February 29 - Hard Scrabble Photography

Smoke pours from an orange chimney in the middle of a field
[something like that song you played the day she died]
[you never told me where you got it, just that it was on your iPod]
A sanatized cloud of whatever we could find to keep this house warm
[you told me once that the reason we were loosing our rainforests was the fires of homes on the prairie]
[I told you that killing trees far away wasn't nearly as bad as burning the last potato from our mother's garden]

She rubs her hands together, cold because it never gets warm out here,
[she refused gloves, though they would have given her more hands more utility]
[was it something about mittens being different or]
[something about maintaining her uniqueness in an unbroken field of snow]
and takes pictures with bare hands of a thin film rainbow on our newly shoveled driveway
[father, you shouldn't have mocked her]
[by throwing her China Pencil in a bottle and calling it art]

She told me once - in a dream - that dying tasted metalic
but did not sparkle like she had been promised by Pastor Brown.

Charon still asks for money at the dock.

February 28 - Another Language or When Love Does Not Apply

We do not love each other,
though it is true that I love you,

I will talk of a boy
while you talk of nothing
and I will watch you smile
and hope it is for me

NEWS REPORT
the world will end today

what would you do?
think of you - and do nothing

February 27 - Paper and Chalk

because we both melt in the rain,
we were compared to paper and chalk

because though we both melt in the rain,
we make no mark on eachother.

February 26 - 55 Fiction 3

A metronomic cursor taunts her.
"What... Why do you want me to write?"
His hand snakes around her neck.
"Because your the best.  Program."
Tears roll down her face silently as her fingers go to work.  His hand tightens.
The cursor ticks across the page.
"Done."
"Good."
His hand tightens.
"Why?
"You're the best."
Snap.

February 25 - 55 Fiction 2

"Well OK then..."
"I didn't know how you'd react."
He started humming an obscure tune.
"Why do you hum like that?"
"Helps me think."
"What do you need to think about?"
He slammed her agianst the wall.
"Everything.  Fucking everything."
"I didn't mean anything by it."
"But it meant everything."
She cries.  He stares.
"I'm..."

February 24 - OH one scene

Oh, boxes!

No aim lower

            There you go.

OMG a door, can I leave?

No that would be stupid…

Enough with the boxes, enough with the fire!

You boys have some real fire safety issues

And stop shooting at me!

[gun shot]

Two boxes fell into each other; I didn’t know that was possible…

Oh no, oh no oh no, not good, not good not good

Better weapon better weapon better weapon [no not that one]

            Let’s go

I’m using a gun to ... this shit

Oh loosing health, that’s not good

And there’s no body armor in this level, that’s really not good.

People really just need to learn to stay dead, they should stop coming back alive.

There he is, ah! That’s very exciting

Hey where did they come form!

            Restricted section of the library!

[indiscriminate chatter]
Oh whoa, whoa, ah ah ah

Not good, not good

Oo what’s that?

Are there two of those?

No no no no no

There we go

Turn around, turn around turn around

Oh, I just blew up a table

 That was not smart

I kind of needed each other

[singing]

Oh, hello buddy.

Good bye, and you and you

Better weapon, better weapon, better weapon…..

“James, what an unpleasant surprise do come in blah blah blah”

laser watch laser watch laser watch

Shit.

Ah! I did it! I saved them

Oh no, I shot Natalya.

February 23 - OH One Level

La la la la. La la la la

Oh shit

Come on, come on, come on.  Where is that guy?

This is just getting to be too much work

Eh, it’s not a horrible thing. I have to go to the one later today.

She sent it to us today.

[Gun shots]

Come on, come on.  You can do it.  There you go

Who’s this bastard, why is he here? You do not need to be here buddy.

Opening doors, opening doors. 

There should be a guy right there, where did he go?

That was easy.

There you go.

Here we go.

Oh this is not going to be good

            I need a better weapon

                        Or a more accurate weapon

                                    Handgun, handgun, hand gun

Ok, well, I obviously can’t aim.

Let’s try that again.

