For My Next Trick...

I would like to thank everyone who came out to my birthday party. It was really fun. Of course, my memories of it are a little fuzzy around the edges. Or maybe burned around the edges, like an old Poloroid. It's like that NIN video where that title card: SCENE MISSING keeps showing up. Oh, look, more people are arriving, SCENE MISSING, oh, look, someone has a monkey strapped to a chair, SCENE MISSING, oh, look, I'm crying from sheer joy and Anna's sitting on my lap, SCENE MISSING, who invited that Chinese woman in the Kato mask, SCENE MISSING, Bateman's here and now Michael Jackson is playing on the stereo, SCENE MISSING, why is that pig head inpaled on that machine and why is it spinning around so much, SCENE MISSING, wasn't Marcie and Kevin's birthday card funny as hell, SCENE MISSING, it feels soooo good on the floor of my bathroom, SCENE MISSING, there were three in the bed and the little one said, roll over, roll over.....

And now I'm 27.

The Secret War

It's like Invasion Of The Body-Snatchers, sometimes. You're all alone, shouting in the street -- a paranoid freak. You know that they're Pod People -- and no one will believe you. You WANT to shout, to throw out barbs, to be cruel and sharp. But you can't. You've picked up the vibe - the sinister bit of static - the chemical spray, the undercurrent, the challenge...and it's under the table. To freak out about it - just makes you look foolish and stupid and weak. You can't let anybody know that 'They're Here Already!!' -- you've just gotta move rooks and bishops and knights...and jokes and smiles and handshakes....and that tiniest pulse of 'fuck you'...that shine behind your eyes that says, 'I know you, douche-bag'...it's weird and strange and I never expected to feel this way....I'm as shocked as anyone....we'll just have to see how this whole thing plays out...

This Is Why Mom Would Occasionally Go Off Her Meds.

Screw the pooch. Spread your legs and think of England. Blood is pumping through my swiss cheesed brain - thousand miles a hour. Glam-rock to the bone. Crushing ants, burning bridges -- God, it feels good to burn a few bridges -- even an old, moot bridge. I should do it more often. It's like three elephant lines of coke - it fills one up with a sort of useless energy and adrenaline - a little fight or fly. Fly-fly-fly. You can feel your teeth grind and your knuckles pop and the cartilage in your nose snap...your heart beats beats-beats-beats a little faster....but it's just cause you know you don't have anything to lose...not really...if only I could go into every confrontation like the suicide bomber who knows how this whole thing is going to play out.....a push, a nudge...and then...there you are....easy as setting down a load of bricks. Done. Eyes forward. Dogs have been kicked. Exchanges made. Up-up-up. Stop caring...you work quite well when you're cold, detached, icy. All your little memories boxed up and burned away. Yes. Yes, I think I should do this sort of thing more often. Who needs weak, watered down awkwardness - when you could just have showdowns...when you could say those things that can't be Unsaid. Cross lines. Sherman-through-Georgia kinda sentences...kinda thoughts. There's a box of them, waiting to be burned up...little floating musical notes....jazzy little ideas...jagged....sharp little things...you could cut your tongue off on any one of them.....you could carve off your own face...one of them.....you could slit your wrists, jab out your eyes....anally rape yourself with all these menacing little thoughts...hooks and the delicate stems of wine glasses...glass flowers....some of them are so pretty, these kill switches...garottes, barbs, bon mots, slang, theories, shivs, histories, codes, hot as heat lamps....or secrets....or hypocrisy. Finger pointing. You are a slave. You are my kind of liar. You are a weeper. And I smile and smile and smile like an idiot when I think about such silly little titles and betrayals and timelines and gaps in histories and what strange/illict fun it was. Mostly because it wasn't the right thing to do and it wasn't healthy and it was sort of fucked up and familiar. Soothing - the way church is for some people...sit back and let the sermon wash over you. The phrases and the games and the hush-hush...and the fact that it didn't mean anything...gave it an isolated freedom. Short lived and nice. And then you put that madness in the same room with the pathetic yelpings of these stupid puppy-like dramas...and they just don't rate. They don't count. The outcome is known. And that makes it easy to burn...to fish with dynamite...easy to screw the pooch...pull the tooth, say, 'Fuck it and fuck you. Thank you for playing.' So...crushing ants...check....but my blood is up....time to work my way up the food chain....the next person to fuck with me....I'm going to sink my teeth into his cheek minutes before I roast and eat his pets and children....I have replaced my tongue with a pit viper....my soul, if you want to call it that, has been shaped into a boot....I'm going to stomp on your face....but here I am getting all rosy and poetic with the process....

