May 3, 2002

Of course it easier to write about bad experiences in life in retrospect. I have read what I wrote about a nervous breakdown in the middle of having the breakdown and it is actually rather calming and not the least bit manic. Go figure. When this was written, I was already sleeping better so that means I was already with my wife. Since the portion that was cut out and tossed into the garbage was a lengthy and pretty graphic fantasy scenario (involving food) about somebody I liked in high school (short hair/big butt), I have to assume that I was younger than older and probably pretty new into the relationship.

The next entry will probably be the last from 1994 and looking ahead to 1995, I can tell you that there is some sweet shit about handicap people, old perverts, psychedelic grandma drugs and my first longer thing about television as a symbol representing existence.

On Insomnia

Chuck slept like the dead. He always did at that point in his life. Today, sleep is the woman he used to fantasize about in the library or hitting the lottery - a pipe dream, a wish, the big one. It used to be that he would dream of the day when he was skinny, had a line and all the girls (all the girls) that went with it. Sleep was the only pure escape into the subconscious and it was only in the subconscious that Chuck was together. Today, since the reality of living does not scare Chuck shitless anymore and he can deal with rudimentary emotions such as happiness and loneliness, the subconscious isn’t as necessary for Chuck to function. As the need for escape diminished, so did the ability to sleep long and soundly. He sometimes goes days and, more often than not, weeks without getting one decent night's sleep. Now, he wishes he was able to sleep without interruption for twelve or more hours and is thrilled when he is able to nod off for a five hour period. His day dreams are filled with thoughts of the unconscious bliss that used to be his world - third in importance to only food and masturbation. He is rarely groggy or tired but he does not sleep. Sometimes he does think it is a blessing to be able to burn the candle at both ends and never wipe out but mostly he wishes he could just turn it off like when he was seventeen. When he slept like a fat corpse. When he used to breath heavy and live large in the sack.

(1994)



posted by Thea at 8:19 PM

May 2, 2002

It has been three years since the Revelers broke up.

They played the last date of their Spring 1999 tour at the Black Cat in Washington, DC on May 2, 1999. By all accounts, the show was a smoker. I was not there as I abandoned ship by Greyhound bus a couple of days earlier in New York City knowing that it was over and wanting to get back to the “Big Billy Pork Chop – the Rock - n - roll Fat Man” show on Monday mornings on WCSB Cleveland 89.3 FM. The Revelers played one more show after that in the middle of May opening up for Guided by Voices in Columbus, OH. And that was it. I still can’t believe it is over.

Man, am I depressed. The last three years have been the second worst three consecutive year period of my life only being beaten in bogosity only by my freshman, sophomore and junior years of high school. Those three years are absolutely the worst. If I even come close to having such a bad time for such a long time again, I will certainly commit suicide. I think that calendar year 2000 was on par in wackness with my freshman year of high school. They were both equally shitty. My sophomore year was more of a grind than 1999 and 2001 was a turn the corner year like my junior year of high school but much better. I am glad that I can quantify my depressions.

I started managing the band in 1993. They put out an album in 1994, 1995, 1996, 1998 and 1999 with the last two being paid for by spinART records out of New York. I think that being involved with getting somebody else to pay to put out Reveler records is probably the greatest achievement of my life so far. I did not know jack shit about managing a band and there was nobody around to show me the way. It was hit or miss and miss and miss and miss. I am proud to be associated with the Revelers.

Some day, I might do great things as a radio commentator or a writer but I don’t have my boys to share it with. That is what I miss most about the band. I miss my dogs. I miss hanging out all of the time and I miss fighting with them. Jesus, do I miss the fighting. I used to be able to let out a lot of steam at those dudes – yelling and screaming for hours at a time and then we would be right back to normal the next day. I don’t have anybody to wail on anymore. Man, that sucks.

What follows are the notes for the original double LP version of 1994’s “91st Street Stomp”. They are slightly different that the version on the record that got released. A double LP seemed like such a great idea when we were drunk on Guinness at Tommy Fox’s (Rudy Can’t Fail) house right off the highway and West Blvd. When we sobered up and figured out how much a double LP was going to cost, we went with the single LP version.

Happy three years of emptiness, fellows.

Notes for “91st Street Stomp”

One of the perks of being well connected in the music world is the free tickets that major recording corporations give away to the little people in the business. A player, like myself, is constantly being asked to see developing acts at empty clubs with bad sound systems. I have seen all the big acts in this setting and I take a certain amount of pride in saying "I was there when... " to the Johnny - come - latelys who are lavishing praise on the current flavor of the month arena rock act.