All right, gotta go save Natalya. 

I win!  I win!  I saved Natalya!

Now I have more crap I have to do.

Watch laser, watch laser watch laser.

Oh come on, stop going into that weird downward motion

I am not aiming the right spot.

Sorry Natalya, you are going to have a really fiery death, just letting you know.

Yes, yes, Maurice is still backing up his files! He’s in Cuba! N

            Not Helpful Natalya!

Oh shit, there’s….

I had three left!

Maybe if I keep shooting at it…

Oh shit!

            I died.

February 22 - Athletic Banquet Group Story

My friends and I got bored at an awards ceremony so we played a writing game.  Credit where credit is due to Kate and Christine.

“What are we doing here?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“For Harry, remember?”

“Which Harry, The Harry?”

“Certainly, that’s why I brought these pumpkins.”

He sat down on the wooden crates as punctuation to his sentence as his companion looked on with distaste.

“Screw Harry, let’s get out of here.”

“Then what?”

“Then… Fuck, we have to wait don’t we?”

“Yeah, we do.  You got a light?”

“I have my Wand, duh.”

He pulled out a faux-wood LeeLux patented lighter; an unparalleled contraption, no other was quite as reliable or betrayed so obviously in this bitter landscape the wealth of the user.

“Thanks” he exhaled smoke “What was that noise?”

“I dunno.  It sounded big… I really think we should go now.”

“No Creatures be damned, we’re staying…. We need this.”

“Why?  You’ve got money.  What more could you want?  Why did you bring me along?  I’m missing the game for this.”

“Oh, You and your game.”

“’Me and my game’ what’s that supposed to mean?  We’re in this together Davey, don’t forget that.”

“I know, But you still haven’t told me why this is so important and what’s in it for me.”

“I’m not sure … I think you should help me first…”

He motioned languidly to the boxes, suggesting that Davey ought to move the pumpkin boxes but without suggesting where or why – it was his way.

“No, No way.  I am not touching those pumpkin boxes.  Did you hear what they did to the last guy who touched them?  Sorry James, I can’t do it.  But there might be another way.  You got any buckets?”

“What did they do? It couldn’t possibly be that bad.

“You don’t understand, I’m afraid of retribution.”

“Retribution! All this talking around the subject stops now.  You will tell me what is going on.”

“Ok, so here’s the story.  Last year Lily told me to get the seeds in time for her senior project.  I have to do this, and you’re my friend. You have to help me.”

“Fuck your friend’s project!  You know what happens after that project’s over, you didn’t finish. You escaped.” James spat

“You’ll let me out.  I’ll thank you for that by the way.  If we wait any longer for Harry we’re gonna go back and I can’t do that.  Not again.”

“Coward.  You’re going to have to get over your fears some time.”

“No I will not have to face any fucking fears. This is real life James, I get to run away from turning my clock forward.  But if it’s what Lily wants, I have to help.”

“Finally you get it.  I need you to go stall the guard.  Take your gun.”  Davey turned to leave “Wait, be careful. There, take the other pack of cigs.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, hate you too.  Don’t get bit.”

Davey walked away to stand guard.  James heard the click of the safety followed by gun shots.  “James… Harry’s here.  He shot me.  Bastard.”

“Why in the… why would he do that?”

James ran to catch the falling body; as he reached out his arms he felt a great, hulking hand grab his collar and pull him back. “Harry? Harry! What the fuck?”

“He’s dead James. Davey is dead.  I had to shoot him.  It was necessary.  Do you have the boxes?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ha. Funny.  You’re funny.  Here’s the deal. You hand over the boxes, no one else dies.  No one gets shot.  No one gets bit.”

“Take them, I don’t care anymore.  Just take care of Lily.”

