SO,
After I marched for several miles against the 7th anniversary of the war, and played a show with liz and some old people bar with bad Elvis impersonators,
I went a wandering to chase the sunset, and wandered down an alley, which opened up to the bay... I watched all the fishing boats come in, then started to walk back when a bunch of people in a hummer called me over “ukulele girl come some a jay” ... in the back there were a bunch of traveler kids who also got scooped up by the hummer. They had instruments I had a uke, after the hummer folks left, we sat outside of in and out burger until someone fed us. We flew a "Weed money" sign got handed joints then bought two handles of whiskey and got in the back of a van (which was an old electric company van) that our friends were living out of and drove to treasure island. Treasure island is in the middle of the bay, and happens to have the most beautiful view of San Francisco… We ran into their house, jumped the fence and got totally hammered. THIS PLACE is two huge buildings of at least 400 rooms each. There is a court yard, and a crazy middle part that has a ramp that spiral’s up with round windows of different sizes. Crazy. There were also so many weird shaped rooms. Part way through the night Iler and I had to go to get dinner from the bus driver, Lily, who owns a catering business and gives out leftovers, but the pirates (who live next door) got our dinner. YES the pirates of treasure island commandeered dinner. We road lily’s bus for a while, and then got over and wandered along the rocky coast. Chilled on this condemned dock, and Iler invited me to sail to Australia with him this july… I’m thinking about.
We only finished one handle that night, woke up at 8 the next morning and started on the second one. We decided that we needed biscuits and gravy. So we all pilled into the van, got supplies, and cooked in Golden Gate bridge. I read a book in a redwood tree. We played the most silly game of bad mitten. Every so often the whiskey would go around.. “keep drinking we got keep this fair!” After a few rounds I just laid down were I stood and took a nap-at that point I couldn’t hit the birdy when I threw it. Then we jammed I ROCKED out on this fiddle-I didn’t know I could fiddle! Music is instinctual.
We wandered back to north beach, had a big old thing of whiskey coffee. I still couldn't sleep. Traveler kids in a hummers…
Monday, March 22, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Business as Usual
ACT ONE
Characters
Narrator
Faceless businessmen
young businessman
policemen
(Scene takes place as the morning is coming, starts out dark, while progressively becoming lighter. Well dressed, middle age man, leans on a street lamp on an empty street.)
Narrator: I’m not what I was, because it’s not what it used to be…
(starts to wander down street..)
We hear it all the time… A world of excuses for all the things we are too lazy and afraid to do. We someday could, someday should, but now we just won’t. The present is too difficult, too rainy, too hot, it’s too much money, or too little time…
(sun starts to rise, stage lights fade in, street lights flick off, people begin to join narrator on the street, one man carrying a very large mug of coffee and a hand full of papers pushes past narrator)
young businessman: (rushing from stage right) Sorry, excuse me, (scrambling to pick up dropped papers and pens) oh I’m so late, you know how it is.. have a nice day… (phone rings, exits stage left)
(Busy crowd enters stage right sets up tables, desks, machine noise in background, everyone busy. Narrator keeps getting in the way, pushed to stage right... crowd sets up a door mid-stage right behind narrator. Narrator bursts through it towards center stage… )
Narrator: Life has become too chaotic for original individual thought! Contemplation and awareness of others needs and wants falls to the wayside of production!
(crowd takes their seat, young businessman rushes in still on the phone, looks around, then finds his place.)
Narrator: Is there no time to tap into the knowledge of our peers of the sake of knowing not just as a simply and flatly means of entertainment, distraction or capital!?
Desk clerk: (stands, but does not look up from papers) Hello sir, Can I help you?
Narrator: (shouting) Can we stop being polite and say something!?
(Time clock dings, men at desks look at their watches in the same motions and pull out metal lunch boxes, delayed in his actions, young businessman looks around then follows suit...)
Desk clerk: (looks up, smiles, sits to eat) Sorry, we’re closed for hour. Have a nice day!
(Narrator knocks down all the papers on clerk’s desk, desk clerk looks shocked, but automatically scrambles for them, and narrator keeps knocking them down.)
