Ride The White Pony

Left Unnamed (my favorite person)

At what hours it occurs to me to call you!
I think, 'God I like to be talking to That One right now...'
You have always been there, so I have always had occasion to think that. but it's never a good moment- 2:30 in the morning, that kind of thing.

You called me just the other day- how wonderful!
My day was brightened just by beginning it with your message.
Strange, too, that over the last few nights,
you have had a featured role in my dreams. Out of the ordinary.
It's like, somehow I needed to be connected with you,
and you with me, so somehow one or the other of us
was compelled to re-establish our contact.

Thank God. Or Whomever.
I am glad to have you in my life.

Oh fuck *

Quick like a band-aid.
Some things have to be quick like a band-aid.
...even if we don't want to do it that way.

Life speeds by me faster than I can realize,
even when it seems so painfully slow. Especially then.
The hardest things I can imagine are nothing
compared to the one thing that I've never thought of.
So why waste the time with worry?

People are much stronger and much more capable than they believe.
If that idea was empowered in me, in anyone, in more of us,
what then could we be? What couldn't we be?

God I hope my thirties are less anxious than this.

* - this article is titled for the current, apprently *constant* catch-phrase of my currently almost 2-year old hero, Bix Thompson. He rocks. He's a positive guy.

Hissing. Cock. Roaches.

It feels as though Christmas has snuck up on me this year- but maybe it does that every year. I've been working in San Jose on the Nutcracker, which while being very Christmas-y, and nearly constant at this point, leaves little time for actual Christmas preparations. I like to think that my eschewing of gift-giving has been long based on some noble principle, not simply my cheap and lazy ass not having it together. But this year I will face the truth. Sorry to you all, my love for you should not be associated with my lack of Christmas presents. For the last 2 years I have worked Nutcracker, and for both years Christmas has been a time where, through one circumstance or other, I have been in a position to re-evaluate my personal worth. Perhaps by having thought too much or too little of myself in a key moment, or by trusting the word of someone who turned out to be less than trustworthy... (why do we do that again?) I've twice ended up nose to nose with a brutal and stinging realization, whether I wanted to or not. There's something about the Christmas season that finds me wondering what on earth I was thinking... Why on earth I'd get into (and out of) a brief, illogical and unrewarding romantic relationship only to come to my senses (or have someone come to theirs) right about now. And part of me is insecure, thinking that it is my lack that brings about my misfortune. That if only I could have been more or less or better or brighter, or warmer or hotter or louder or quieter. If I had known more and said less, or known less and said more, if I could *just* have done that then everything would have been fine. And part of me is angry that my voice can be silenced by another person's unwillingness to listen, or indignant at being ignored before my piece is said. Wanting to scream and break things until I have caused some serious damage and been revenged, I hate the thought of having wanted to be heard by him at all. And part of me is freed by daily discarding what remains of my affections, and regaining slowly what was lost of my self-esteem. Part of me is happy in the knowledge that I have learned something- even if the hard way- and will grow from what I might be able to accept about myself. And just as I believe more and more that I will (one day soon) feel as good about myself as I ever did, I know that what he has ignored and denied in this will still eventually be dealt with at his expense. And I guess that's going to be enough.

Zooligans

I seen my homie Tangle
mangle a Bengle tiger.
Either I was dreamin' or I seen him
tryin' to fight a rhinoceros.
Taking hippopotamus hostages, he's the
Macho Head Honcho in a poncho
and galoshes.

...All this, in occelot mosh pits
-talkin' shit.

gasp

Communications blackout-
language failing, vision blurred.

Please forgive this absence, this abscess;
this growth which seems more like undoing.

Know that I miss the good company most of all,
and will endeavor to make up for lost time...
sometime.

A lack of lucidity doesn't not mean a loss of love;
but foolishness can cost dearly.
For that, I must still beg your forgiveness and patience.

Tomorrow is not promised

and today is all that's left us.

Flusterated, to say the least

You know what would mean the world to me?
This is silly, I know, but...

If I have to go to court in SF at some point-
and you have the time, (likely a Monday or Tuesday)
would you come with me? So I didn't have to do it alone?
Just be there. That's all. We'd have coffee.

I avoid my life like the plague because I'm afraid,
and I sometimes find that this can only be overcome
with a stronghold of humanity on which to find footing.

Some assurance -hell, an inkling- of natural goodness,
to flush out the deep and textured oil slicks
of suspicion and malice.

...or maybe that's just me.

Sub-marina

A tale from my most recent trip to the Marina:

In the bed of my pickup, parked on Chestnut and Scott Streets, were two white plastic bags full of clothes. I had intended to drop these items off at Goodwill, but upon the discovery that they were closed for the evening, I decided to leave the bags overnight. Should someone happen upon the potentially desireable booty and take it - I thought - fine. If not, it would go to Goodwill in the morning.

When I came upon my truck this morning, I found that not only were my bags still safely stowed in the truckbed, there were two, new, *black* trash bags full of sweaters and pants.

Only in the Marina.

also good to note- in front of us in line at the Noah's bagel this morning, a young couple argued about whether or not to take a four-day vacation in Telluride. The girl felt that she was being "guilted into it."

Eat shit

This week, by happenstance, I am filling in for the deck manager on the California Shakespeare Festival's production of "Othello."

This means:
I'm dressed in an ill-fitting soldiers uniform,
complete with a beret, a gun belt,
and a pair of shoes easily 3 sizes to large.
(my predecessor is a boy, with large feet)

My job involves:
Cleaning blood off the stage at intermission,
carrying around tables and chairs,
moving light trees back and forth as fast as I can,
and, most notably, trying to place(set) and strike(remove)
an incredibly awkward large brown leather armchair
...which weighs about 65-70 lbs.