February 21 - Overheard: 30 seconds

woah, woah, fire is everywhere
you, yeah you, the kneeling one. Die.
This would be so much easier if... ugh.
[gunshots]
too much work
[keys click]
[rocket]
is there no body armor in this level at all?
apparently there isn't.  ok.  that's problematic
(alright, see you in like an hour)
you bastards! stop hitting me
(like an hour away)
(my hair looks...there's no hope for me ... I don't have a brush .... literally)
[frantic keys]
oh! I'm done with this.
I'm looking for the actual movie because in the actual movie he saves her and he's not a failure Like I currently am...

are you done with that? is your laptop charged?
batteries not charging.  well then.

February 20 - Nonsense Haiku 2

modestly, duckling


raging babies sneezing moist


rogue purring lamely

February 19 - Nonsense Haiku

plowboys glower, gnomes


mimic, feathers somersault


oysters squelch, cunning

February 18 - Pretentious Prose Poem, Amazing or Amazing?

I look out over the snow covered landscape.  And all I see are the ghosts of my past and former selves.  The wind chimes pull me back, but I move forward - barefoot - out into the landscape. To become one with the landscape.  All that shows that I have passed are the bloody footprints (the marks of walking too long across this sharp and torturous snow.  Ice really.  And I see trees: scratching out at the sky which seems to be the same white as the snow.  And I watch the landscape grow and change and remain.  You cannot hear me and yet I call out to you: cries of a desperate woman looking for hope in this killing field.

