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}

5,6,7,8....

This morning starts an insane 48 hours of Fairy Tales-Club Swank-Fairy Tales again-oh-hello-Club Swank....then I'm off Friday for a little Horror Over Drinks....then back into the fray with Fairy Tales-Club Swank on Saturday....get me to Sunday.

What's The Frequency, Joseph?

Keep the plates spinning - the fine, fine china.

Had an audition for SOTR Sunday - not my finest hour - and somehow I knew it wouldn't be. I don't think that it was horrible - I just felt bland as white walls during my scenes. And my monologue - which I love - I never felt the flow of it - I heard myself slipping into this sing-song-y cadence, this unnatural rhythm - fuckfuckfuck - I could hear it and I don't know if it was nerves because of Chad Lewis or because I wanted to kick ass in front of David and Steve - if I wanted to seem...legit somehow...I don't know exactly what I mean...well, I sort of do...but the thoughts connected to it are too complex....wheels within wheels...layers...anyway, I don't feel like I disgraced myself or anything. I just don't really know how to take that short amount of time at an audition and milk it and wring it for all it's worth -- I don't have any fireworks for that shit.

Man, I miss Todd. I was looking for somebody to hang out with yesterday - just get some food and shoot the shit. And I was scrolling through my cell and something...I don't even know what...kept me from calling any of the numbers in it. All those names and they just looked like locked doors. Dim. Barred. And I was just overwhelmed with missing Todd. The Archetype Of Male Friendship, you know. Maybe missing him was just an extention of missing all my old friends. Not that I couldn't have used some Todd time last night: Sarah was at rehearsal. Jeff, on vacation. So many people getting home from hard Mondays at work...people don't like The Drop In as much as I do...

Yesterday, I just really wanted...I don't know...a buddy, you know.

1) What's the most vicious thing you've ever said to someone?

I'm more of vicious thinker than a vicious sayer...the words are always more watered down, even if they seem pretty bad.

2) You HAVE TO get a tattoo on your face. What will it be?

The Red Queen. The Mad Hatter. The Queen Of Hearts. The White Rabbit. That sort of thing.

3) Utopia or Dystopia?

Of course, I'm going to say dystopia - that way I can be pleasantly surprised if we get our shit together.

4) What's your favorite Myth? (Ancient or Modern, your choice)

The Minotaur. Or maybe Icarus. Or the Norse Ragnarok.

5) Rub the lamp, see the genie, get your three wishes. (You can even wish you never got that tattoo, Lord, what were you thinking when you did that.)

Bliss on tap. The ability to 'push' people to do what I want them to do. And 1 million perfect ideas for novels, plays, poems, songs, etc.

6) Would you rather see The Future or travel to The Past?

See The Future. Cassandra, now there's a Myth that ends well....

7) Order or Chaos?

Order. Clean lines, that's me. Winston Smith here I come...

8) What's the worst Monster you can think of?

Something to scare Marcie, Steve, and myself: A monkey-with-cymbals that's also a marionette...and it's dressed like a clown....clown-white smeared on that monky face.....ghoulish strings making the cymbals clang together...

9) Do you pray?

Sort of. To a pseudo-amalgamation of my own design, a Buddha/Ka/Odin/Great Wheel/Grandfather Ancestor/ Cthulu/Whore Of Fate/Coyote/The Force kind of a thing.

10) You are given the ability to fold reality in such a way that you can change any one Law of Science, give Darwin a black eye, knock Steven Hawking out of his wheelchair, pinch Newton on the ass - what would you change if you could fold physics and make origami of all the Givens...?

I'd fold things in such a way that occasionally people would end up with superpowers....


11) What's the next book you're going to read?

The Warrior-Prophet by R. Scott Bakker.

12) What are your last words, Rosebud?

Let's see how this plays out.

13) What would you name your children, male or female? Or the young clones of yourself that you'd raise like your own children?

A son: Iggy. Titus.
A daughter: Scherezade or Sansa or Zoe.

14) You're not a Werewolf, you're a Were...?

...clown. Could there be a more loathsome creature than a Wereclown?

15) When was the last time you went swimming?

I can't even remember, damn.

And, So Far, This Is Sunday

It's hotter than Satan's Own Cum outside - loathsome weather.