Don't Be Sure I'm As Crooked As I'm Suppose To Be

I'm a little sick today - hate to admit - like typing/saying it out loud - makes it MORE true. I just sneezed 17 times in a row...maybe 20, I don't know when I started counting. Have you ever sneezed that many times? Somewhere after 10 it just seems like you're running a joke into the ground...and as much as I love doing that...I started to feel pity for all the people who had to witness me doing it over the years...payback's a bitch. Speaking of pity, Peg O'Keefe said something interesting the other day at rehearsal, she said, "My mother always told me, 'Pity's a cousin to hate.' And I find that's true - when I feel sorry for someone I always realize that I'm about ten seconds away from being disgusted with them."

Secret Password

Jump on the Koopa Troopa on the...third step....and keep bouncing on that guy...for unlimited lives....

...And That Was All That I Needed.

Parties are fun. Making your own fun is also...fun. Wow-Never-Done-That-Before. It's a kind of insanity. A dare. A bubble. The first flush of a fever. A hallucination. Chemical madness. The interlocking pieces of a jigsaw. Patterns. Whispers. Hands over mouths. Fingers to lips. Waiting lines. Exits. Stage directions. Greedy little things. Noise. Words-words-words. Jumbles. Covers. Sunlight through blinds. Alarms. Dreams of coffee, magazines. Eyelashes. Noses. Ears. Parties are fun. Making your own fun is also...fun. Toy trains left running too long...burning circuits. The clack-a-clack-a-clack pull chain of a roller coaster...the first gasp, the belly-in-midair. Buttons pushed. Looks exchanged. Eyebrow raised. First thought, best thought. The present, truly. No regrets and no gulf of worry, doubt. And it's more of a smile than a smirk...and it feels effortless and cool.

Knees And Chin Are Skinned...

..but I'm NOT going to commit a felony today.

Wednesdays...

She's my sister/She's my daughter/She's my sister/She's my daughter/It's my Tuesday/It's my Friday/It's my Tuesday/It's my Friday/It's my Tuesday/It's my Friday.

Tomorrow - Fairy Tales, get check, bank, cash check, rent, gas up my car, drive around/pick up a few more applications, then, later, rehearsal/read through...

Zeus, We Pray, O Thundering God!!!

I can't wait for Wednesday and our first read through of Antigone. I'm curious about who else is cast, about what the concept for a 'modern' Antigone will look like, and I'm excited to know that that's how I'm going to be spending the next couple of weeks.

Damn It Feels Good To Be A Theban.

I got into Antigone at Mad Cow.

Middle Of Nowhere.