Narrator: I want more than a nice day! I want to talk to you! Wake up! can’t you see? You’re more than a gear! Do you enjoy rewriting numbers and taking phone calls? Soul? Destiny? Love? Music? ART! Its there! Walk away!
Desk clerk: (looks emphatically) I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.
Narrator: YES! Lets leave it all!
(Knocks over more papers. Jumps on desks, the men behind the desks frantically trying to catch their things, sirens are heard, a handful of officers parade in. businessmen stop and point to narrator at the same time, except for the young businessman who looks confused and lost, he clings to his over sized coffee.)
Police: You’re under arrest! Get on the ground! (they kick narrator, and start to drag him through the rubble of desks..)
Young Businessman: What has he done?
Police:Him as well! (Pointing to young businessman)
Young businessman: (being dragged away, confused and scared) Wait, sir, What have I done?
Narrator: (struggling) what has anyone done?
(Businessmen’s laughter among the restarting of machine fades in then fades out as the lights go to black)
End scene.
Characters
Narrator
Faceless businessmen
young businessman
policemen
(Scene takes place as the morning is coming, starts out dark, while progressively becoming lighter. Well dressed, middle age man, leans on a street lamp on an empty street.)
Narrator: I’m not what I was, because it’s not what it used to be…
(starts to wander down street..)
We hear it all the time… A world of excuses for all the things we are too lazy and afraid to do. We someday could, someday should, but now we just won’t. The present is too difficult, too rainy, too hot, it’s too much money, or too little time…
(sun starts to rise, stage lights fade in, street lights flick off, people begin to join narrator on the street, one man carrying a very large mug of coffee and a hand full of papers pushes past narrator)
young businessman: (rushing from stage right) Sorry, excuse me, (scrambling to pick up dropped papers and pens) oh I’m so late, you know how it is.. have a nice day… (phone rings, exits stage left)
(Busy crowd enters stage right sets up tables, desks, machine noise in background, everyone busy. Narrator keeps getting in the way, pushed to stage right... crowd sets up a door mid-stage right behind narrator. Narrator bursts through it towards center stage… )
Narrator: Life has become too chaotic for original individual thought! Contemplation and awareness of others needs and wants falls to the wayside of production!
(crowd takes their seat, young businessman rushes in still on the phone, looks around, then finds his place.)
Narrator: Is there no time to tap into the knowledge of our peers of the sake of knowing not just as a simply and flatly means of entertainment, distraction or capital!?
Desk clerk: (stands, but does not look up from papers) Hello sir, Can I help you?
Narrator: (shouting) Can we stop being polite and say something!?
(Time clock dings, men at desks look at their watches in the same motions and pull out metal lunch boxes, delayed in his actions, young businessman looks around then follows suit...)
Desk clerk: (looks up, smiles, sits to eat) Sorry, we’re closed for hour. Have a nice day!
(Narrator knocks down all the papers on clerk’s desk, desk clerk looks shocked, but automatically scrambles for them, and narrator keeps knocking them down.)
Narrator: I want more than a nice day! I want to talk to you! Wake up! can’t you see? You’re more than a gear! Do you enjoy rewriting numbers and taking phone calls? Soul? Destiny? Love? Music? ART! Its there! Walk away!
Desk clerk: (looks emphatically) I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.
Narrator: YES! Lets leave it all!
(Knocks over more papers. Jumps on desks, the men behind the desks frantically trying to catch their things, sirens are heard, a handful of officers parade in. businessmen stop and point to narrator at the same time, except for the young businessman who looks confused and lost, he clings to his over sized coffee.)
Police: You’re under arrest! Get on the ground! (they kick narrator, and start to drag him through the rubble of desks..)
Young Businessman: What has he done?
Police:Him as well! (Pointing to young businessman)
Young businessman: (being dragged away, confused and scared) Wait, sir, What have I done?
Narrator: (struggling) what has anyone done?
(Businessmen’s laughter among the restarting of machine fades in then fades out as the lights go to black)
End scene.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Don't make me say it again...