Last night's Horror Over Drinks at Theatre Downtown played to its largest audience yet - there were only about ten empty seats in the whole joint. Pretty sweet. And, considering that we weren't able to have a brush-up (and I wasn't able to go to the tech rehearsal - just like Fringe) we fell right back into it. I broke some more of John's glassware. And I found myself throwing in everything but the kitchen sink as far as ad libs were concerned. I use to hate doing that - but with this show, there's something I really like about that feeling of laying down the railroad tracks seconds ahead of the train.

John had our Fringe money - my favorite thing, as you now know, is a plain, white envelope with twenty dollar bills inside of it. I wish every place would pay me that way - it would make paydays more exciting, more cloak and dagger, somehow.

There were a lot of pats on the back and atta boys waiting for me at the end of the show, which is nice. People really seem to like it - why does that surprise me so much? - my own insecurity, I suppose - my feeling that just my participation in something somehow dooms it to disgrace and failure - anyway, that's my shit to deal with, nobody else's.

On that subject, I'm still having trouble enjoying a show as I'm performing it...the moment. Most of the time I can look back and say, 'Damn, I'm proud of that.' But something in my nature keeps me from rolling around in accolades and good cheer during the run of a show. Can't do it. Feel like that would somehow make me an asshole.

Which kinda sucks cause let me tell you - laughter - I fucking love that sound. It's an opiate, a sweet milk of the poppy to me. I love that. Making people laugh, hearing them laugh, knowing, 'I did that.' It's amazing and complex and important to me. But it seems like I'm designed to hear the stutters, the fuck-ups, the misses, just as loudly as the homeruns.

God, I hope the next show I'm in has very simple costumes for me - counting backwards, I've been a washed up demon, a dirty tribesman, and a cow. I just want to wear jeans and a tee shirt on stage. No fuss, no make-up, minimal sweat.

But I am glad that, for our show anyway, it looks like this extended run is going to be a success.

The downtown Library didn't have a copy of You Can't Take It With You - but I found one at Barnes & Noble, found the characters of Henderson and Donald. Henderson is a bit part - only three pages in a Three Act play - but it's funny - he works for the IRS and he's your basic officious little prick, reading over it I had that feeling of, 'I know how to do that.' Donald, on the other hand, is a larger part - but it's a part that's suppose to be played by a black guy - he's the boyfriend to the maid and he's written in the cliched way you'd expect a black guy to be written in a play from the 30s or 40s or whenever. Very "OH'TAY" if you get my meaning. Now, I don't know if they're just going to make him a white guy and have the humor come from a family from that era not giving a shit about their black maid being a checkerboard chick. But there is a line of dialogue where one of the characters refers to them as, 'very Porgy and Bess' Smaller part of not - I'd rather be Henderson, I think.

Tonight is the SOTR audition. I'm sort of nervous sort of relaxed about the whole thing. My mood is swinging pretty sharply between those two extremes on this one. We'll just have to see how it plays out.

Choose Your Own Adventure...

I should be heading up to a auto parts types place to see about a motor for my AC.

Or I should be looking over my lines for Horror Over Drinks.

Or buying a new shirt and pair of pants to wear when I work at Club Swank.

Or I should be at a brake place - again for my invalid car.

Or going over my monologue for the SOTR audition.

Or I should clean up this house - hardcore-we're-talking-bleach-and-burning-nostrils cleaning.

Or doing yoga.

Or at the Library, getting a copy of You Can't Take It With You to look over.

Or buying groceries.

Or enjoying my lone day off - before the madness of tomorrow.

But instead, I sit here.

Last night was so slow, dead, undead.

And I just feel tired-in-my-bones tired.

Frozen. Beat. And I just want to sit still and put those things off and somehow be OKAY with putting those things off.

And there's something about this muggy/rainy weather that's annoying me.

I was folding some chairs yesterday and wondering, vaguely, about what other people were doing at that exact moment - friends - enemies - the loved and the loathed - it's funny how simple acts can clear your mind and let you think - force you to think.

Let you see little patterns to things...little paths.

Spits On The Sand Where The Bones Are Bleaching...