I've taken my eyes out.
Everything in my room is fuzzy, vague.
No definitions.
Up, dwelling...
Playing sad music on my computer.
Thank God I haven't downloaded any Billie Holiday.
I posted to ten jobs today online.
All of them pay better.
Don't know if I'll hear from any of them.
Don't know if I'd want any of them.
I work Friday through Tuesday.
The windows are open.
Long orbits, no gravity.
Starlets and smiles and dirty dishes and concert posters.
My heart is in my mouth.
My heart is in my mouth.
My heart is in my mouth.
My heart is in my mouth.
My heart is in my mouth.
I have a species of intelligence but I'm not actually very smart.
Or articulate.
Sometimes I understand what people are talking about.
And sometimes I just nod my head.
I run my mouth too much.
Cuthbert. Cuthbert. Cuthbert.
Rook. Rook. Rook.
Eddie Dean.
Babble. Joke. Laughter is an opiate.
Humor hard currency.
Most people I know aren't as funny as they think they are.
But I'll laugh at their jokes anyway.
What do I know?
Maybe they ARE really funny.
Circles and feints and riddles and blather.
Hogwash.
Found this old journal - no not a journal - there's just this random stuff written in it - movie quotes, Bible verses, famous quotes, inside jokes and odd catchphrases that I don't understand anymore - here's some of it
(this stuff is, like, from as far back as 1996):
Cool Hand.
Madcap.
Sweet Frost.
Drop Sam Colt.
Run Fast. Stand Still.
I hate them with perfect hatred, I count them my enemies.
Gusto.
Spunk.
Moxie.
Getting There.
I don't care what they do as long as they use some tickets.
You're acting like a mad dog.
Threading needles, can you do it?
Froggish?
He pointed at me and said, 'Live Forever!'
Phoney.
Not likely.
There were giants in the earth in those days.
Lost causes, sick puppies, everyone out of the pool.
Anyone for tennis?
You do this right, I'll get you an old dog to kick.
Anarchy. Helter Skelter.
There ain't no ocean and there ain't no way.
It already happened.
Attachment is the great fabricator of illusions;
reality can only be attained by someone who is detached.
It says humble.
Chance favors the prepared mind.
Doc Holiday. Crazy Horse. Giddyup.
What you say tempts me.
Damn skippy.
But the ticket, take the ride.
Knock down, drag out.
Nobody hates a proud man like a proud man.
Run.
Yell.
Jump.
Make the bastard chase you.
That's the rumor.
Super Fine!
They told me it was grape Kool-Aid and i only had one sip.
More ____ Than Most.
Chop Wood, Carry Water.
No matter how much you shake and prance...the last two drops go in your pants.
Steak Dinner.
You're won this round.
Clocktowers, regulators, BellSouth.
Tet, the Year of the Monkey.
I'd like to thank the whole motherfucking back row!
Take one for the team.
If you print that, I'll sue you for everything you own.
Chickie Chick. Chickie Babe. Super Chick. Super Babe.
When I die, I'll let you eat my brains, they'll give you powers.
That's a shame.
The Big X. The Cooler King.
Yoinks and Away.
He might be Teddy Roosevelt - but he ain't.
Loose Cannon.
Another jibe - another joke at my expense.
Reckless Eyeballing.
People who must be shanked.
Turn him/her/it/them Out.
Eat A Bowl Of Fuck.
Good to Drive.
Stupid Bench!!!!!
You never _____, no never again.
Dip Dip Creep Creep, Shoot Me Out The Cannon.
I'm unruly.
I gotta step-dip.
Belly Say ____.

There's more of this weirdness but I thought I'd leave you with something to make Amber laugh...I give you...

The Sexy Song

If you want some,
Come and get some.
Cause you KNOW my body is so firm.
And you cannot deny
That when you look at me
Your thoughts become filled with obsenities
I know I'm so fine.
And you cannot resist,
But to kiss me
On my sexy lips.

The Human Heart Looks Like A Fist Drenched In Blood

Watched Closer last night.
I liked it.
Ton of great lines, scenes.
The Clive Owens character may have been the most brutal, the simplest...'cause I'm a fucking caveman'....but I think he understood the game better than any of the others, expect, maybe Natalie Portman.
Certainly better than Jude Law's character.
Jude was more of a shoot-yourself-in-the-foot type.
I could relate.
It was funny - nobody was happy with their lilypad - but then they'd jump -
and still not be happy - or at least begin the process of sinking that lilypad.
Julia Roberts had one of the best, coldest, meanest, hamstring cutting lines I've ever heard (and I consider myself somewhat an expert on those):

'You look like the cat who got into the cream - you can stop licking yourself.'

