sharp, crisp Marine standing at the door. Toys For Tots. I've supported them many a Christmas past. But today my mission was: deposit check, go to Publix, live the rest of my life in selfish bliss. And I can't really give Toys For Tots a proper donation today.

So, the Marine looks at me like -- "Fuck you, hipster scum, I hope the war goes on forever and you get drafted and die!" Wait, wait, wait....I'm not Mister Pennybags but I swear that I will donate a toy for some tot, some time. Soon. Before Christmas. Maybe even a crippled, black child. I can just see him (or her) smiling right now. It warms the cockles of my heart to give.

I should probably take this moment to thank some of the people that kept me from starving this past week: Bateman, Marcie, Susan, Tyler, and Anna. Thank you. One day, hopefully, I can be there for you guys too.

And Toys For Tots.

When The Light Is Green, The Trap Is Clean

I thought: Worst case scenario, one of us will find it dead one morning.

Fairy Tales has a rodent problem. Last Thursday, we had a guy come in from Truly Nolen and set up traps everywhere. Upstairs, he set up those hardcore, old school mousetraps. You know, snap, break-your-back, dead mousetrap type mousetrap. Around the back areas he set up these styrofoam-and-glue mousetraps. Like a tar pit. The rodent goes for the little bit of Slim Jim ('They love Slim Jims' said our Truly Nolen guy, a burly sort of a fellow who would look right at home waving a sword around in one of the Lord Of The Rings movies) and can't get unstuck. The rodent just freaks out, starves, or has a heart attack.

I thought: Best case scenario, I won't be at work the day they find it.

Friday comes and goes, Saturday too. Nothing. Maybe they moved on. Maybe they're super smart. Maybe NIMH has gotten ahold of them and they're just watching us from the shadows, waiting, planning, twirling their whiskers. It occurs to me around this time that I'm scared to death of this rodent. Of this rat. Our rat. I've been trying to convince myself that this isn't so. I've fail.

Sunday. I'm opening the store by myself. It's just me and Amy working. Sunday, noon to five. Short day, easy day. It goes by quickly. Everything's going so well, as they say in Moulin Rouge. Then 4 o'clock rolls around and I have to get something out of the wrapping room. It's called the wrapping room cause that's where all the giftwrapping is done. It's also where one of the glue and styrofoam tar pit mousetraps is located. I make my way down the back hallway, full of junk and toys and boxes....and almost step on the largest fucking rat I've ever seen. Stuck. In the glue. Near the door to the wrapping room. Slick black-brown hair, pink-white belly, fat and sleek. Its hairless, cord of a tail, longer than my hand, flailing around like a gray question mark.

Its tiny oil drop eyes stare at me, freaking out, wide. The tail flaps. Then it starts to scream. Please understand that when I say scream, I mean scream. Not squeak. Not squeal. Scream. I've always heard that rabbits scream like people. Well, I'm here to tell you that rats scream like people too.

I turn around. Gooseflesh. Adrenaline. Cold stomach. Thank God I hadn't eaten anything that day. I would have thrown up. I freak out as much as the rat. I feel like someone is putting its fat rat body on one of my shoulders. I freak. I wig out. I shudder. I'm scared of rats. I don't feel sorry for the rat. But a part of me wished that it would have went upstairs and just gotten itself killed quick.

Its oil drop eyes. Its tail, longer than my hand. I make some phonecalls, tell my bosses that we've captured the rat. I closed the store, left the rat in the dark. To die. And that's all well and good. It got caught. That's what happens when you get caught. It's oil drop eyes. The next day, Monday, it was still alive. Tar pit. Dinosaurs. It's little quick-quick, slow-slow rodent motions. Its black within black eyes. Tiny. Its little instincts, telling it to struggle, to scream, to fight.

I thought: All these scenarios are awful.

Last Weekend For POE

Time to drink all the drink, smoke all the smoke, and fuck every whore in the city.

All I Want Is A Room Somewhere......