I had the free tickets one night in 1990. Buffalo Tom was making their Cleveland debut at the Babylon - A - Go - Go. A label promo man friend of mine begged me to attend this gig. "They are hot.” "They rock." "Bring your associates." "You'll love it." He repeated to me with the intensity and desperation of a man who knew he could be fired in a blink of an eye. The music industry is a filthy business. I never saw Buffalo Tom and my "label man" friend is currently looking to me for work. He was let go after one too many stiff releases. Someone has to take the blame.

I did use the free tickets, however. That night was my first encounter with the Revelers. They were booked to warm up the crowd for the headliner. They stumbled on stage; appearing to be a little unsure of what to do. After five minutes of silent confusion the soundman screamed, "Play, you idiots!" They did. The Revelers ripped into a 45 minute set of rock - n - roll fury. Their crazy sound dragged me from my stool at the bar to the front of the dance floor. Teenaged girls were shrieking and flailing around - possessed. Their hard - assed boyfriends stood stone - faced but managed to crack a smile at the Revelers witty between song patter. The band are master showmen - working the crowd like carnival barkers. The music, a combination of goofy pop songs and Saturday morning cartoon themes, had everyone in the joint jumping before the end of their set.

They left the stage in a hurry. No fanfare. No back slapping. No cocktails. They had another gig to play at a community center in Slavic Village in one hour. I tried to talk to the group but they were too busy loading gear into their van to pay me any mind. I followed the band to Cleveland's Southside where they played an entirely different set with the same out of control intensity. I've been following the band ever since.

About the Record:

It has taken me four years to convince the Revelers to release an LP of their music. They have the same opinion of recording as the early Jazz musicians. If someone could listen to their records why would they pay them to play a gig? Also, what is to say that some rival band in Akron wouldn't listen to the record repeatedly and copy their distinctive sound? It took me a year to convince them to go to a studio. After recording 35 songs during four sessions at three different studios they were still reluctant about releasing an LP. Being perfectionists, they were never totally happy with the production quality of the music. I was told that as soon as I had enough money to send them to a studio where they could record an LP sonically equal to “Tusk” by Fleetwood Mac they would allow it to be released to the public.

Since I doubt I will ever have the money for that type of production, I had to take matters into my own hands. Over the years as a groupie, roadie, roommate, "personal manager", and bongo player, I have managed to gain their trust. One night, while they were practicing for an upcoming sock hop, I snuck all of their tapes out of the vault. These tapes represent five years of recording. From four - track tapes recording in the dining room at their house on West 91st Street to 24 track recordings at Noise New Jersey with Kramer, I had them all. In an all night mastering session I was able to compile the 27 cuts represented on this double LP. I returned the tapes to the vault without them noticing their absence. I can't wait to see the look on their faces when I give them their promotional copies of this record.

From the lo - fi pop whimsy of “Sang A Song” to high tech multi - tracks of “I Got Mine”, you can hear the band in its embryonic stage develop into a rock - n - roll machine. Styles of rock have become popular and have fallen out of fashion in the last five year but the Revelers have remained dedicated to one cause - the well crafted song. When other bands scream, they harmonize. When other bands play faster, they write ballads. When other bands distort their sound with fuzz boxes, they play clean. They have remained out of step with the rest of the music community but one step ahead of the pack.

The Revelers are not a rock - n - roll band. They are rock - n- roll. Trends come. Trends go. The Revelers remain the best band in America. Dig this record and pray they come to your town for a gig.

(1994)


posted by Thea at 6:54 PM

May 1, 2002

This originally had three pages of ridiculous dialogue and absurd back story that made this piece unreadable. I shred it at the office. Problem solved. Nobody ever has a safe dropped on them in real life. That is why it is in there. As a kid watching cartoons, I thought that safes, pianos and anvils falling from the sky was a legitimate threat to my safety. I will tell you what comes first. Love comes first. The fear of the loss of love that is a result of the love comes after the love.

He Could Feel Her Growing

One

He walked out of her room, turned left, and took her lunch dishes down to the kitchen. She ate slowly - more slow than usual. She seemed to be getting worse mentally. The doctor said that physically her body is mending. The tissues are reconnecting. Her muscles should be getting stronger every day. The scars on her face are a memory. The doctor says she should be ready for physical therapy soon. His hope for more than a partial recovery is good. Wally steps carefully down the stairs. He does not want to drop the tray of dishes again. He looks out the window on the landing at the middle of the stairway. The sun is blinding sunny. He wishes that she could get out of bed. It would be good for her to get some sunshine. Sun makes the flowers grow.