It was delivered in this icy, offhand way - made you actually forget it was Julia Roberts for a moment.

Pretty good movie.

Like Yours -- Only Sweeter.

Sometimes a walk in the cold isn't so bad if the company is good.

Sometimes you can twist your mood around your finger like a bit of wire.

Sometimes coffee is important - even when you only have five bucks in your pocket.

Sometimes you're clever.

Sometimes people have the nicest smiles.

Sometimes an email from a friend saying they're gonna make it to your birthday party is the best.

Or getting your best-friend-since-kindergarten's cell number.

Sometimes you don't have to clean the house as much as you thought.

Sometimes you just gotta get out of the house for a bit.

Sometimes you think about what your next job is going to be.

And when it's going to be.

Sometimes being geeky and reading Dungeons & Dragons role-playing books is quite soothing.

But running a campaign would be better.

Or resuming gaming night with Kevin and Marcie.

I glad I was off today. Even though it's just Wednesday.

I'm glad I'm off tomorrow. Even though it's just Thursday.

I feel content. Or slightly high. I'm neither.

But I still feel sorta content right now.

In Brighter News.

What’s happened recently that’s made you happy?

Dancing at I-bar.
Lando Wars.
Taking pictures with Amber.
Giving Johnny Cash as a birthday present.
Having two decent auditions.
Making a few tough choices.
Planning a lazy Sunday for the near future.


What’s happened recently that’s made you mad?

Just me, doing pathetic shit.


What’s happened recently that’s made you sad?

It makes me sad when I slip up, when I disappoint friends, when I'm wishy-washy, when I lose control, when I fall into old patterns, when I can't let go, when I worry people....


What happened the last time you were turned on?

I probably either gave out some hickeys or received some...


What are you wearing today?

Faded-to-Hell, red and white striped pajama shorts, black underwear, and this shirt my Mom got me for Christmas, it is green with a weird symbol wrapped around the number 76 on the front.


What are you listening to right at this moment?

The sound of my computer humming along mixed with some hardcore wind and the occasional car driving by....


What’s your current favorite song?

I have a few right now and there are probably people reading this that I've jammed Nano earphones into their ears to make them listen to them...

'New Brad' by Volcano, I'm Still Excited
'A Million Ways' by Ok Go
'My Doorbell' by The White Stripes
'Danger! High Voltage' by Electric Six
'Middle Of Nowhere' by Hot Hot Heat


What are you reading right now?

The Ubu Plays by Alfred Jarry - and I'm not really enjoying it.


How’s work?

Slow.


How’s your love life?

Pretty good.


How much sleep did you get last night?

Actually, a decent amount. I'm off today - so, I got to sleep in.


What’s the last dream you remember having?

One of my Almost-Bitten-By-A-Rattlesnake-Jerk-Yourself-Awake dreams.


What are you currently looking forward to?

Hearing back from Mad Cow.
Seeing shows/ushering at Playfest.
Seeing Humble Boy.
My birthday party.

Vexed And Glorious....

I'm a strange mixture of Spill The Beans/Secret-Keeper. I'm sorry.

It's a good thing I never got into hard drugs, your heroins, your cracks, your cocaines, your crystals -- cause I'd be an effective junkie -- my worst habit is sticking my hand in that shiny beartrap...pushing that button that says: Don't Push The Button...doing stuff that I know is bad for me on all levels...and knowing that if I asked any of my friends or family for advice about it...if I asked Amber or Marcie or Jeff or Emily or Anna...I'd get the same advice from all of them...don't fucking do that any more, followed by the thousands of reasons why I shouldn't do it anymore...so I just...don't say anything...and I keep doing whatever it is...and then it builds and builds and I feel like...can't tell anyone about this now, it's slightly pass Secret and bordering on Lie...ha-ha, Amber would call this post fucking pussy...all blather and never getting down to brass tacks...I can hear her, 'Just what the fuck are you talking about, Josh. You hint at some secrets or some bullshit, either write it out or don't, but stop with all this vague shit.'