...with a computer that works for more than a week or two. I don't want to know how or why it works....it could run on the blood of genies or pixies for all I care. I am that lazy human being that just wants to flip a switch and have a thing....work. That's all. It's not like I'm asking my computer to perform some hardcore War Games or hacking...I pretty much just want to blog and look at MySpace until my eyes bleed. Nothing is ever simple. So, here I am, back where I belong...among the plebs (stop fucking coughing you plague-ridden, poxy son of a whore) at the Downtown Public Library. I need my fix and I know where to go. This guy sitting next to me has probably infected me with the Bloody Black Flux. Ninja post....over and out.

If You Think That A Kiss Is All In The Lips, Come On, You Got It All Wrong, Man.

My brother-from-another-mother is all grows-up. Last night, I had the pleasure to see Todd Davis perform in an amazing piece of theatre, MARGOT VEIL. Between this and SCAPIN - it's amazing the amount of talent that guy has. If I didn't love him I'd have to hate him. If Orlando isn't destroyed by Wilma's wrath - all of you need to head out to UCF and check out this show.
The show itself is weird and difficult and shifting and funny and creepy and beautiful --- remember that quiz that was going around about theatrical highlights --- I would put MARGOT VEIL right up there. It's just the kind of show you don't get to see very often. There was just something about the tone of it that was right up my alley. There were all these little flourishes and raptures and all of it was performed by a talented ensemble. The script is about Transformation. And Traps. And Owls. And Ancient Demons. And Old Movie Stars. And Grange Hall Dances. And The Hindu AfterLife. And The Themes Of Flemish Paintings. And Ovid. And Bo Diddley. And Mobius Strips.
And Fugue. And Rabbit Holes. And Ziggurats. And Obelisks. And Pop Culture.
I really just got sucked up into the shady, sinister, quicksilver-dangerous world they created. Todd, you should be really proud. And everyone who has a chance this upcoming weekend should check it out.

You Can't Hurt Slaves, They're Made Outta Rubber.

Mom's reaction upon seeing my five week old beard (The Che, or The Fidel, as I call it now):

'OH SHIT! OHHHH Shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.' Priceless.

Mom and Dad came down for the day to see POE and that makes me really glad. Amber and Brian saw the show last night and we went out with the cast afterwards. Saturday's show and today's show were pretty decent.

Had lunch at Brian's (not Amber's Brian - the greasy spoon near my house). Talked, laughed, ordered grouper. It was a good time.

Overall, it was good to see everybody, to see my family. Even Mom. I don't think she quite realizes the way she pushes my buttons - she means well, she's a good person - but sometimes in the middle of talking to her - I get this overwhelming sense of doom. I'm not good enough - I'm wasting myself - I don't know. She just wants what's best for me, or something better for me. Right before I went backstage, she asked if I wanted to move back to Jacksonville, live with them, finish school up there, get it out of the way, start over...and I know that her heart is in the right place - it just made me feel like...instead of doing anything productive, for me, for my future...I'm doing this shitty little community theatre show, for free, wasting my time, circling the drain...and I realize that that's NOT what she intended at all, it's just my negative reaction...I don't know. I mean, it's not like I don't want something better for myself, something stable. Some future. It just gives me this empty feeling, this feeling like I just want her to not worry, to be proud...but then, I'm not exactly doing anything worthy of being proud of...unless living paycheck to paycheck by the skin of your teeth with no prospects is suppose to somehow be admirable in a bohemian way and I don't think it is.

Anyway, I've gone off on a tangent. They both enjoyed the show. A little weird and the ribbon dance was a little too sexed up, maybe. But overall they enjoyed it and I'm trying to hold on to that. Mom said that she learned a lot about Poe and that it's always good to learn something. It was good to see them. I miss them, in my own way. I miss them a great deal.

So, tonight, it looks like a little cook out over at Kevin and Anna's place. Maybe watch ROME. hang out. The weather is flirting with the idea of being nice and cool. Should be fun.