February 17 - Road Work

"Morning Steve."
He looked up from his tools and the broken spray can to see who had greeted him.
"Morning Jake."
The thrum of machinery began as the workers began their morning tasks.  Distant calls - not actually so distant - periodically punctuated the work of Stephen Lee.  He fiddled with the nozzle on a spray can that had stopped working midday yesterday.
"Still jammed?"
"Yeah."
Jake uncovered his coffee mug and took a gulp.
"Fuck. That's hot."
"No kidding.  It's coffee."
"What's wrong with the nozzle?"
"Dunno.  I gotta get it working though.  They want me to start the shoulder markers today."
"Really? They're letting traffic through starting this afternoon."
"I know."
Jake clapped him on the shoulder "Good luck man."
"Thanks."
Jake stood. "I gotta go relieve Jay."
"How's he doing?"
"What, since..."
"Yeah."
"Shitty.  He's been working double shifts.  Some guy nearly got run over yesterday.  As it was he lost the tools.  Jay's getting sloppy anyway."
"Huh."
"Yeah.  He's going back to work around noon."
"Why?"
"Says he needs the shifts.  And the money."
"I'll be on the look out then."
"Yeah, do that.  I'm well rested, Jay isn't."
Steve grunted as Jake walked away.  He watched him shake the Slow/Stop sign from his hands and send him to Dan's truck for coffee.  As he wrested the nozzle from the canister, he saw the problem.  It was caked shut with asphalt dust and paint.  Slowly, he chipped the blockage out with a Flathead screwdriver, running the tip between his fingers periodically to keep it clean enough to use.  He heard Jake laughing every so often, joking with the drivers about how long the road work was taking. After a few test sprays against his work pants, he set to work on the shoulder marker.
Painting was a tedious job.  It was a specially designed nozzle, meant only to mark where it was necessary, but the spray inevitably spread further than he intended and so he had to drag the same five feet of stencil down the completed roadway, standing to stretch when cars passed by.
A blue minivan drove cautiously past around noon.  The poor girl looked terrified as she made her way through the work zone - must be a new driver he though to himself - with who must have been her younger brother or the kid she was babysitting peered out through the tinted black window.  Steve watched her as she carefully drove past.  She watched him too - thinking There must be a machine for that and Why is he watching me like that - and sped up slightly as she went past.  To him she looked like a girl he'd seen in a scene from a porno.  The kind you pick up off the street with the promise of a free ride to where ever they're going when in reality the fare is a blow job and a little extra.  The kid stared at him too, with the admiration of a five year old boy that thinks working construction will make him a man.  He watches firemen and police officers with the same wide eyes because he does not yet know that the jobs he will really want are the ones that involve the least brawn, the most brains, and wearing a tie in the middle of June.  The car passes through the work zone in the time it would have taken three seasoned drivers to cover the same distance.  She is scared, but she does not mar the new paint.  Steve has not yet had time to go back through with epoxy to protect his masterpiece.
He finished the shoulder around 10 AM and the epoxy around 11:30.
"Hey Steve!"
He looks up in to the bright face of a man who has not been on site all day and who does have to wear a tie to work.
"Hullo."
"So, I see you're ahead of schedule."
"Am I?"
"Yes sir! We were wondering if you had yellow with you today."
"Why?"
"We'd like you to get started on the median."
"I can't, the barrier's there.  I could only do one line."
"Then do one line!  Stephen -"
"Steve"
"- Steve, we think you're doing a great job on this project, you're great to work with. But if we can get even more ahead of schedule, well the Board of Roads would just be ecstatic!"
"Right, good, fine.  I'll get on it I guess."
"Excellent!  That's great Steve!  Well, I'll see ya tomorrow."
He walked off.  Steve didn't know him, but the project had gone through so many managers now that he didn't really care to try to remedy the situation.
"What was that about?"  Jake had joined him as he watched the suit walk away
"They want me to start on the median."
"Fuck no.  They're crazy."
"Eh.  What can you do?"  He began to unwrap a sandwich from the plastic wrap the Shell station from which he had bought it used to keep it gas station fresh.
"Say no is what you can do.  Jay's back on after lunch, remember?"
"I know, I know.  But the suits want me to start."
"Fuck.  Well, don't get yourself killed OK?"
"I've never tried."
Jake left.  Steve went to his car to grab the yellow and the median stencil.  It was hot.  The noon sun flared out across the sky and ribbon of heat rose up from the fresh asphalt re-releasing the fumes into the air.  He reeled for a moment, then resumed his work.  Foot by foot he marked the half of the median that would be placed on the completed road. He was sloppy, but then it didn't really matter.  The spray on the concrete median would disappear with the marker that protected the rest of the workers.  Jake laughed with another guy on the team - his name might have been Mike, maybe Brett - as he continued to rip up the old bridge.
Another car passed.  Something energy efficient driven by a man who tried too hard not to look at the guys.  He swerved to the side and, as he tried not to hit Steve, he marked the white shoulder line on the other side.
"Son of a bitch."
Steve crossed back to where he had left the white paint and epoxy and crossed back to fix the now smeared line.  It happened too often, and rarely while he was on the job to fix it.  He couldn't help but blame himself, but really it was the suit's fault.  The car wouldn't have needed to swerve if he hadn't been there; but he wouldn't have been there had he not been painting the median.  What did it matter?  The line had to be fixed either way.
He returned to the median.  The middle of the median in fact.  He was half way done.  The sun was beginning to sink a little lower in the sky, but was no less hot and no less bright.  The radio balanced precariously on the concrete barrier whose music could be heard by no one over the jackhammers and drills said it was 2:45.  Steve stood and stretched. He wiped his brow and adjusted his cap, making sure that the brim covered the back of his neck.  He'd go home after this, drink a beer, and maybe find someone to fuck him.  But probably not.  He wasn't that lucky.
He returned to the median.  Moving, foot by foot, down the bridge, he shuffled along.  Somewhere someone yelled out to Jay, but he did not hear.  Somewhere a car skidded, but he did not hear.  Something hit him, but he did not feel.  It was too hot.
Jake ran over.  Steve had fallen on his back, his blood mixing with the yellow paint that would not stop flowing. He had fallen on the nozzle.
"Jay!  You fucking moron!"
He grabbed Jay by the collar and threw him against the concrete.
"You fucking moron!"
"It's not... I'm... I'm sorry!"
Jay groveled.
"It's common!"
"It's common! It's common! You fucking moron!  That's a guy, not a statistic."
"5000 will die every year..."
"5000! Five fucking thousand!"
Jake threw him onto the barrier. Stood back and ran his hand through his hair.
"Fuck."
Steve looked up.  It was all he could do.  All he could think about doing.  Just look up into the searing flare of the sun.