I had a weird dream last night/this morning. I dreamt I was in the play The Blue Room (from last year's Fringe) - well, it was sort of The Blue Room - the two actors who were in that show (Michael Marinaccio and Heather Leonardi) were still in it and they were still playing all the same parts - but from some reason, in between all their daisy chain scenes were all these other characters and props and stunts and madness. I was (in the dream) suppose to be in the last scene with Michael, my only scene - and we were suppose to be construction guys on a roof, fixing the roof and talking - only, I show up to the theatre and no one has a costume for me - and I'm wearing my bowling shoes and I kept whisper-screaming at people backstage that a roofer wouldn't wear bowling shoes on the job - so, finally I find a pair of black sneakers, say, 'These'll do.' and then somebody gives me a pair of cut-off jean shorts, 'Found your costume' - then to make it MORE roofer/contruction worker-like, they give me a hammer to put in one of the belt loops on my cut-off jean shorts. It's around this time in the dream that I realize that I haven't studied the scene at all - I don't know any of my lines and I think to myself, 'Maybe I'll just get the idea of what I'm suppose to say as we do it.' But just to be on the safe side - I look through a script and try to memorize as many lines as I can as quickly as I can - however, when Michael and I go onstage, he starts saying the lines for the character that I was trying to quick-memorize ----- It was around this awful moment where thankfully, I woke up.....(other dream-logic things in this dream, everyone backstage was being too fucking loud, so loud that it was overshadowing the people onstage and there were these big, wooden curtains-on-strings - like a big, moving picket fence backstage for some reason and it made this terrible clacka-clacka-clacka-clacka sound every time it move)

Today, I got a call from The Rep - for a callback for You Can't Take It With You. The callback is in July.

I need new brake pads/shoes/fluid whatever for my car.

I did my first storytime at Fairy Tales this Wednesday - and it brought back a lot of great memories for me. A good vibe. Just fun and like a breath of fresh air. Anna was impressed, 'You kept their attention longer than usual' I really hope that I can make that my little niche. It's fun. And the mother of the cute little elfin Georgia (where little Georgia gets her dryad-like Keebler looks, I don't know - not from her mother and father) said I was charming. That's a pretty nice thing.

Batman Begins rules. I can't wait to see it again.

Late night at Club Swank - I was bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter all night. Tonight, the bar goes to a full liquor bar - it's gonna be crazy.

Saturday is a day of costumes for me - Curious George in the morning and Pinhead at night.

Craft Corner Cabaret

I found this - this drawing of Liza Minelli - my last day at Fringe. It was on the table with all the flyers and hand outs and stuff. This big, black square of construction paper (like elementary school, like Garden City) with white-out used as paint to paint this picture of Liza from Cabaret - with the bowler hat - you know the image - and who ever did it/painted it, whatever - just used the white-out to pick out the grace notes and tiny motifs - a bit here a bit there - and there you go - there she is - pretty neat. Of course they also used white-out to spell LIZA in the upper left corner of the paper - a little overkill, in my opinion. Anyway, I though it was neat, brought it home, a little trophy from Fringe - set it on top of my DVD shelf. Over the course of the last few days, however, LIZA's structural integrity has shown some flaws - she's begun to slump. So, since a nice little frame for my Fringe White-Out Trophy would also be overkill - and inspired by one of my new favorite shows, Craft Corner DeathMatch - I decided to rig up a little bit more of a solid base for LIZA using some tape and cardstock. Now, she's as erect as the patrons of The Kit Kat Klub. The funny thing, to me, is, I'll never know who drew the little drawing or why or who it was for, or why...any of that. It just randomly crossed paths with me - and it's only contruction paper, so it's longevity couldn't be that long - so, eventually, it's gonna go bye-bye. I don't know - it strikes me as odd, all the way around. Ladies....and gentlemen....Miss Sally Bowles!!!

Five From The Fringe

Theatre Downtown now has the info up on their site about their Five From The Fringe event.

Horror Over Drinks. Obscenity. Go Left Right. Eye Candy. The Extraordinary Fila.

Those are the shows that were selected. If you click my link to Theatre Downtown's website - you can find out the ticket prices and what shows are playing on what nights. It's only two weekends (June 10th, 11th, 17th, 18th).