Hey, Dirty, Baby I Gotcha Money, Don't You Worry....

Will someone please explain to me how or why a fucking bank can't pay its employees correctly?
One week you don't get paid at all -- this time it looks like only one week was entered into the system instead of two --

This is new ground for me -- this has never happened at any of my other jobs, shitty ones included. I've always been paid on time and the correct amount.

What the fuck?

I'm so pissed that I have to do this today -- fucking argue and ask questions and play fucking detective -- just to get the fucking money that I worked for.

I could bash every cunt's head in today with a fucking mallet. Fuck. Fuckers.

Bullshit.

What Say You And Me Go Kill Some College Kids, For Old Times' Sake.

The first read through of Horror Over Drinks went really well. JavaJohn has his shit together (or he looks and acts and sounds so much like he's got his shit together that it's practically the same thing). We all were given little packets of info: on our characters, costumes, the layout of our venue (we're Pink, I believe), a burned cd of some of the music we're using, schedules. I'll be interested to meet with the person helping out with my make-up but other than that, it was pretty cool. Chilled bottled water and an envelope of money. The guy playing Jason is very good. His name is Mike. He's a horror fan - he had on a House Of 1000 Corpses T-shirt. Which, of course, reminded me of Rocky -- and he's totally got the DVD of the show at home. He works at Universal with Katrina (our Columbia) and she let him borrow the disc. I wanted to shout, "I'm all over that fucker!!!"

It's funny, considering the characters we're suppose to be -- but parts of the show are actually kinda sweet. If we can all pull off the right tone with this -- I think it's going to be really nice. A show that people will enjoy. The genetics are there, the construct is there -- it's going to be such hard work -- crazy time table -- but it's what I want -- to keep moving, busy -- like a shark. Put flesh on it.

I'm excited. I'm hopeful. I feel really good about this. I think Fringe is going to be fun. Busy. Crazy. Hectic. Insane. Fucked Up. But very fun.

The next month is gonna be intense. At every stage of the game. All facets of my life.

Jump right in.

What Are Some Lines You Remember From The Hellraiser Movies?

This is all I can think of:

'We have such sights to show you.'
'What's your pleasure, sir?'
'I'll tear your soul apart.'

I would love to find silly places to inject these lines into the show....

Chant From A Children's Game

The lions sing and the hills take flight.
The moon by day and the sun by night.
Blind woman, deaf man, jackdaw fool.
Let The Lord Of Chaos rule.


-- Robert Jordan

You Know A Poetry Reading Is Going To Be Good When....

...a teeny, tiny seven year old black girl goes up to the microphone and says,

"My next piece is called, 'This Shit Looks Broken'....."

There's something about that that fills me with joy and hope and I don't know.....there's gotta be some phrase some where....maybe in French or Italian or Japanese....something that just loses everything upon translation....that would sum up/explain....my enthusiasm for....the idea of that.

Truth is Relative. Print the Legend. History is written by the winners. Family stories are my only fortune. Pecos Bill. Tall tales. Onion layer, skin. Evolve. Grow. Truth is Relative. Your side, my side, and the Truth -- and nobody's lying. Add. Cibola. Myth. Art. Cibola: Seven-In-One. Sacred. It is the Tale, not He who tells it. Clay. Ether. Stutter. Forget. Trip. Reforge. Morph. Changeling. Shapeshifter. Seven-In-One. Mummers. Cycle. Wheel. Stories. Rituals. Poems. Stretch. Ink. Flow. Run fast, Stand Still. Lizard. Dart.

I forget the lessons, the thread, long before I'm done telling the tale....every time.

But I know when something's funny. And that was funny. And it the little pantheon in my head, there are few things more holy, more beautiful than that -- making someone laugh, giving someone a story to tell, using your own gravity to send someone off in a new direction, with a new thought, juxtapostion.....all my heroes and angels and devils are, in the end, jesters, giving speeches with their pants around their ankles and pie on their faces....they make good moods worth having and bad moods....well, they make bad moods worse, not because of their absence....because bad moods are like losing the story, not getting the joke, missing the point, the thread.....but they make always make odd-in-between moods like the one I'm in now interesting. My serotonin should come equipped with a big door with an engraving on it that says: If You Don't Swing, Don't Ring.

I'm doomed to it, I suppose -- but on this side of the slide -- it doesn't feel so bad or boring or whatever -- it feels like there's all this time and energy and worm hole short cuts right at the tips of my fingers. Like this stupid fluke of genetics, of blood, may have some rewards buried in the muck. Top of the world. Top of the wall - dash away, dash away dash away all.

