Continued from Myspace

Where the fuck am I?

You're in someone's secret little home. From here, you can look back at all the thoughts I've had over the past few years prior to meeting you.

This is completely crazy. I mean I was just over there and now I'm here?

hey, could be worse. you could be in here.

i don't understand. One second we were all happy and talking inside an IHOP when you got on the phone and now . now... what?

This is the evolution of a love poem, a sweet and kind lullaby you hum to an infant before you crush its windpipe. I like to talk here because Diaries are inadequate. I never liked the way the ink or pencil would show through the other side of the paper. Recording my every day like that seemed like a crime scene. The way I see it, the digital era is for those who either spit it or shit it. I spit it. Now if you want to cramp your hand dotting your I's with fucking hearts, be my guest. Or better, yet, print this out and trace it with a pen so you too can feel a creative satisfaction. I already know you're first question.

Why am I here?

Nintendo and shame, Nubian, Nintendo and shame. To be honest I don't know. i'm that voice that speaks the commonest sense when you need it, but you have to ask the right question first for the right answer. I'm here, manifest, because there is something you were saying that triggered it all. Anyway, you should be honored I'm here. now bow so hard till your knees hit your forehead.

You stole that shit!

Yes I did. You know, son, you had a pretty good handful of play ideas there for a while. Like that Alcestis notion. I bet you could work that one into a modern theater. Think of the setting. . . Death perched on the roof of a great hero's home waiting, like a vulture, to take his prize when Apollo enters and combats Death!

This play begins in silence. No talking, no breathing, no movement of any kind. Two characters are presented; Apollo is the sympathetic god as opposed to vigorous Death who is crouched in front of the door. The audience does not know why the two forces are opposed, just that they are decidedly different in philosophy and for the time being that is all that matters. Apollo is all the excellence in the human body, even going so far as to be the preserver of mortality, the beacon--

that's IT!!

Or remember this one: "(The scene opens on a sandy beach. Palm trees engulf the left half of the stage in darkness while the ocean is heard off in the distance. Typical isolated beach. A woman's form is silhouetted lying on the sand, distracted and near death but not in any emergency. In the distance music can be heard, first lightly, then louder as the crowd of flickering lights and cacophanous celebration comes closer. It soon fills the backdrop with revelry hanging sparkling necklaces into the back lace. Bacchus enters and sees the woman)"

Damn, that would be pretty nice to make into a real play. You see i was thinking---

Stop thinking!! Just write the blasted thing! Or remember this one?

The only time to swim is Texas dusk,

Because that swollen bothered sun has turned--

lifting the season, and you could not ask

For a cooler pool to ruin.

I remember how
Ripples quivered to the edge
from that collision of skin and liquid.

I was eager to bite that hanging

full moon surprising bare
swimmers; its grand lazy light,

Bright, making our submerged pieces appear

distanced, like coming from little children

With little fingers,tiny palms, short nails,

Pointing out our ridiculous sins.

To escape it we float deeper in love,

And we dive higher into the Texas

Dusk flapping little hands,

little ' ' wet ' ' wings.