Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Chin Hair

And then sometimes I pull these things right out of my ass,
How would you describe your writing?
Invent a term.
Makes perfect sense.
The pink symbolizes the innocence,
The Elizabeth Bishop influence,
The Waiting Room,
The narrative.
See, if we could talk about me for a second,
I am a storyteller.
That's what I am.
I'm at an A and
I have a B to get to.
I have an oar, a wooden oar, right?
A canal.
I have somewhere to be, but am never in a hurry.
People ask me if I need a croissant all the time,
I just ate.
I had to.
I had to stop for waffles at the zoo,
I had to because I was three hours early.
Remember that book where the kids slept in the museum, remember?
Were you there?
Did you steal the pennies out of the fountain so you could afford those sandwich slots at 1 o'clock in the Mad hatten pussy whipped stone pavement fox trot?
Did you sleep on Lincoln's bed?
Did you smother the penguins in relish?
I know I did.

Skin, Toast, Hawk, Water

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Match Box

The little kitty is having a little hiccup.
I think it's fine.
I don't think he's in pain.
But, he might be in some mild discomfort.
But, we can't know for sure, because he can't tell us what it feels like.
He just stares at us and cries.
Little muffin.
We got some antibiotics, and they disappear nicely into his little treats, and he gobbles em' right up.
Thank Theresa and everyone on her bus.
I can't operate a syringe right now,
I mean I could,
But, it might suck the marrow from my entire belief system.
Little muffin.
He looks skinny.
I hate when people suddenly look skinny.
I would never hate Match Box.
You know what I mean.
I despise lean, as a concept, or a destination.
All things deserve to be sturdy, to walk out, to lean is to depend, and we don't do that here.
Not as an end result anyway.

He'll be fine.

We all have our weak parts.
I have my asthma.
Friend boy has his jaw aches.
Chi-Chi has his residual effect from his respiratory infection.
And matchbox has his sensitive little bladder.

Skin and Toast

Monday, April 25, 2011

Heat Behind the Eyes

I'm going in and out of pressure/comfort/revelation/meditation/dairy/sleep/and panic

It's just that it's that time of year when one page behind on the reading means an hour in the bathroom.

And bravo is at a constant very low decimal.

And that puddle of grease wont leave the left side of your crown no matter how hard you scrub. Must be all the hair nets and name tags. I mean you're twenty nine for Christ sake. That stuff builds.

But, yesterday's ham melted in my mouth as usual. And my not so little friend was sporting some blue patent leather seventy five inch high heeled wings of paradise like a champ of all champs age 14 and counting. Don't ask me where it goes.

I always liked Easter. Most people can appreciate that moment where everything dies, and everything lives at the exact same instant for only an instant. It's like those unitards in Cunningham's piece of the pie. Like how they keep dancing, even when they can't. Even when he's gone.

Holy week gets heavier every year. I swear. I blame the real house wives, the banks, the Bethanies. I wash my hands too much.

Then there's the champagne and the bonnets.

Then there's the meal with the folk; most sacred thing that there is.

Holy hug, biscuit of life, milk of salvation.

~Skin and Toast to Lamott

Sunday, April 10, 2011

And Then It Was Summer

Dear Gumption,
If everything goes as planned I'll have a BA by June.
That went quick.
So, the moral of the story is,
I have no idea.
I wanted to do it.
As simple as that.
On the bus.
Off at Kedzie.
Books on back.
Coffee in hand.
Step down.
Cross left.
Through the lawn.
In the door.
Click Keys.
That's why.
Sometimes you wait and wait for these big moments to erupt.
And then they never really do,
Not on the right side of the dotted line anyway.
But, a long the way, in the upper room,
You pick up reasons and people to do it for.
Not people depending on you,
Not even invested in you,
But, watching you.

I'm in the middle of comps.
I have to say this place is no slouch.
It takes three hours to fill a blue book.
That's three hours you could have been watching re-runs of everybody loves raymond.
See what I mean?
I turned in a rough draft of my manuscript yesterday.
It's weird, all the writing I've done for the show, but never have I sat down to write twenty pages of myself, creative meant to be read not heard self.

I'm here to win.

Oh wait, already did.

(even that is a little too dramatic, I'm done with drama, kind of, I make theatre, widle it from scraps).

Take it from me, they're not going to call, put your head down and work.

See you at the stables,
Skin and Toast

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Oh Baby, When I'm in a Coma I Want You to Pull the Plug, Only You

After five weeks together
Six years apart
Six years together
A drawer full of hand written letters
Each of them signed
Your biggest fan
One apartment
Two little kitties
One theatre company
Long drive to Montana
Short flight to Boston
Lots of late spicy take out
Some pretty spectacular fights
Countless weekends in Bloomington
Hilarious original songs
A Pulitzer prize winning family
A bunny
Our nation's capitol
Learning to drive
Mornings at laundromats
Evenings in meetings
So many bars
Back to school
Lots of help
Live music
And tapes
And project after project after project
Roaring fits of laughing screaming AH you're in trouble now make it stop UNCLE UNCLE

Why'd you stop?


Texas Lexington Good friends Ground rules

I said
He said
We said
I said

And then I swaddled your eye lids in a thousand kisses
And at the very end of your life when you count all of your blessings
I will be at your side counting each of them as my own,
Skin and Toast and Jess