February 16 - What I Love Creative Non-Fiction Essay

            You cannot touch a fresh lamp.  The oils on your skin, if they contaminate the glass, will heat up so much when the instrument gets power that the lamp will literally explode.  Which will render the work of re-lamping a fixture utterly pointless.  And it is work.  Careful, precise work.  You are advised to remove the housing entirely which necessitates multiple trips in the Genie, the use of which is in and of itself an ordeal. So you bring the housing back to earth.  It’s hot.  Very hot.  So, gingerly, you undo the mechanisms that keep the old lamp in place and remove it.  There is nothing quite so beautiful as a burnt out lamp.  As it ages, it clouds and dims; a smoky haze collects around the inside surface rendering the once clear glass into a silvery fog.  When it finally goes, it goes like a supernova marking the glass with streaks of blues, purples, and greens.  I have even seen pink once on a lamp that blew particularly spectacularly.  All that then remains is to install the new lamp – without touching the glass – and bring it back up to the grid. 

¢ ¤ ¢

            I worked my first show as a sophomore.  It was the fall play, Homer’s Odyssey, at Brunswick.  I worked on Deck Crew for that particular show and was thrown fully into the madness that is Baker Theater.  This happened to be a Deck Crew of four including the freshman who was tasked with cueing the three of us who actually performed the deck moves.  I learned innumerable lessons during that first show – perhaps most importantly the hierarchy of who can make sarcastic comments about what – but what sticks out for me is my memory of my first hang and focus.  The hang and focus is an all-day and often full weekend ordeal.  During such a call, the crew removes, rehangs, and refocuses the lighting instruments to the satisfaction of the designer/master electrician.  Efficiently run, I’ve participated in one that took 12 hours; inefficiently run, the hang and focus can be a Friday-Saturday-Sunday affair.  But there is nothing like it.  Lighting calls for order and precision but also for adaptation.  The preparation for a hang and focus involves a significant amount of paper work.  Instrument schedules must be written up, light plots must be drawn, and plans for the day must be made.  Spreadsheets and coffee are the lighting designer’s best friends.  But this is not work.  Certainly I do work; I have stayed up far later than I have needed to on many a night in February for the musical.  But I love every second of it.

            It is intensely gratifying to stare into your instruments during a dimmer check and see that, not only is everything working, but also that there is order and precision in every placement.  The preparation for cueing is all about order and precision.  The late nights up doing paperwork, the weekends in the theater, these are ordered affairs.  In order to execute a vision, the vision must be charted and diagramed.  I am not a generally impulsive person.  I like paperwork.  It gives me the security that I know where everything is, what it does, and how it works.  The subtle things that no one sees, these are the products of careful planning and precision.

            However, though I am now famous for my checklists and have been immortalized in Baker Theater with the phrase “to go all Lauren on something”[1], lighting is all about adaptation.  One can lay out a set design, craft a miniature, draw up a cut list, and build a finished product with something to show for your work along the way.  Costumes can cut patterns, make mock ups, and finally sew costumes out of the fabric that a performer will be wearing on stage.  This is not so with lights.  While there exist programs that can show a rough idea of what a design might look like for a given scene, being good at lighting design is about knowing that your director might decide last minute have the entire cast come on as monks for a scene so you’d better have some Bastard Amber[2] close by.  Lighting, above all, adapts.  For all the precision and order of the planning process, designing a show is about seeing what looks good on the performers in the moment.  It is immediate and changing and beautiful.  The right light can make or break a scene.  For me, live mixing and cueing with performers on stage during a live rehearsal are intense and enjoyable.  I do not have time to plan; while live mixing one must simply do. And after the first few moments of telling myself that there’s no way I can possibly pull this off, I settle into a rhythm of simply doing.  There is a glorious Zen to live mixing.  It is love guided by knowledge.

           

---

[1] This is a phrase signifying to go psychotically above and beyond the call of duty with regard to outlines, checklists, and paperwork

[2] RoscoLux #02: Bastard Amber.  It is actually called that by its manufacturer.