It's like I'm slicing up my own brain. My memories. Empathica. Absentia. What is the name of the black stuff in people's eyes? This next one is called....this shit looks broken. So happy I could cry. Or shit. Or shave. Or drink bleach. Tiny orange-ish pink bleach stains all over my brown pants. Historian. Librarian. Card Catologue. Dewey Decimal System. I imagine my grin must look something like a death's head right now. Why did I try cleaning the bathroom in those pants?

The tragic thing about getting what you want -- is that you get what you once wanted.

My Favorite Coasters Song

I plopped down in my easy chair
and turned on Channel Two,
a fat gunslinger named Salty Sam
was a-chasing poor Sweet Sue.

He trapped her in The Old Saw Mill
and said with an evil laugh,
"If you don't give me the deed to your ranch,
I'm gonna saw you all in half."

And then he grabbed her! (And then?)
He tied her up! (And then?)
He turned on the buzzsaw!!!
(And then? And then?)
Uh-huh...

And then along came Jones
Tall, thin Jones.
Slow walking Jones.
Slow talking Jones.
Along came lonely, lanky Jones.

Commercial came on, so I got up, to fix myself a snack,
you shoulda seen what was going on by the time that I got back...

Down in The Old Abandoned Mine,
Sweet Sue was a-having fits,
that villain said,
"Give me the deed to your ranch,
or I'll blow you all to bits."

And then he grabbed her! (And then?)
He tied her up! (And then?)
He lit the fuse to the dynamite!
(And then? And then?)
Uh-huh...

And then along came Jones,
Tall. thin Jones.
Slow walking Jones, slow talking Jones.
Along came lonely, lanky Jones.

I got so bugged I turned it off
and turned on another show.
But there was the same old Shoot Em Up
and the same old Rodeo.

Salty Sam was a-trying to stuff Sweet Sue in a burlap sack.
That villian said,
"Give me the deed to your ranch or I'll throw you on The Railroad Track."

And then he grabbed her! (And then?)
He tied her up! (And then)
He threw her on The Railroad Track! (And then?)
A TRAIN STARTED COMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(AND THEN? AND THEN!?!?!)


Uh-huh.

And then along came Jones.
Tall, thin Jones.
Slow waling Jones, slow talking Jones.
Along came lonely, lanky Jones.

Along came lonely, lanky Jones.

Welcome To The Layer Cake

I'm so excited. Tonight is the Orlando Fringe Preview Night. A small taste of all the madness that's coming in May. And this year - thanks to JavaJohn - I get to be a part of that madness. I've accepted a role in his Fringe show, Horror Over Drinks. I'll be playing Pinhead. From Hellraiser. Tonight should be really fun - a lot of my friends are in shows this year, so I have a lot of people to support. (The next best thing to being in a show is seeing your friends kick ass in their shows) Plus, it'll be interesting to see who's coming back from last year - all the out-of-town acts. It'll be cool to see everyone tonight. And I think there's the slightest outline of a plan to go to Club Swank - a new cabaret/actor hang out/bar in town. I just have so many great memories from last year's Fringe - it was what I needed at the time - and hopefully I can add more good memories from this year. Feeling this positive about something (whether it's Fringe in general or just tonight) seems like wearing an itchy suit. I don't get out of the bank today until after five - so we're gonna be cutting it close.

The Rich ARE Different.

Got caught in a little bit of traffic this morning. A train? Something. Anyway, there was this Lexus/BMW type nice car in front of me. Very fancy, very high end. (Sorry, cars and guns, I just don't know the names or numbers of either). So, this nice car in front of me -- and I can see the-guy-driving-the-car's head bobbing up and down, annoyed, pissed at the traffic. He's making gestures and probably yelling and sputtering (I know that I was doing all those things at this point). Suddenly, the guy jerks over to his passenger seat, rolls down his window (or presses a button that rolls down the driver's side window) and tosses this clump, this red mass out od the window. What? So, as I creep up closer, as traffic starts to slowly move forward, I look out of my window and take a closer look at what he threw: Raw, red hamburger meat. Just meat, no plastic, no styrofoam package -- just uncooked clumps of hamburger, sitting there on Fairbanks.
I have spent the rest of this morning trying to put together a chain of events that could make sense of the why and how of all of this. It's like a Choose Your Own Adventure story - why did the guy throw the meat out of the car? Why did he take it out of its wrapper? Was there a wrapper? Was it really hamburger? Human flesh? Alien brain matter? Some X-files-type cancer cells. I feel like I should have spent the rest of the morning following that Lexus/BMW/Whatever around. I feel like, as I type, sitting here in the bank, this guy is in the middle of some great, horrible Cloak & Dagger mishap. He needs my help. And I'm stuck here.