You Try Not To Judge And I'll Try Not To Suck

Tonight should be fun. Amber and Brian are coming to see POE and they're bringing Becky and Liz along for the (sorry, I'm contractually obligated to say this)....."descend into the maelstorm". Can't wait to hang out after the show. That's the nice thing about being in such a short show - you blink and it's time to towel off and drink a beer and figure out how you really want to spend the evening.

On A Loop In My Head

This song lyric:

'So they say you're a troubled boy
because you like to destroy
things that bring the idiots joy.
Well what's wrong with a little destruction?'

It's funny how your brain will bookmark certain songs and attach them to chapters in your life. We all do it.

What's one of yours? A lyric, a beat of music, a soundtrack that just makes time bend, refract, recede, invert, wormhole -- and there you are. Again.

Was it a moment of triumph? Loss? What? The lady or the tiger?

Beyond John and Jennifer.....

1. YOUR PORN STAR NAME (name of first pet + street you grew up on) :

Chi-Chi Duval

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME (grand parent of same gender's first name + favorite snack) :

Joe Hummus

3. YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME (first word you see on your left + favorite restaurant) :

Poe Thai Place

4. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME (first initial + first three letters of your last name):

J. Geo

5. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME (favorite animal + name of high school mascot):

Rabbit Buccaneer

6. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name + city where you were born):

Joshua Jacksonville

7. YOUR OPPOSITE SEX NAME (name of sibling/parent [opposite sex] + cell phone company you use):

Diann Verizon

8. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (first 3 letters of your last name + last 3 letters of mother's maidenname /+/ first 3 letters of your pet's name or the last you had + first3 letters of the town you live in):

Geo'Der Chi Orl

9. YOUR DRAG QUEEN NAME (first female pet + your mother's maiden name) - I added this one:

Asia Warder

Getting-Into-Trouble Weather

Spent too much time
staring out of the window today.
Across the street,
two Halloween balloons were making love.

It was windy and their round,
pumpkinheads kept moving
back and forth.
Male and female.
Male and male.
Female and female.
Morphing
and sliding up and down each other's strings.

Delicate and rough.
Quick-quick, slow.
Twisting in their joy and confusion,
then unfurling like snapping flags
falling away from each other but never breaking apart.

Smiling their big Jack O Lantern smiles,
yellow jigsaws.
Eyes bright,
the shape of candycorn.
Eyes and smiles and silent laughter.

Watching them I couldn't help feeling
a little envious of the breeze touching
their shiny faces
and
invisible bodies.
I couldn't feel it from where I stood.

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.

Bugger You All

A tiny ant, three of its six legs crushed, moves slowly along. It can only walk in ever decreasing spirals.

More and more rooms are dark, lightbulbs smashed, doors locked and chained.

Trials and tests and feints and small, meaningless lies.

Boarded up, repressed, stifled. Slippage.

No words left on the vocabulary list - they've all been scratched off.

All the maps shrink to little patches. Mongol hoards, dragons, blank white space. Surrounded.

Hours crash and recede, endless and futile and the same. Over and over.

Scenes are written and repeated with only slight variations. Tricks. Overlap. Loops. Whorls.

Prisoner. Test subject. Slave. Flunky. Beggar. Confessor.

Sick of everyone. Tired. Frustrated. The rules are written in Chinese ideograms. All the service lines are down.

Box jellyfish stinger. Sharp teeth. Lungs full of water. Fingers stained with chalk and calculus problems.

Tarot flip. Fool. Hanged Man. Wheel Of Fortune. The Devil. The Empress. Death. Life.

The black and red of a roulette wheel - no gray, no black & white. No strategy. Random. Bitch-goddess Luck.

I've been here before. This place. I hate this place. I hate this place.

And yet I end up here every fucking time. Every non-confrontation, every non-decision, every swallow, every blink, every jet of semen, every smile, every half-truth, every defeat, every step...brings me back here: mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally...

Baboon. Ape. Mindless. Stupid. Speechless. So easy to just dismiss me. I make it easy.

