Monday, May 31, 2004

time-out neo-trav s.d. (an abstract response to a review of TML)

Black out. A bare light bulb hanging down from the balcony is turned on. The ensemble stands in a clump just under the balcony behind the KT in the ‘pitch chair’ (where each NF’s sits for his or her ‘pitch’). The light is switched off when people switch to the chair on each stee-rike and switched on for each ‘pitch’.

RN: (leaning out a la laugh in) Hey Michael, Hey Michael. Whachya readin’?
MC: (leaning out a la laugh in with Time Out in Hand) Oh, nothing really! (tossing the magazine over his shoulder at the wall)
JR: Steee-rike!
KT: It’s 11:30, here’s the pitch:
JR: Steee-
DB: It’s 11:30, here’s the pitch: a plus size women is makin music—slappin her bare belly
JR: Steee-
MF: It’s 11:30, here’s the pitch: 10 20-somethings eat bowls n bowls of wheaties—no, frosted flakes.
JR: Steee-
RC: It’s 11:30, here’s the pitch: these kids, 14 and 15 yr olds, deconstruct moby dick to just a lot of ‘Thar she blows!’ n ‘arrrghs!’
JR: Steee-
LH: It’s 11:30 in Brooklyn, here’s the pitch: 10 20-somethings, who are all members of ‘up with people’, no, ‘theater sports…men…sports…people’, anyway, they do this show that’s all vaudeville sketches—sketchy pitches—it’s all pitches.
JR: Steee-
LH: Ripping Uke solo!
MF plays her ukulele a bit, CD picks up the Time Out, walks to SR of chair and reads a few key phrases including ‘then a fat man sitting on a ukulele is a symphony’; they are eventually interrupted by the other NF’s chanting to a crescendo:
NFs: Sit. Sit. Sit on it. Sit on it. sit sit sit! Symphony!
MF: No one is fucking sitting on my ukulele, you sonsabitches!
JR: Steee-
RN: It’s 11:30, here’s the pitch: 24’s Kiefer Sutherland with Alias’s Jennifer Garner doing Canterbury tales in an old Brooklyn bathhouse, no just an old Brooklyn bathhouse full of courtesans, courtesans that will do what ever the audience asks–
JR: Stee-
RN: You gotta have a gimmick.
KT: Monkeys! (KT holds a stuffed monkey)
RN: You gotta have a gimmick
KT+CD: Monkeys and Pirates! (KT holds a stuffed monkey and wears an eye patch, CD has pirate gear on too)
RN: You gotta have a gimmick!
KT+CD+RC: Monkeys, Pirates and Bananas! (RC joins them with a banana))
JR: Steee-
MC: Time out. He ends with somewhere in Italy ‘the real Futurists are turning over in their graves’. Really, Marenetti, turning?
RN: No. Fillipo Marenetti loved crap critiques from crap critics.
MC: Maybe we should pander to those fans of futurism who’ve come to the Neo-Futurist show?
RN: Alright. We will now end ‘time out neo-trav s.d.’ with the ensemble making machine noises, revolutionary statements, absurd sounds and doing something mechanical all at once—viva simultaneity!

More lights and all NF’s do this (maybe including the statements “Pour me out”, “Down with Government”, “Brooklynis sumus”, “Crab-cake critics”, “Bananas, Monkey and Pirates”, and “Simultaneity!” peaking with Molly moving to the front and raising her Ukulele high above her head:

MF: None of you sonabitch are touchin’ my Uke!

4am

conversation set
in pale green sky
and deep blue hudson
tappan zee 4am
colors painted into
corners of morning

I told you
ya te dije

the dawn has arrived
ya esta amaneciendo

lover waits for me to speak

cantamelo amada mia
me encanta como luces
en mi mente a las cuatro
de la mañana

when there´s nothing to do
but think about the ones
you leave behind

muchacho
pero can't you be happy once
in a while?
you have a smile
for everyone except me
¿que justicia hay en eso?

no se, mi'ja.
I'm trying to be diligent
at my pensiveness
change my worldview to present tense
nunca es facil
nunca es facil


si si papi yo se
I know pero what the hell?
you don't even capitalize your poetry
no more
¿y eso?

perhaps I enjoy the anonymity
that it affords
perhaps I'm just lazy
about breathing and pausing
never crazy about holding on
to something I never had
in the first place

ay dios.
tu eres imposible, nene.


yeah. I know this.

there is no river
deep enough to hold what I'm feeling
but I try anyway.
these colors are too good
to keep from looking inside

cantamelo otra vez
dime de tus sueños

forgive this broken spanglish
and push back.

vaya.