This Is From Mystery Science Theatre 3000 And It Makes Me Laugh

This Is The Song, Written For The Train Chase.
This Is The Song--
Rocky And Ken!!!!!
He Tried To Kill Me With A Forklift!
Ole!!!!!!


It helps if you picture two Asian guys in futuristic spandex costumes fighting each other.

Tell Them Your Pleasure's Set On Slow Release

I'm home.The weekend is almost upon us. The Oedipus Cast party is on Saturday. I can't wait. I'm auditioning for a Fringe show tomorrow. The Fringe preview night is Monday. I'm going to play some music - all I want to hear is: Mister Brightside, Someday, Evil, and Float On --- I plan on playing this music really loud while I jump and dance around. Glad this day is over. Work, well, it didn't exactly suck - but they are making it easy to not feel bad about moving on. Glad this week is drawing to a close. How is it possible to feel like you've been punched in the stomach and smiled at.....all at the same time? Jesus, somebody get out the Josh Mood Swing Pie Chart, please, I need to check on something. It's spiky - a mixture of unease and hope. Fuck it. I'm not impressed and I'm not scared --- bloody digits dig into The Wheel --- dip, dip, creep, creep, shoot me out the cannon. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Next week. Pay day. Following weekend. Fairy Tales, week one. Week two. Week three, Fringe. Ha-ha. Fuck you. Still got a king and a ragged line of pawns and I'm fucking going to win, you shit, you fuck.....wait, am I talking to myself or some new enemy I don't know about yet? Whichever, same difference.

Would You Like To See Me Stick Nine Inch Nails Through Each One Of My Eyelids

It's pretty surreal to be sitting here in the bank, slow day, listening to that Nine Inch Nail's song, 'Closer' play really loud on the radio.

Manic Panic

It's Time, Homie.

Run Fast, Stand Still.

Tick-tock, Tick-tock

Bird And Bear And Hare And Fish.

Relativity.

Clown Hammer.

Pulling Victory From The Jaws Of Defeat.

Escape Velocity Reaches The Speed Of Light: Welcome To A Blackhole.

Let's See How This Plays Out.

Repent The Past, Brood On The Future.

The Hand Of Fate.

Geoghagan Luck. Geoghagan Curse.

The Wheel.

The Fool.

Old Gods.

Odin. Osirus. Anubis. Loki. Kali.

Empty Vessels.

Winner Gland.

Do Or Do Not, There Is No Try.

We Buried 'Can't' In The Sixth Grade - Had A Funeral And Everything.

Rooks - Knights - Bishops - Pawns

No King, No Queen.

Fears, Madness....

Tea Parties.

Brer Rabbit, White Rabbit.

Zoloft. Glasses Of Water.

The Clearing At The End Of The Path.

It's All The Same Jolly Fakement To Me.

Ramble On.

Sheep. Androids. Tests.

It Was Worth It All Just To Learn Some Sleight-Of-Hand.

Glad-Of-War.

Somebody's Idea Of Paradise.

Rosaline And Her True Apothecary.

My First Thought Was - He Lied In Every Word.

I Will Show You Fear In A Handful Of Dust.

Shattershot.

Walking On Broken Glass. Mister Glass.

Kaotic Chic. Wrapped In Plastic. Trapper Keeper.

Are You On The Ball Up There?

Yeah. Are You On The Ball Down There?

Yeah, Of Course.

Well, Bounce Up Here And Kiss My Ass.

Love, Love Will Tear Us Apart, Again.

Pound Notes. Exchange Rates.

You Must Be Master And Win - Or Serve And Lose. Grieve Or Triumph. Be The Anvil Or The Hammer.

Bliss.

Ease.

Delirium.

The Effortless Cool.

Good Orderly Direction.

Mania.

Pulse.

Shudder.

Swing Away.

I Can't Focus My Eyes.

I Can't Sit Still.

I Can't Run Fast Enough.

Arcadia: I Drop Too Many Things Along The Way.

The Way To Where?

Burned, Lost, Fragments.

Endgame.

Feint-within-feints.

Paranoid.

Jitter.

Pop.

Up Up Up Up.

Up And Out.

Up Up And Away.

Ka.

Endless.

A Cold Night In Thebes

John said it best, "Tonight's gonna be a cold night in Thebes -- use it."
The wind was chilly, the sand felt like it was laced with ice chips, all our bodies were bloodless and cold...