As Wally washes her dishes he hums a little tune. He has known the tune his entire conscious life. His great - grandmother taught him the tune in the nursing home after her second stroke. Between chomping on cigars and cursing at imaginary bandits she found a moment in her busy schedule to teach him the song. Wally warmly remembers the time he spent with big grandma at The Jones Road Retirement Home. She was as close to death as a person could get, maybe even closer than Sarah after the accident, but she had a crazed vitality not found in most of the officially living. Big grandma chewed, spit, cursed, and screamed. She went out kicking. At 92 years old, big grandma was ready to fight the world. Wally did not understand that she was sick. It was a sin to strap her to the bed when she could not have been more alive. The fools at the nursing home should have known that throwing her food around the room and talking loudly to the rats that shared her bed was the way she liked to pass the last bit of her time. Wally knew she enjoyed herself. They killed her when they tied her down. She might have lived forever if they would have let her. Perhaps the needed the bed for some other old geezer.

Wally began to whistle that same tune as he dried the plates and bowls and stacked them neatly in their respective cupboards. He clearly remembered the source of the ditty, big grandma, but could not remember the name of the song. "Tune to Whistle While Washing" would have to be the temporary title until Wally's once perfect memory could help him out. He forgot more often these days. The accident changed him for the worse. He was once excited and hyper but those have been replaced by a calm nervousness. He walks slowly and carefully. The slightest false move could make the situation worse and that can not happen. Wally had to keep all of Sarah's surrounding perfect. Outer peace and tranquility will help Sarah on the inside. A clean room and a pleasant demeanor will transfer itself to her and she will get better. That is his prayer. That his soul desire.

After Wally finished the post lunch cleaning he walked out the door that connects the kitchen with the back yard. He sat down in one of the two lawn chairs that rested under a not quite ancient buckeye tree. The midday sun was strong enough to leak through the dense leaves of the tree. There was a light breeze blowing which made the early August day very bearable. August in Ohio is typically brutal. The combination of heat and humidity can kill most old timers. This day's climate was what Wally was used to for this time of year, that was for sure, but he thought he could never get used to it. It would not be long before the yard would be completely covered in buckeyes. As a young boy he and his younger brother, Marty, would collect all the buckeyes and store them in shopping bags behind the garage. When the neighborhood was picked clean all of the neighborhood kids would divide themselves into two teams and have a "buckeye war". The battle would continue until one of the kids would start screaming from the stinging buckeye. Wally was lucky enough to hit Lisa Patrick in the eye once. It was the second luckiest shot he ever had. He could still hear her screaming that she was blind.

Sarah's screams interrupted Wally's day dream. He could not understand why her recovery was taking so long. He expected her to be up an around by now. Fortunately, the insurance claim and the money Wally had stashed away was enough for them to live on. Wally stopped working almost entirely and devoted all of his waking hours and most of his dreams to Sarah's health. Two years in bed was along time.

Wally was at her side most of the 24 hours in a day. Sarah was almost completely unresponsive to his presence. She would eat and take the pain killers he gave her but would not say a word to him. He understood the situation all too well but hoped that her heart and soul would improve along with her health. "The sunshine would do her some good," he thought.


Two

It all happened so fast. There was the anger leading up to the fight, the fight itself and the aftermath. Wally yelled. Sarah ran in the opposite direction down Euclid Avenue towards Public Square. She moved pretty fast. Wally stood silent for a minute then abruptly starts shouting after her. Sarah only quickened her pace at this latest blast from his mouth. When Wally had enough screaming and attracted enough of a crowd, he dismissed her with a flick of the finger and turned to walk away in the opposite direction. If she wanted to go so bad, then she could go. His prospective departure was stopped short by a loud crash. He turned around to see Sarah lying on the ground crushed underneath a large safe. Wally has seen countless cartoon characters walk away from that specific accident but Sarah did not.


Three

Wally sat next to Sarah's bed and watched her breath. He had been up all night watching her sleep. Wally had a plan of how he was going to help her get better. His plan would also win her good graces back again. The closer daybreak came the better Wally felt about his decisions and the more excited he was about the prospect of the upcoming day's events. The sunlight made the flowers grow and it would make Sarah grow. Sarah's steady breathing was a symphony in Wally's head. It was magical and soothing all in the same melody. Her chest fell up and her chest fell down.