February 15 - Milonga

I want to be like the old couples in Buenos Aires,

Dancing a quiet milonga in an up stairs ballroom that has aged with the photographs and will not be refurbished

With a slight smile on my face as I curl my body into yours gracefully and casually, as though we have done this before and will continue until one of us dies quietly and the other is left alone

I do not need the impassioned tango of the class in the other half of the room,

The young people, moving as fast as the phones to which they seem addicted, ablaze with the 1 2, 123 of their music and their longing

No, I would like to move gently, like a lazy summer breeze over the plains,

Swaying with the memories of a life together

Of blackouts and literature and of a thousand first kisses

Letting you lead as though we know what we are doing

But we are not old and we do not live in a city.

We are young, and you know how to tango.

            But I first must learn the steps.

February 14 - play

Play the fool to the gallery

Play fair? Play dirty?

play on words

play away

play for LAUGHS!

play match maker

Play footsie?

play hard to get ;)

role play

play off

play with fire

play truant

play around

play for time…

shadow play

play games, play tricks, play the market, play the boy

play the field

play dead

February 13 - act

act out act

read the riot  act

class act of war

act of god

stage act the fool

act hostile

caught in the act your age

act surprised

act of lunacy

criminal act on impulse

tough act natural

act accordingly

act in good faith

act of parliament

(act of insurrection)

act against, act natural

CIRCUS act

act of mercy

act innocent

disappearing act the part

play act funny

act friendly

act innocent

get on in on the act

act high and mighty

hard act to follow

February 12 - There Was A Lot of Silence

There was a lot of silence
I was confused
by the look in your eyes
when you told me nothing I needed to know
          and everything I didn't

You loved me
(you were repulsed by my body)
You wanted me
(you wanted my mind)
You needed me?
(far from it)

So when our Friendship turned to silence
there was too much
and I look at your smile
and wish for the time you lied.

February 11 - What do You Mean When You Ask for Wit?

What do you mean when you ask for wit? or for courage? I will comb my hair back again and look at the assignment with an eyebrow subtly raised that will not say to you, my English Teacher, that I think this assignment might be a little silly.  I have better things to worry about than analyzing fiction with wit an courage.  And now I stare out the window and dream of the gentle wind (not breeze) that brings a false summer morning cold through the leaves of a Japanese maple that I misidentified as a crab apple tree (it might have been the other way around) in fifth grade because I did not trust myself.

February 10 - Blanche and Me

I used to imagine that if I sang the right songs someone would hear the lyrics and realize that it was a cry for help.  Not that I had the right songs (which might have been the problem).  There aren’t songs for an overly anxious 16 year old.  The kind of 16 year old who falls in love like Oscar Wao and copes with that love like his sister Lola.  That’s something most people don’t know about me. I usually say it’s because I have trouble holding down the emotional side of a relationship, but actually it’s because I don’t even know where to start with the emotional side.  I mean, what can you do about wanting to bend unconditionally to the person to whom you are unequivocally devoted?  Anyway, it’s complicated.  But now I just spend all my time with my new best friend.  We agree on so many things it’s remarkable.  Well, “able to be remarked upon” is an entirely inadequate statement but this is English, and I’m a teenager; so it’ll have to do.  The thing is, Blanche has a lot going for her.  I wish I had her figure.  Maybe if alcohol was my vice – not food – I’d be that lucky, but I’m not.  But she had a thing going for her when she started her “hydrotherapy”.  There’s nothing like sitting immobile in a bathtub with the water running from the shower on “hot as a thousand fiery suns” and not moving.  For half an hour.  It’s great.  And I think she figured out something when she said that the opposite of death is desire.  I won’t quote her, because those weren’t her exact words, but she had the idea and I did steal that.  The opposite of death is desire.  So now I guess I just quote her when I want people to realize that I need a Shep to take me sailing.  And I guess I’ll just tell people in my will that I want to die at sea, so that they can tip me into the azure waters in a perfectly white blanket to be embraced by the waves.