I don't have the Words. The Voice. I'm not worth it, really.

This doesn't help.

Bugger You All.

I SO Have No Time For This

I'm starting to feel those classic symptoms of Josh Geoghagan Getting Sick: my ears are draining into my throat, I feel hot/feverish, my bones are feeling ache-y, my breath feels short. Fuck. And I'm sure six hours of running around like a spastic whoreson tonight won't improve any of those things.

Sit Still, Fucker!

I started learning to juggle at work yesterday - slow news day.
Ants in my pants. Spastic.
My ass laughs when I sit down, like, 'Thank Christ'.
So busy, so special, so smart, so pretty, so what, sew buttons.
Maelstorm.
Last night was wonderful. Warm. Beautiful.
Reminded me of other times.
Need to get up from this seat.
Wash some clothes - especially the clothes I have to wear at Swank tonight.
(Can I just say that I'm not a huge fan of the sound of that word - Swank - it sounds like the definition for thigh/ass/labial/scrotum sweat - I'm just saying I wouldn't name my club that)
I'd call my my club HEAD - and if you went there, you'd know what was up.
Little clown car - defeated by two wires - fucking blower motor - the new one sits in my passenger seat - my mocking copilot.
{clap clap}

Music Is The Victim

Thanks to my jobs, I end up with the strangest music stuck in my head. At Club Swank they play a lot of Rat Pack type stuff - which is fine for the most part - but there this one song - these evil looping song - a song that I KNOW is being channeled through the sulfur and magma encrusted speakers of Hell. I don't know the title. I don't know most of the words - but - the little OCD fixated part of my brain does know how it starts:

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

There's tons of little Rat Pack tangents and jokes and ha-ha-ha and for some reason my mind can't follow what the fuck the song is about - are they Romans - is the joke that The Rat Pack is touring The Ancient World? Anyway, it doesn't matter - I hate/loath/detest/shit on the song. And it's gotten so bad that like Pavlov's dog - I now start to get sick when I hear the song that comes on the CD before it (which happens to be Sammy Davis singing, 'Yes I Can' - a decent song that I hold no malice towards). Only now I do - cause I know that the next fucking song will be THAT FUCKING SONG, so the hate starts to bleed over onto Sammy Davis cause I know with every note he takes me on a journey that will open in Venice and next play Verona.

The music from Fairy Tales is more sickly-sweet kid songs, or worse, kids singing adult songs. Singing them in this real passionate way - you can just picture these little asshole kids and their showbiz, pushy parents and the kids complaining about their voices and needing water with lemon and man, I just want to fucking kick that girl singing, 'Never Fall In Love Again' in the temple.

"I'LL NEVER FALL IN LOOOVE AGAAAAAAAIIIIINNNN. I'LL NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN."

Or those fucking kids singing CATS.

I never thought that I'd be so happy to hear Jack Johnson and John Mayer. Thank goodness for semi-bland/passive/innocuous/and/yet/basically/tolerable music. My body is,indeed, a wonderland and my toes are, indeed, bubbly. Thank you gentlemen.

The best stuff we play at Fairy Tales is They Might Be Giants and G Love With Special Sauce. Followed closely by The Putamayo Series { Caribbean Playground, DreamLand, World Playground, French Cafe, American Blues }

I love this one song that goes:

"DADDY WAS KING OF THE BONGO, MAMMA WAS QUEEN OF THE CONGO, DEEP DOWN IN THE JUNGLE, I START BANGING PAPA'S BONGO"

And the chorus goes:

"KING OF THE BONGO, KING OF THE BONGO (BABY WHEN I COME HOME)"

And the best part is that it's this French Reggae guy.

And as far as Club Swank is concerned - there's something potent and poignant about cleaning up, sweeping up and listening to Billie Holiday. She always sounds like she's singing just for you, for some private shame, private pain. End of the night, cigarettes jabbed out into ashtrays, lingering smoke, dim lights, broken promises, hard luck, last slug of your drink, humid night, dry mouth, sweaty palms, blurred vision, two time losers, loud drunks, full garbage cans, tired muscles, insomniac perceptions....car keys....last moments....