As the sun began to show itself over the horizon Wally relieved himself from his post to go to bathroom. After a long and healthy piss, he opened the medicine chest and took out a bottle of Sarah's pain killers. It would probably be very uncomfortable for her to be moved around so he wanted to take every precaution to insure her comfort. Glancing over the assortment of potions in the medicine chest, he noticed some sleeping pills he used to take when he worried about sleeping. They would be good for Sarah too. If she was sleeping there was less of a chance that she would be bothered by him.

He walked back into the bedroom and reclaimed his post at the bed's side. He was hardly able to contain himself as the minutes before down ticked away. Today would be the best day for them since their marriage. His heart was pumping so fast he was afraid it would be loud enough to prematurely wake her. He was excited for the first time in a long while. It was a good excitement - like waiting for Santa Claus to come.


Sarah started to stir with the first signs of waking up, As she started to move, Wally sorted through the pills he held in his hand. She needed enough to knock her out but not so much that it would hurt her worse than he already had. Sarah opened her eyes and Wally handed her a glass of orange juice a bunch of the pills. Sarah took them without out question since the sandman still clouded her thoughts. It wasn't long before she dozed of again. Wally tapped her to make sure she was sound asleep, took off her nightclothes, and replaced them with a flowered sun dress. Even though her body did not have the same life that it had before the accident, she still looked beautiful in Wally's eyes. While he had her naked he fantasized about both past and future sex. This was definitely a step in the right direction.

After she was dressed he propped her lifeless body up to a seated position and combed her hair. The brush's motion released the familiar Sarah smell from her hair. Wally rejoiced in her scent. He shifted her body toward the edge of the bed. She showed no sign of waking. He probably could have blasted her in the face with as hard of a punch as he could deliver and she still would not wake up. He figured the pain of him moving her around would be enough for the day.

Once she was at the edge of the bed he had to lift her into the wheelchair he had bought her in anticipation of the day when she could get out of the bed prison. He lifted her and grunted under the weight of her lifeless body. Wally got her to the wheelchair. That was the hard part.

He maneuvered the wheel chair out of the bedroom, through the hallway, to the foot of the stairway leading to the living room. The stairs looked longer than they normally did without a heavy wheel chair to take down the distance. He had gotten her out of bed and he would get her down the stairs. He took the stairway one step, one grunt at a time. When he got to the bottom of the stairs he laughed at himself for being worried about his strength. Wally had always been able to keep it together well enough. Why should now be any different?

The wheels of the chair squeaked a bit as he rolled his package into the kitchen. He wanted some coffee before he too her outside. He brewed the coffee and positioned her chair across from his at the kitchen table. The coffee finished brewing and he poured himself a large mug full. He put one ice cube in the mug to take some of the bite out of the heat of the coffee. He liked to gulp his coffee but did not have the patience to wait for it to reach that perfect temperature level. He drank the coffee, which was still a tinge too hot for gulping, and spoke too the unresponsive Sarah about the good old days. The memories of their young love were still ripe in his mind. He did a damn fine job of blocking the screaming matches out of his trip down memory lane. He stared long at Sarah's slumping body between sentences, as if any of his well chosen words might bring her around.

Wally did not have much of a clue as to how long the sleeping pills would last. He wanted to time her awakening perfectly with high noon. He still had a few hours before either of the two would happen but, never liking to be late, he hurriedly slurped down the remainder of the coffee. He washed the mug and placed it with the other cups in the shelf. They would have to come back through the kitchen when they were finished outside and he did not want her to see one item out of place. He wanted her to be proud of him for holding down the fort during her recovery. Wally was determined to stop making mistakes where she was concerned.

He had to back out the screen door in order that the spring would not cause the door to bump her in any way. This was tricky because their was steps he had to go down with her full weight on him. He made it without a glitch. He rolled her over relatively rough terrain to the buckeye tree that was the centerpiece of the back yard. He looked around for a good flat spot to set the breaks of the chair. God forbid that she would roll away. He positioned her as best he could and then sat down on the ground with his back against the tree.

He sat for a few minutes. He decided it would be nice to hold her in his arms again. He stood above her, staring softly at his love. Getting he out of the chair would be easy compared to what it would take to get her back in it. She would be conscious when he put her back. How much not needed pain would that cause her? Before he could logically come to a decision he was grabbing underneath her arm in the pits and hoisting her to a position similar to walking her over the threshold. He stepped back twice - feeling the tree with his back. He dropped to the ground with her safe and secure in his arms. Sitting, he held her like he would a newborn infant. He rocked her back and forth slowly. The sun was getting stronger and his heart warmed with the rays. Sunlight would make her grow. Wally put his face close to her and started to sing "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye. Sarah always loved that song. Wally made sure he hit all the notes as best as he could. He could feel her growing.