I said.

what was I thinking?

se me fue de la mente.

damn yo
I hate when that happens.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

I Have Not Slept in 24 Hours

Red bull gives you wings
It has no effect on me
Should ask for refund

Don't Be Afraid

Write this on your sandwich board and walk
the streets on your lunch break.
Wear a red knit cap.
When no one is looking, stand on the tops
of green mailboxes and speak eloquently.
Yell if you have to.
When the police tell you to stop, obey.
If they ask for your name, disobey.
When they ask for ID, hand them your wallet.
Have a compact mirror in the plastic window.

They are not going to find this funny.

Maybe it's because they are afraid
of what the captain will say when they let you go
and the next day buy sandwich boards.
More likely they are afraid of their brothers,
of letting them down, pissing them off,
getting them killed.

You can relate to the police, their concerns
are genuine and no doubt hightened
by the everyday violence and public scrutiny.
You have brothers too.
You are not afraid of the police.
Give them your compassion.

Go back to work.

There is more.





I Have Not Slept in 18 Hours

Shrouded morning sky
Bursts of tired energy
Too late to sleep now

The Year is 2044

I'm sixty eight years old. I've been saving this cola bottle since the 20s. It's not going to be pretty. I hope to elevate my consciousness. You don't know what they used to put in this stuff. They had us all hooked back in the day. I expect that it's been fermenting long enough to cause hallucinations.

This bottle was made to endure bullet trauma. It's a freakin' tank with a nasty payload. I've always been afraid of side effects. Now that I'm old, it's time to try. Nothing but 'shroom pizza and brownies for me.

(Author's Note: it is at this moment that my own attention span has reared it's ugly head and reminded me why I'm no good at fiction... skipping ahead.)

I--I see the dinosaurs. They had pet bunnies.

(fast forward)

The big bang was a science project.

(fast forward)

Jesus was a woman.

(rewind)

"They mistranslated the Word of God! It was supposed to say CELEBRATE!"

(fast forward)

"'The sleeper has awaken'," he says to me. I wish he was right. I can feel my sweat dripping skin. Blood, ketchup, hot dogs, bits of stomach. I'm eating myself slowly starting with my nails. The day is longer than forever.

(fast forward)

The camera zooms revealing the man's hand clutching a bottle. The skin of his knuckles are chapped and bleeding. Fade to black. Roll credits.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Dishwashing

Grandfather, father and uncles
They all washed dishes
So their families could be fed
Is that why I'm so good at it?

A little help

Hi.

Like what everyone's posted so far but I'm a little wary to critique anyone just yet. How about we have an exercise we all can work from...?


Cheers,

Stephen!

Don't Be Afraid

Write this on your sandwich board and walk the streets on your lunch break.
Wear a red knit cap.
When no one is looking, stand on the tops of green mailboxes and speak eloquently.
Yell if you have to.
When the police tell you to stop, obey.
If they ask for your name, disobey.

There is more.

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Flavor Ice is My Breakfast

Upon her arm
Those words were etched
The knife's point was cool
As it pressed into her tender flesh
Blood flowed lovingly
A warm feeling came over her

And she smiled
She rarely smiled

He was

He was in my dream
again last night.
He whistled a Flock
of Seagulls tune
shimmied his ass offbeat
sucked out the centers
of my chocolates
orated masturbatory
techniques.

morning sun on the number 11

this bright white bus stops
for the wheelchair brigade
heading to pier 54

and some late pissy lady
calls some assistant on her
cell phone to complain
about the driver
'i am on 41st st.
and the bus driver
is an idiot'

and she says it very loudly
and the driver drives
her slowly to her stop
4 stops down on 19th st.

and she gets outside
the slow bus and
angry limps away

you'd think she'd show
some understanding
on any sunny day
like today

Monday, May 24, 2004

Lune

Promise me you
will walk along the ridge
of night's dreaming.


all work © by their respective owners