Tonight, my first night in costume,
I prepare for the dreaded chair move
(my first onstage entrance of the evening).
I get the thing hoisted onto my shoulder
with all the strength and grace I can muster,
and begin speed-walking from stage right,
the Duke in tow behind me.

I get about 6 steps into the maneuver,
-just far enough to be right in the middle things-
I trip over my ridiculous clown shoes,
and I eat shit.

BOOM! CRASH!
Down go I, and the chair, in a heap.
I let a four letter word fly on my descent
(which was thankfully inaudible).

Amidst gasps from the audience and worried looks
from the actors witness to my swan song,
I scramble back up,
and use my newfound endorphins-
born completely of public humiliation-
to (with superhero-like might, I'll add)
throw this fucking chair over my shoulder,
get it to it's mark on the stage,
and get the hell out of there.

Totally humiliating.
*This* is why I am not an actor.
This is the kind of thing I don't want to have happening to me.

Self sufficient, tonight.

Dinner at "Betelnut,"
a shi-shi, happening, place-to-be restaurant in the Marina.
Mojitos.
Good conversation.
A sweet face.

...And fear.
Staring me down.
Over my entree.

Gulp.
Oh god.

3 and 1/2 minutes

So, next Sunday from noon-4pm, there's a free concert in G.G. Park. Featured performers include: Hootie and the Blowfish, Better than Ezra, and Jem. While I couldn't care less about Hootie, as I still assume he'll be singing Burger King jingles, I like the other two groups.

Jem rocks, a lot. I think she's groovy.
I also feel a sense to listen for myself to B.T.E.
and decide whether I feel that Ezra's lawsuit of libel against the band was truly justified.

So... I thought: Why not make a thing out of it? Anyone interested?
I thought maybe people might want to go a bit early, scope out a comfy area for lounging, maybe have some munchies, and hopefully enjoy the great weather. People could kinda come and go as they pleased over the afternoon. We could have veagan peanut-butter cookies, beer, good company... anything we want!

Sound good to anyone? Any takers?
If people seem into it, I'll get more details together.

Life without eye contact

Feeling satisfied, efficient, confident.
A little shaken up, as usual-
but maybe even a little bit proud of myself.
Much like a triumphant toddler,
too proud of her fingerpainting to notice it all over the walls.

And I wanted to share.
Looked for someone to care.
To help me believe that I'm on the right track.
But then it went bad
I gave up, I got sad.
By the end I just wished I could take it all back.

You said write it.
I wrote it.
I get so frustrated with myself sometimes.
Two steps forward. Five steps back.

Foot tappin' good

In my seemingly unending quest for a useless theatre degree
from a semi-reputable institution...

It is possible, just possible
that next quarter I may just have
the bestest, bestest school schedule ever!
And Davis might not suck so much in the fall!

Huzzah!!
Take that, establishment!
I'm evening the score.

Time Flies

Bret,

View image

It seems so recently that we saw/ran into each other over Christmas. It was great how often that happened - us both being Far-East Bay kids. It's odd to think about how, when we were chatting after "Ghosts," that we joked about your never failing to pop up unexpectedly, much to my delight. I remember telling you how nice it was to always feel that I was inevitably bound to run into you again.

For so many years - since I was a little thing just starting out on the Cal Shakes summer-camp-esque Production track - there were so many chances to play. Heaving huge buckets of water into the air from backstage as actors in front jumped into the "lake" was always a treat; I remember that our consistant post-heave giggles were always masked by those of the audience.
Your abundance of innocent grins and big bear-hugs - like your unfailing provision of good chocolate - were a constant reminder of how many ills a good attitude can overcome. Your style of good humor and enthusiasm is a worthwhile asperation for any of us in the theatre, or really anywhere.

I was stunned with sadness and disbelief
when I learned yesterday that you had died.
Jared and Jean-Paul showed me the new plaque for you at the Bruns. I had to tell Janet and Brian about it, which was hard as well. It hurt a little to think I didn't know for so long after the fact, that I missed the memorial. Many times over the last day I've wanted want to pound my fist on the table and demand why this had to happen. To hear that the show you were directing was in tech, or thinking of your parents; its heartbreaking. Why is it always the best ones we have that lead such short lives? Why must these things seem so unjust?

But upon reflection - I can't think of single time when I saw you angry (or really anything less than sunshine-y), so my anger seems like an energy you wouldn't have bothered to waste. For you, then, I will endeavor not to waste mine.

I'm glad I got to meet your folks at least once. I hope they know how much a part of the Cal Shakes family they still are, and will continue to be. I hope they aren't strangers here, because they are forever a part of your wonderful nature, too.

I wish I could have said goodbye sooner, with all of your friends around.
Jared said the church was overflowing.
I'm sure it was a sight to see.
You were so loved; you still are.

They printed the poem from your wallet,
and a goofy but adorable photo (very you, really)
in the season program.
It's beautiful. Fitting.

I think that everyone who ever knew you realizes that, in fact,
you yourself are the best possible tribute to the greatness of your life.
Little more need be said.

"i thank You God for this most amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything which is natural
which is infinite
which is yes"

--e.e. cummings
(from your wallet)

Bret C. Harte 1979-2005

A philosopher, friend, and total goofball.
It was a blast, man. I miss you.

Love, Kati

My God, I'm sorry.

I truly am.
I didn't mean that.

When I saw you there
I mean, I won't deny it scared me at first-
but then I could breathe again,
then I could see you for what you are

I felt compassion. I felt understanding.
I wanted to do my part in contributing to existential harmony.
But I failed.

To you, I am a merciless killer.
I am a twisted mind to be feared, escaped.
I am the ruiner of lives. Stealer of souls!