(1994)


posted by Thea at 10:50 PM

April 30, 2002

My sinuses are bothering me. I had a sinus headache so bad today that I was nauseous. It is still bothering me. Also, I have been working at a computer too much and my right hand hurts. It is a constant problem. Accordingly, I don’t feel like typing.

My favorite joke from “The Simpsons” is the one where Bart has to get special corrective shoes and glasses from an HMO. At the end of the episode, Marge tells Bart that he does not have to wear the gear anymore and he kicks the shoes off. The shoes fly through Flanders’ window and he asks Rod and Todd if anyone prayed for giant shoes. One of them says yes and he replies okily dokily. This episode was on tonight. They cut that joke out of the re-runs but I watch it every time with the hopes that they are going to stick it back in.

“Spring Cleaning” is a bad poem written entirely on the bus. All of my life’s work has been at least conceptualized on the bus. One day, I will write the great American novel on a bus trip.

“Turning Wind into Concrete” is a bunch of jive against intellectuals. It seems like the type of thing that a twenty two year old college drop out would write.

“Twenty Lines About Friday Night” has the first appearance of the gray theme that has overtaken my work today. Very interesting – all of this grayness around here.

In reference to the prose, it was with great joy that I introduced my wife to “This is Spinal Tap”. It took us awhile to find the video tape at the Blockbuster on Lorain Road in the lower West One Hundreds because the movie is filed under “T” and not under Spinal Tap. Try figuring that one out on super doobies. I wrote this at night at my hand me down kitchen table in the darkness with only the streetlight from the next door condominium parking lot lighting my apartment on my father’s old Olivetti Underwood Lettera 32 portable manual typewriter. I included this not so much for what is written but for my memory of writing it. It was a nice night.

Spring Cleaning

El motherfucker
Down and out and dirty
Wash your face
Boy
Then, scrub your clothes
A shining example of life’s lessons
Spic and span
Boy
Do not pick your nose
Finding faults in others
Baby
Sidewalk cracks in pain
Worn down
By footsteps and bicycle tires

The smoke stains
Life and laughter
What’s going on
No money for the paper
Big bag on the back
Ask the pretty lady in clean clothes
No luck
Pal
Big bag on the back

Trees rise from the concrete
Cars roll by and stop
Tony’s sister
Big nose on the face
Stumble by with the hand in pocket
Where is the tan building
I’ll go ask this guy
Gay black man
Wandering lost
I told you so
Big nose on the face

Taxi cab with bad breaks
No luck
Birds chirp
No luck
Happy to eat bread crumbs
Cleaned out the bread box
Tap your pen
Fool
Get the motor oil warmed up
The thoughts will flow quicker
On a skateboard with no place to go
Fall off the skateboard
Sidewalk cracks

No stomach
Not the right temperature for the big risk
Game of life
Hide underneath the covers
Wait for daybreak
Baby
It is going to be all right
Baby

Strong perfume tingles
Big nose on the face
Cry cry cry cry

Word up to the black struggle
What school do you go to
University
Going to go to Florida
Fight with the devil worshippers
Nice town
Move around a lot
Mostly Midwest
Chicago
All of the lights are on
I move around a lot
The trick is trying to get them to move
Take a load off
Give them something in return

Not a man in the whole house
He was not invited
Cut back on the parties
No fun
They stopped
Not that bad
Half on the east side
No heart
No stomach

I used to live there
For the next couple of months
Hard times on the west side
Leaders with glimmers in their eyes
Good guys
Very fair
Unwilling to make a change
For the better
Too much work
Theoretically
Plus not too much value
Both sides must live with the other
Down and out and dirty
El motherfucker

(1994)

Turning Wind Into Concrete

It started out with a desire
To make some sort of proclamation
Aimed at the world at large
My family, my friends, myself
To come clean for once and tell the truth
I have lied
I am not a deep thinker
I am not a philosopher
I am not a writer
I am just a man who has a pen in his hand
But I cannot write a check

We must steal the words
The words are rightfully ours
We must steal the words from teachers
We must steal the words from students
We must steal the words from journalists
We must steal the words from paperboys
We must steal the words from talk show hosts
We must steal the words from television audiences
We must steal the words from politicians
We must steal the words from voters
We must steal the words from rock stars
We must steal the words from the record buying public