And tonight was one of our best shows. Hands down.

Tomorrow we close. It's been a great run. A success all around. Hell, with our profit sharing and the number of people we've had in our audiences -- we might even make out with a little $15 check -- (maybe not enough to make up for parking - but still a victory). Not a bad gig.

It's going to be kinda sad. It always is.

Everybody was on tonight - it was beautiful - it felt great. At one point John even gave Christain a Michael Corleone-style-Fredo-I-knew-it-was-you-and-it-broke-my-heart-kiss. Badass.

On the way back to our cars, Sarah (2nd Messenger) and I crashed the Green Day concert at The TD Waterhouse. Sort of. We stood near an open door and listened to a few songs. Kinda a free concert, even if it was freezing by then. Fun, though.

Then I got home, took the second to last hardcore shower I'll have to take, watched the mud and the mess slip down the drain, put on some pajamas and a long sleeve shirt, and settled into the rest of my evening.

Wait For The Wheel

Yesterday was a great example of being under The Wheel - that eagle eyed, cosmic-fate-ka-destiny-free will-karmic-dharmic-device - of being ground down, shattered, broken. Joints popped from their sockets, eyes squished to jelly, bones filled with jagged glass. A test, a test, it's all a fucking test. Someone, something, some where -- tending the lighthouse, better be fucking grading me on a curve. The pressure of The Wheel has been on top of me for so long -- bottom of the barrel, under the fucking barrel -- I don't know how to jab the numbs of my fingers into The Bastard to find purchase, to pull, to scrape, to drag myself upwards. The Fool. The Wheel Of Fortune. The Tower. The Devil. The Empress. It gets so you can't breath under here, can't see. This isn't internal, this isn't my fucked up chemistry -- this is outside, this is Other. External. Enemy. Some test, some debt.

I had this vivid dream Wednesday night. Powerful and fucked up dream. I was looking out of my window at the trees -- when suddenly this face, this old man's face appeared among the branches. And he started talking to me in this weird language that I slowly began to understand. He was hanging from the tree with a spear in his side. He only had one fucking eye. He called himself: Gallows God, Glad-Of-War, All-Father. There were two ravens or crows sitting in the tree with him. It was fucking Odin. Norse god. You know Thor, Loki, that kind of thing. I know a little bit about Norse mythology -- but I had forgotten a lot of it until I had this dream. I guess some lower part of my brain was thinking about it, remembering it. Anyway, he tells me to come and hang from the tree too. And I step out of my window and next thing I know - there I am, swinging from a noose, choking, dying, eyes filling with blood - and then I woke up, coughing, felt like I couldn't breath. Fucked up dream, huh?

Maybe all this praying to Apollo and Athena and Zeus for Oedipus got some dim memory of Odin a little jealous?

It was a really strange dream. And I have tons of strange dreams. It was strange in that it felt like I was awake - in the context of the dream it didn't seem unusual to look out my window and see a god hanging from a tree. Or to join him out there. It felt more real than the whole week I spent at the bank -- like I was more AWAKE hanging from that tree (Isn't there some Norse thing about a tree? A World Tree? Something like that.) than I was shuffling away behind the teller line.

Or maybe I've read to much Neil Gaiman...

Just Nod If You Can Hear Me.

I don't know if this is a hanging offense or not....but I thought I'd drop a line from work.
Wish I could write more....but it's taken 20 minutes to write this much.
Tedium is the medium.

Trying To Be Radiant

I was recently looking through this book about Buddha -- and there was a passage about some monks that were alive during his time -- and people would comment about how happy they were -- not just happy but radiant -- and Buddha replied that they were happy because they were living fully, perfectly in the present -- they did not repent the past -- they did not brood on the future -- they were truly living in the moment --

And that made me realize, that's all I do: repent the past and brood on the future. And all I get out of the deal is a lot of worry and doubt and self-loathing. I can't remember the last time I just looked around and said: This is where I should be, I am content. I can't remember the last time I maintained any joy out of the present. I'm always looking back and wishing I'd done something different -- or looking forward and wondering when the next shoe will drop. George Orwell said it best, "If you want to picture the future, picture a boot stomping on a human face for the rest of time." Or something like that, more or less.

This is something I need to work on. Setting aside the past and letting the future take care of itself.