The weather tonight is so beautiful. It's real drive-with-the-windows-down weather.

Sometimes It Helps To Type These Things Out.

Truth is relative.
Print the legend.
Reality is malleable.
Grin when you say it.
Why is it so easy to look at someone else's life and say,
"I can solve all your problems in 3 easy steps..."
Is it a matter of being bold?
Of knowing what you want?
How many people do you have to hurt until you're happy?
What's the toll?
When does the shoe drop?
Shapeshifter, changeling...
Locked boxes, sealed containers...
Different personalities for different circles...
Relax at your own risk.
Smile and smile and smile...and be a villain.
Write your little poems.
Slivers, splinters...
You don't even know who you are anymore?
Which of these people do you want to be?
Do you even like any of your variations?
Ideas, attitudes, secrets, opinions, thoughts, lies, all gray.
When did it all get so fucking gray?
Composite.
Clone.
Make yourself nice and sharp - and cut as many people as you can.
You're fucking up. You're letting yourself fuck up.
Weak. Weak sauce.
You're going to let yourself make all the same mistakes.
And if you do that, you deserve exactly what you get.
The Wheel doesn't turn for people who slink around like you do...
Weasels and liars and shadows and weak-willed, wishy-washy tooth wigglers...
You're fucking up.
Actually, you're on the cusp of not just fucking up but of repeating all the patterns that have left you with nothing...that have ruined you.
And I don't plan on just fucking standing around and letting that happen, fucker.
This next part will be painful.
And you will be left with some scars.
But you will bleed and you will look up and thank me.
You are fucking up, Josh Geoghagan....and when you do that, the blast radius takes out a lot of people....
I'm cutting the blue wire.....all the blue wires....we will not be fucking up like this anymore....
It's done.
It's over.
You know.
You wrote.
You put it here for people to read.
It's done.
You will not fuck this up.
I deny you that ability.

I Have A Verb?

Auditions yesterday. I feel like they went well. I don't know if anything will come of them but I feel like I did a good job.
Went into work - opened the store - dashed downtown to Mad Cow for Antigone auditions. Got there early, walked around downtown listening to my Nano and trying to not feel sick and scared. Like, fuck it, you know? Whispered a little prayer to Anansi - 'Give me half of your charisma for just one minute' - Offered up favors and portions of my soul - that's how you gotta deal with these old gods, they always want favors. The prayer seemed to trick my brain, calmed me down.
The doors opened and I went inside. There's Peg O'Keefe, the director - and there's Alan Bruun, the producer. For a minute, in classic Josh style, I want to crumple into the floor and hide because he's seen me do this monologue -- everyone under the Sun has seen me do this monologue from Take Me Out. But, no, quick breath, fuck it....she hasn't seen me do it, go, go you bastard. Go.
And I do it. And it's good. No shame.
And Peg says, 'Very natural. I feel like your verb was something like, "to share", now do it again for us, you won't have to do the whole thing, do it again, and this time, Alan and I are foreigners, we've never seen a baseball game and I want your verb to be, "to convert" -- you're going to prove to us that this is going to change our lives. You can step forward and pierce the membrane, if you want and make it a little more intimate.'

Fooled you. I didn't even know that I had a verb. But okay, here goes.

And I do it again and it's different. I don't know how close to the mark I was with the "to convert" -- but it feels different. I may not have an actual craft but I take direction well. And they ask me to come back to the callback that night.

Go back to work, work three long, slow hours. Close the store, dash back to Mad Cow. See this old black bum, give him a dollar in quarters (it coulda been Anansi, for all I know) -- read a Creon/Haemon scene, watch some of the other peoples' scenes - strong stuff, a good group of people were left in that room, including a guy who was in Scapin with Todd.