The words need to be taken away from them
They have abused them
They have manipulated thoughts
The words are ours
You have lost your right to own them

(1994)

Twenty Lines About Friday Night

Wait in the lobby
Of psychedelic gray
Down tired chair
Is juiced up from too much coffee
Spilled on it over the years
Of waiting in the lobby
Think about Friday night
Chair drinks. Chair gets drunk.
It has to much to do
Has to stop and breath
Deeply but sparingly (it might be your last)
Thinking about Friday night

Wear the same hat
As your grandfather
Like minds think alike
Soon, I will find the man
Who will take my place
Wearing the same hat

On Friday night, I will wear
The jacket my great grandfather wore when he was buried

(1994)

Everything I have ever wished for, every hope that I have ever had, every time that I’ve stood up and fell flat on my ass, every time I’ve that I have looked into my book of consciousness and found it empty, every time I joined the crowd but then got pushed aside when I assumed leadership, every time that I forced myself into isolation because the world was beneath me, every time that I took the kindness of others for granted, every time that I thought that they owed me, every time that I cried out in the middle of the night for God, every time that I ran away when he revealed himself to me, every time I rejoiced at the losers, every time I wept with the winners, every time that I took one step forward only two take two steps back, every time I looked in the mirror and wondered, everything has led up to this moment. The moment when I said go. I was able to say go from the start. And the start was a long time ago. Except I was not able to go. I was not able to find anything inside myself to make me move. Nothing would make me get going.

What I should mention is that it is rarely easy to go. It does not always fit with what you are expected to do. It might be against the rules. There is a sizeable discrepancy between what is allowed by the law and what is right in your heart. How does a person get so trapped in the line of bullshit that society draws for us? “ I have always lived by the dictum that one should follow ones own star.” That is the purpose of all this. I can tell you that the road that you are going to travel after realizing what road it is that you are supposed to be traveling is not an easy one. But once you can set aside the expected and the accepted, life takes on a whole new meaning. Think of the harm a man could do if he had no fear of consequence.

(1994)








posted by Thea at 9:21 PM

April 28, 2002

I noticed that I have written a couple of things about me hiding in closets over the years. Maybe my hidden gay inner self is trying to tell me something. Or maybe not. Like most children, I was afraid of the dark and afraid of the boogeyman. Of course, I thought that the boogeyman lived in my closet and I was afraid to go to sleep if the closet door was open. This went on for a while until I realized that you could confront fears like it was an issue that needed to be confronted. There comes a point in time when you can see problems and figure out that there are solutions. When does this happen – when you figure that life is something that you can deal with and not something that just happens to you? Anyway, I was afraid of my closet as a kid and decided that the only way for me to beat my fear is to spend the night sleeping in the closet. I cleared off the floor and put my sleeping bag down in there. I liked sleeping in the closet. It had the dusty smell of an old house and was cooler than the rest of the bedroom. It was a good night sleep even though it did not cure me of my fear of the dark. That happened over time. I like closets now. You can put stuff in them so you don’t have to look at stuff that you are not using. I wish I had more closets. Oh yeah, this poem probably has something to do with my wife although I don't remember.

Look at Me

Watch me hide in the closet
See me vomit
A symptom of the flu
I can smash my finger with a hammer
If you are so inclined
To clap and laugh at some pain

I am still hiding in the closet
I can hear you out there
But no footsteps
Ever approach the door
Should I scream out loud?
Or just whimper
Under my breath

Can I get some attention?
What do I need to do
To get some service around here?

The human cesspool
Continues to ignore me
I try to make a spectacle
Of myself
I’ll hold my breath until I turn blue
I can polka dance
On frozen peas
If you’ll just turn your head in my
Direction

I will commit suicide
That could draw an audience
The roar of the crowd
Would be loud enough
To wake my dead ass up
At the wake
I can feel the thunderous applause
At every one of my non movies

There are footsteps coming toward the closet
My game of hide and seek
Has got me some notice from you
I crouch back into the furthest past of the corner
I am working the crowd
Pulling your strings
Your shoe jabs me hard in the ass
The curtain rises
Your coat takes center stage
You embrace the coat like a long lost relative
Stepping off of an airplane
I have been upstaged
By your fucking coat
Should I sing for you
Or recite a dramatic monologue?

(1994)


posted by Thea at 11:04 AM