May 15 - Pineing

I love you most when I am not with you.

I love the pineing for your company, true.
But, more important, I love the way I have filled in the gaps of your life.  What I do not know, I make up.  This suits me best.  To love a man I do not truly know but believe I understand.

May 14 - Woes of an Insomniac

To sit in solemn silence

is an enviable thing...

May 13 - War

When she enters the room, she is greeted by reminders of destruction.
Above the window, a reproduction of Guernica dominates a space that should not even be visible.  A photo of Bikini Atoll hides in the peripheral vision of anyone who sits at the desk.
What a place to work.
Constantly reminded of how quickly the decision to kill an entire town or an entire island can be made.

May 12 - Your's

She fucks like Roma's best.
Cafe au lait when you wake -
a cigarette if that's your thing.

Waiting for someone to remember
fondly.

May 11 - Chickens

Chickens out-number humans 3+:1.
There are 24 billion of them.

I look at their beady little eyes in a new light now.
They all look the same.  An ocean of shiny, emotionless pin heads.
I see them pecking me to death with no remorse.

May 10 - Untitled

I saw men and women - equal without power - wandering the streets, dead and dying phones, tablets, and computers in hand.
Lost, so lost.
They looked up at the sky for the first time in years, finally untethered.
And saw the grey.  the same grey as the side walk they were so accustomed to.
They could have seen what they were missing...

God plays cruel tricks.

May 9 - Aftermath

In some places, the storm fostered brotherhood.
Friendly neighbors ran extension cords and power strips, offering passers by a place to charge up.
In that age, we do not know what to do without electricity.
We do not know how to use a dictionary or an encyclopedia.
We are lost in this darkness.
But, as I said, in some this storm fostered brotherhood.
They helped where they could have hoarded.
Asking nothing in return.

May 8 - prayer

Scrawled on the wall was an invocation -

OH Great GOD of power

OH Great GOD of Light

OH Great GOD of GAS

OH CON-ED; OH CON-ED

WHERE HAS ALL THE Power FLED?

- in a child's sacrificial blood.

May 7 - Judgement Week

Nothing is quite so damaging as boredom.
With nothing to direct our attentions, we turn to each other.
and judge.
and find our company lacking.

May 6 - Setting

The grocery stores look like movie sets for post apocalyptic stories.
Signs - like the 70s - proclaim No GAS at every turn

And windows flicker with candles.
         Everywhere it is Diwali.
         We celebrate light like never before.

May 5 - Baptism

A flood came.
Like a baptism for new earth
It christened a new region of Manhattan: SoPo (south of power)
and a new age - one of shortage and anger

May 4 - Clouds

The clouds will not leave.
The sky taunts us in the mornings, showing glimpses of blue and even white cloud cover
It teases us with a break in the grey
But the clouds do not leave
They stay.  Menacing, with the idea of more rain about them.

May 3 - Romanticism

It's Romantic...
Storm and stress.  Sandy and college applications.  Certain English poets whom she idolizes would be proud.  Not fully remembering the Romantic movement from sophomore english and history, she declines to say which ones.
She reads Puritan religious epics, a gay fantasia on national themes, social psychology.  All by candle light.  She marvels that it can be colder inside the house than outside.
(in a fit of madness, she throws her windows open and shouts King Lear into the storm)
Roy was right; life is some crazy sandstorm in space.  It attacks from every angle and it rips you to bits.
Sand Storm: sandy storm; storm, sandy; hurricane sandy.
A metaphor more apt than ever she cleverly thinks.

She is very alone.  And possibly drunk.
on what she does not know.

May 2 - Dawn

For warmth, she curls up next to a man she does not know.  They met here.  In this abandoned husk of a house.
He put his arms around her as she began to cry, not knowing he wanted nothing more than the warmth of another.
He is sick but not catching.  She is alone.  So he tells her of his family (who are gone) and of his journey (which will not end).  They share a birthday candle for warmth.
7.  The number of days since the electricity fled. They think.  Who really knows... no one seems to care.  They have accepted a week long hurrication.  It will be Monday when they return.
Monday of a new year and a new age.

May 1 - Running North

So many escaped north before the storm.
The roads were bumper to bumper for miles.
Then something Snapped.
The rules broke down.
Cars began to move.
Knowing no one would stop them from doing wrong.

April 30 - Last day of April

The showers came.
No flowers seem to follow.

April 29 - Man at Train Station

Lost, a man stands at the train station and lights a cigarette.
He wears old jeans and a Yale sweatshirt.
He looks North.
No train comes.
He stands, smoking, hoping for a reprieve from his dark, cold, listless life and home.

April 28 - Fights

No one knows when it erupted.  Fisticuffs over gasoline.
Stations all around are empty - men congregate there in baseball caps and workboots because there's coffee and they have no where left to go - of gas.
All I know: there was a fight.
Two men in suits, insisting on driving to a obsolete job, fought.  Over the last few gallons.  Or over a spot in line.  or nothing at all.

April 27 - Falling Stars

The stars fell.
When the storm came that took our light, it took the sky with it.
Clouds came, and did not go.
For weeks, they hang over us.

And the stars I brought home from a tropical world - the kind that sees and weathers this storm all the time - stopped shining

There was nothing to keep them lit.

April 26 - Address and Note

5999 Green Towers, 

Smalltown, Connecticut, 

06895-9926

I am told that there is someone who will help us here.

I begin my journey into night.

Come what may, I will return before the power.

Oh great god of power, oh great god of light, oh great god of gas, oh Con-Ed.  Oh Con-Ed.  Where has all the power fled?

IDOLATERS

If it comes back before me, it will not stay for long.  It will be ephemeral.

It will brake down like out love when exposed to high wind

April 25 - Note from and Old Show

 - A pickle was left on the scrim

I think you must be first informed that this wasn't really scrim.  It's what our director calls scrim.  In reality, it's essentially Black Cheese Cloth.
And this note was made because an actress tossed this pickle aside because she didn't have time to eat a pickle that she was given by her "little brother".  She was meant to eat it.  But she couldn't.  The transition wasn't really long enough and no one can eat a whole pickle quickly.
So it sat.
Until the Scrim needed to be used,
and another actor, using the scrim, flung the pickle into center stage.  Where it remained,
for the run of the rehearsal

silly pickle.

April 24 - Beatrice

light of my light
star of my stars
It once was quoted to me by someone dear.  Not at me.  I am no one's Beatrice.  I writhe, wandering, unable to rest, in the pits of Inferno.  I am not Beatrice.  Not to this man and not to you.
But she still speaks to us - is forced on us - though Dante is long dead and she may not even have lived.  Light of my Light, Star of my Stars.  She shines before the poet.  Temptress of kleos and life eternal.

April 23 - almost blackout

And suddenly the world was small
Made so by a storm - winds (gales) and rains (torrents) - unlabelable and unlabeled
As day faded into night we watched the lights flicker
We waited for them to die
As one by one our connections to the modern world fall
We watched branches lash the windows and the walls; they fell in some places
And the world was small
reduced to this room, to these books, and to our company

this is when we knew
we are impermanent
our connection as tenuous as the phone lines and Internet