I’m sick of it –WHAT
I’m sick of it –What
I’m sick of it
Sick of it
Sick of it—WHAT
Dirty dishes and best wishes
No soap the stove’s broke
Laundry machine is being mean
Its not drying just spinning and lying
I’m sick of it –WHAT
I’m sick of it –What
I’m sick of it
Sick of it
Sick of it—WHAT
Bloated pipe dreams
Wrench in a machine
A clot in the blood stream
DON’T YOU SAY WHAT YOU MEAN
Lets hope its better than it seems…
I’m sick of it –WHAT
I’m sick of it –What
I’m sick of it
Sick of it
Sick of it—WHAT
days going too fast
empty wallet empty flask
smoke the rest of that pack
The last bus left you can't go back
We're sick of it-WHAT.
we're sick of it-what
we're sick of it
sick of it
sick of it
STOP.
I’m sick of it –What
I’m sick of it
Sick of it
Sick of it—WHAT
Dirty dishes and best wishes
No soap the stove’s broke
Laundry machine is being mean
Its not drying just spinning and lying
I’m sick of it –WHAT
I’m sick of it –What
I’m sick of it
Sick of it
Sick of it—WHAT
Bloated pipe dreams
Wrench in a machine
A clot in the blood stream
DON’T YOU SAY WHAT YOU MEAN
Lets hope its better than it seems…
I’m sick of it –WHAT
I’m sick of it –What
I’m sick of it
Sick of it
Sick of it—WHAT
days going too fast
empty wallet empty flask
smoke the rest of that pack
The last bus left you can't go back
We're sick of it-WHAT.
we're sick of it-what
we're sick of it
sick of it
sick of it
STOP.
The Iceman commeth
Rockey: The old anarchist wise guy that knows all de answers! That’s you, huh?
Larry: Forget the anarchist part of it. I’m through with the Movement long since. I saw men didn’t want to be saved from themselves, for that would mean they’d have to give up greed, and they’ll never pay that price for liberty. So I said to the world, god bless all here, and may the best man win and die of gluttony! And I took the grandstand of philosophical detachment to fall asleep observing the cannibals do their death dance….
(a couple pages later..)
You asked me why I quit the Movement. I had a lot of good reasons. One was myself, and another was my comrades, and the last was the breed of wine called men in general. For myself, I was forced to admit, at the end of thirty years’ devotion to the Cause, that I was never made for it. I was born condemned to be one of those who has to see all sides of a question. When you’re damned like that, the questions multiply for you until in the end it’s all questions and no answer. As history proves, to be a worldly success at anything, especially revolution, you have to wear blinders like a horse and see only straight in front of you. You have to see, too, that this is all black, and that is all white. AS for my comrades in the Great Cause, I felt as Horace Walpole did about England, that he could love it if it weren’t for the people in it. The material the ideal free society must be constructed from is men themselves and you can’t build a marble temple out of a mixture of mud and manure.
Larry: Forget the anarchist part of it. I’m through with the Movement long since. I saw men didn’t want to be saved from themselves, for that would mean they’d have to give up greed, and they’ll never pay that price for liberty. So I said to the world, god bless all here, and may the best man win and die of gluttony! And I took the grandstand of philosophical detachment to fall asleep observing the cannibals do their death dance….
(a couple pages later..)
You asked me why I quit the Movement. I had a lot of good reasons. One was myself, and another was my comrades, and the last was the breed of wine called men in general. For myself, I was forced to admit, at the end of thirty years’ devotion to the Cause, that I was never made for it. I was born condemned to be one of those who has to see all sides of a question. When you’re damned like that, the questions multiply for you until in the end it’s all questions and no answer. As history proves, to be a worldly success at anything, especially revolution, you have to wear blinders like a horse and see only straight in front of you. You have to see, too, that this is all black, and that is all white. AS for my comrades in the Great Cause, I felt as Horace Walpole did about England, that he could love it if it weren’t for the people in it. The material the ideal free society must be constructed from is men themselves and you can’t build a marble temple out of a mixture of mud and manure.
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