I'm very nervous about tonight's show since we were rained out last night. (Wow - and with that one sentence we can see both the past and the future, camped out on my shoulders, pecking at my eyes). Tonight a lot of people who are important to me are coming -- and I just want it to be good for them.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

The opening weekend of Oedipus is almost over. The last two nights have felt really good. The energy is really high. I am sore all over. It's a good kind of sore though. I think that we're doing justice to the play and to John's vision of the show. And I have to say again: it felt good. I'm nervous as hell before walking through those doors at the beginning but after that I just give in, let go, jump in. (Thinking back over other shows I realize that all my nerves happen right before a first entrance - then the butterflies get turned into energy.)

The trick was played on me again -- how does it happen? -- shouldn't I know better? -- how do you go from that 'we open next week' chaos, where problems are popping up like whack-a-mole to show ready machine-organism-tribe-cast? It's really amazing to me -- and it catches me off guard every time, every show. It's really fun to watch all the gears and bells and sprockets just...click away, like we've been doing it for years. Don't get me wrong - I always feel like things could be sharper, timing improved, whatever -- but -- I don't know -- every show seems to be this way (for me) -- it's just -- I'm just always pleased and proud and shocked and gleeful at how much things coalesce in the final days leading up to an audience. The pressure of people? Of asses in seat? Of paying customers? Who knows? I don't. If any of you out there have thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them. It might save me proto-ulcers for future shows.

Friday night there were a lot of people who came out and supported the show. Thank you. Amanda, John, Steve, Kim, Natalie, Eric, Tyler...

My Dad came down from Jacksonville yesterday morning. To help me with my car. It was suppose to be Mom and Dad - they were going to come see Oedipus as well. Mom stayed home. Called in sick, if you will. Sent Dad in her stead. Poor Dad, all alone on this fucked up journey to Thebes.

Dad and I had a great day. Worked on the car (a mysterious noise that came and went this week, like a ghost). Then drove out to Park Avenue to pick up an application for Fairy Tales, a children's bookstore -- Anna, our choreographer for Oedipus works there and she said this week would be a good time to pick one up. Then we went to O'boys, had some lunch, went to Borders (where I read The Episode III graphic novel and am now drooling over the new Star Wars movie)

Dad and I drove around town listening to Johnny Cash - it reminded me of when I was little and him and me and Amber would go 'scooter pooping' as he called it. What it amounted to was aimless driving, maybe to get ice cream, or see Uncle Lee, or tour some old forgotten area of Jacksonville -- always with Dad's laid back commentary and back stories -- 'this is where the old movie houses use to be -- The Imperial, The Empress, The Gem...The Florida Theatre is the only one still standing'...and he had snuck into them all....nine years old and outsmarting ushers left and right....sneaking into the dimly lit world to watch icons, cowboys, gods, and monsters flicker up there a million feet high...the way all his stories flicker away in my mind.

Dad gets it, in his own way. He may not be educated or have a vast knowledge of theatre or the arts -- but he gets it on a gut level. In his bones, in his voice, in the tiny rush he feels at telling a good joke or having a half circle of people in the palm of his hand at a family gathering, telling one one of his stories. One of the great legends of our family. The Geoghagan oral tradition, the thing that makes us immortal, untouchable, charmed. By blood I'm connected to stories as powerful and sacred to me as any told about Zeus or Odin or Brer Rabbit or Coyote or Christ. My Dad is a storyteller, so in his way, he can understand what drives me to want to be a part of all these stories I find myself in - Oedipus, Into The Woods, Noises Off, Rocky Horror. He understands it. And he approves. He enjoyed the show, thought everyone did a great job. We both agreed, it wouldn't have been Mom's cup of tea.

Dad was glad I gave him the Cliff Notes story of Oedipus before the show (which I did, not to insult him - but let's face it - a lot of these Greek plays were written, well, for ancient Greeks who knew all the myths and backstory - like Oedipus answering the Sphinx's Riddle - the way we all know what happened on our favorite TV shows last night - and I just wanted Dad to have a little map and a little dramatis personae).

He did say he hasn't see people that dirty since one of the Andrew Jackson/Robert E Lee High School football games of his youth. I told him I couldn't remember the last time I've eaten this much dirt.

I want to put some pictures up, eventually. But for now, check out the Empty Spaces website down there with my links. Click on that and then click on photo gallery and you can check out some nice pictures by the woman who took a lot of our Rocky pics.

This was on the cards that Kevin, our musical director, passed out to the cast:

Oedipus The King
Tragedy Is The Celebration Of Life
"The Real Tragedy In The World Is That There Are Too Many People In The World
To Love And Be Loved By, And Not Enough Time To Love And Be Loved By Them All."

During the last week of rehearsals, Kevin's friend's father passed away. The quote is from him.