If I'm going to hear anything, it'll be by the end of the week.

Drive like crazy to The Rep for the All In The Timing auditions. Cyd Stoll was checking people in, it's always nice to have somebody you know doing that. Ran into Kim Luffman (actually at both auditions), and Luerne. I went in and did my other monologue. The Durang. At this point in the day - I felt like I was slipping into a comfortable pair of jeans or wrapping myself in an old blanket. I know that Durang monologue and quite frankly, the two of us belong together. I should kiss Marcie full on the mouth for introducing us.

They love it. They laugh. I've never felt more at ease during an audition - maybe it was because I'd already done some hard stuff earlier, or maybe it was because I had nothing to lose - there's only one part in that show for me, my age range -- but fuck it all, I was funny as hell in there. I was relaxed, I was 'on', I could feel them bending to my will. I love making people laugh -- it's a fucking opiate. Afterwards, I got to read a scene from the show. But I didn't get a call about the callback tonight.

But yesterday was good. Not in a fake-my-lip-is-trembling-I-going-to-try-and-make-some-lemonade-outta-lemons way. It was just good. It felt good. Maybe nothing comes of any of it. Doesn't matter. I was a viable player in the game yesterday. No bone was tossed to me. I deserved to be there. And it felt good -- I didn't feel stupid or frightened or depressed or any of that shit. For a few minutes, I was pleased and at peace.

Then to finish off a wonderful day I went to Chipolte with Marcie. David joined us later. And after that I went to Kevin and Anna's and watched The L Word.

Well, I Still Have My Dignity....Oh, Wait....No, I Don't.

So the long and short of it is this - I'm squating down at work, rubbing my lower back out of numbness - and RRRRRIIIIIPPPPP!!!!! - the back of my jeans rip open, right around the area of my left cheek pocket (that's the pocket that holds both my wallet and my little phonebook). And then like some quasi/pseudo/flashback/fever dream/nightmare/horror show/snuff film I have these three little Teutonic, Aryan, Pride-Of-Norway, Village of The Damned children pointing at me and chanting in their evil kindergarten voices: "You ripped your pa-ANTS!! You ripped you pa-ANTS!!"

I only spent ten minutes hiding in the bathroom. Long enough for the vile hellbeast that spawned those brats to take them to some other store, to torture the sales associates there. I think those kids 'caused' my jeans to rip. Evolution jumps forward. Years from now, after they take over and we're all working in the mines, don't say I didn't warn you.

You're A Million Ways To Be Cruel

Today was a nice, little day. Got a haircut. Picked up some applications. Tonight I have tech rehearsal for the PRT Launch. After that, who knows....
Pay some bills, put some change in my pocket, a tattoo on my shoulder...I'll be pleased as punch to have a whole daisy chain of these types of days this whole year....ha. I know it can't last. There's a corner. There's a shoe, ready to drop. Some nightmare. Some dysfunction. But...there always is. New years don't change that. But this year, for me, it's not about the quiet moments before the storm or the mistakes...it's about how well I handle the fallout, how well I walk through fire...cause diasters occur...and I can't expect them not to have effects on me...but one of those effects cannot, must not be despair. Can't cry about the house blowing away...just gotta grab some nails and planks (crucify myself, just kidding) and rebuild. Choice. And what you choose. I've let myself push that Despair Button until the lettering's been wiped away. It's just not the shiny button it use to be. And it shouldn't have any attraction for me anymore. Ha. Let's see how well I wax Zen when something bad's actually going on......but nice little, blank days like this are...very lovely.

I'm So Happy My Urine Smells Like Popcorn.

Being content, joyous, happy, calm, relaxed -- why do these things make me feel like I'm wearing an itchy suit? I've had a really great New Year's. Yesterday and today have just - just ruled. I wish I could distill this feeling of ease, of effortlessness and take little sips of it throughout the year. I want this feeling to not seem so alien. I want this to be the norm.