....and that's just when she singing, 'Sunny Side Of The Street'. You don't even want to follow the trail of my thoughts during, 'Good Morning Heartache' or 'Strange Fruit'. But I suppose Billie can be a little intense when you're trying to keep people happy and buying drinks - not sad and getting wasted.

It was fun the other night when Christian put in a burned CD of the U2 concert he and Peni went to last month. Good CD, sounded like a great concert to get to see. And good music to clean up/work to.

- - - - - -

I feel so busy. Still not an expert at juggling my two jobs. This week I did pretty well. Fairy Tales yesterday and today. Club Swank tomorrow through Friday. Off Saturday. Fairy Tales on Sunday. Next week is when it's going to start to get hairy because I've gotta throw Sons Of The Revolution into the mix - which reminds me, I need to pick up my script tomorrow. And tomorrow I'm finally going to talk with Matt about Rollins. And I've already asked for the dates of my Mad Cow audition and Rep Callback off. But I like being busy. In fact, I need to wrap this up and head out to Target soon.

Cooler Heads Will Prevail

I should already be in the shower...oh my stars and garters, it's later than I thought. So much for a blogging tangent that I've been thinking about atacking for awhile. Another day, another post.

Don't Get Lost In Heaven

I feel like I've beaten - Deadwood-style.

Late late night at Club Swank (their grand opening). That's the busiest it's ever been. I was running around like a spastic. But at the end of the night, the tips ruled and I was more than a little drunk...got home around four this morning.

I think the thing that I like about the job is - when it's busy and you're basically chasing after this or that crisis (or, if you're lucky, heading them off at the pass) - everything just kind of falls away - I'm not Josh, not a series of problems and bullshit and a thousand minor fuck ups - I don't know, you're just so consumed with doing what you've got to do - I can't think, can't worry, can't do anything but move move move - like a fucking shark. Not to equate working in a bar with being zen on the mountaintop or anything like that - but you do really have to be in The Present - no brooding, no repenting. Move move move. Reminds me of Joseph Conrad quote - something like, "I don't like work - no man does - but I like what is in the work - the chance to find youself."

The absolute, final farewell performance of Horror Over Drink went great. Great audience. Gina and Geoff were able to come down to see it. The time putting on that mask. Our show was the 'venue winner' of this Five From The Fringe event - we had a ton of people come and check it out. So, we should have a little money coming to us from this, so, that's cool. And I got to throw in a line that I really wanted to say, "So what? Sew buttons!!" It seems like something my Pinhead would say. The funny thing is, I wanted to tell Mike to say, 'So what?' during our arguement - but I forget - and for whatever reason, he ended up saying it anyway - it was like being a sniper in a movie, this little voice in my head was screaming - 'Take The Shot! Take The Shot!'

After the show, John had a bottle of Dom Perignon for us - which was nice. But it was a little embarassing because all the people from Obsenity were back there getting ready for their show and the backstage area already felt like their space. And I just wanted water, I was hot as hell. But it was funny, John buying that, to celebrate our run.

So, Gina and Geoff and their friend Vance and myself stuck around to watch Obsenity. Their performance Friday was better than when I saw it at Fringe. Afterward, we all went to The Peacock Room - hung out. It was good to see Gina and Geoff - it had been forever.

Also, I got a call from Chad Lewis Friday --- I've been cast in Sons Of The Revolution. I'm really excited. I'm been really impressed with everything I've seen Chad direct - so to get to be on the inside of that is really amazing. And it's also very...I don't know...very cool to get to be one of the people that brings David and Steve's baby to life.

Things seem to be just dashing along, don't they?....

Well, I need to shower, figure out what I'm going to do today, and go do it. My eyes are killing me. They're so dry - probably from wearing my contacts for so long yesterday.

I feel fabulous. Content. Like all my bullshit is...pushed...a smidge further away today.

{smirks}