Act I: scene 2

heartbreaker :
leave me
if you’ve a heart -
should I play the role I always hate,
that tortured intellect to which I was drawn,
should I draw myself as one
run!

neigh-sayer :
(insert your line here --
something along the lines of choices,
or control…
maybe fear…
yes
use fear--she fucking hates that)

heartbreaker:
forgive me
if you fall prey -
should I sweetly seal your chosen taste
(that famine respite with which I am enticed)
should I write myself as she
leave!

neigh-sayer :
(ad-lib with this part if you like --
just go with the feeling you know--
whatever comes to you in the moment --
that one thing you know will make her stay)

heartbreaker:
I could form for you a list of all
My flaws and faults
And still
You’d
want
more

So you see...

it’s merely my time and turn
to learn

Rekindling the flame of an old love...

Once upon a time a wee young Cali, at the ripe old age of three, fell in love with a handsome young gent named Wilbur...

It mattered not that he was being brazenly persued by that cunning tart Fern, or that he seemed infatuated with an eight-legged creature on her death bed. She was happy just to gaze upon the pastel portrait she'd woken her mother at 6am to create.

As often happens when a young girl grows, she soon lost interest in the unatainable love of a pig obsessed with spiders and ill-advised relationships. Her affection was soon bestowed on a more emotionally available pig.

He was sweet and gentle, generous with affection, and they shared a fondness for balloons. But alas it wasn't meant to be. The poor, dear piglet simply had one too many phobias. Before she could discover commitment was on the list, the young girl turned her eyes to creatures of a braver make-up, and soon forgot all about that piglet and his trembling.

Some years later when the wee girl was a full-grown woman, an amazing creature stired up all those long-forgotten emotions and she wondered if it was true love at long last. He was joyfull, like Wilbur, and sweet like Piglet, but he was also brave, charismatic and a true friend. Sure he thought he was a dog, but she thought he was the bee's knees.Alas, he was a work-aholic who's loyalty didn't extend beyond the office fence.

Many more years past and the woman thought she'd never find a pig of her own until she spied these...

Perhaps she'll be having a conversation with Kevin soon about her rekindled romance, because oh dear is she in trouble!

Snow...

We had a sudden drop in temperature the past few days and it's got me excited for snow. The below poem was taken from an email I wrote my first winter in Chicago...

since snow started everything
slows
down
it snowed again today and still
amazing
every time i go outside
a surprise
the night sky is pale and glowing and the sidewalks
glisten...even the alley
awe
every time i go outside
soft warm socks are your best friend –
random flakes will
find their way to your tongue and
(I) miss your mouth
if you try to catch them

if this is as bad as it gets,
the answer will only frighten you –

above all else
snow is so…

Does anyone else...

find that they read more "young adult" literature as an adult than they did as a teen?

I just finished reading this

And I must say, I highly enjoyed it.

Got a pin?

Remember the segments on Sesame Street about consequences? There was a little girl named Linda who wondered “What would happen if I popped this balloon?” She would then imagine a series of events that might happen and, inevitably, choose a different, safer course of action. She thought ahead, before acting, about the consequences. Little Linda left a huge impression on me.

What would happen if I popped this balloon?

Some phantom voice whispers that question in my ear to this day. At random intervals that seem disconnected to anything in my current circumstances I hear that voice chanting “what would happen if I popped this balloon?” I suppose I hear it as much as anyone who’s ever doubted themselves, or allowed fear to retard their growth or silence their expression…My “popping balloons” don’t seem so much to be choices I should avoid, as fear of making the wrong choices, or the brave ones. That time-old, nagging fear of failure. What would happen if I put it all out there and I fall, I loose, I’m rejected, I can’t connect with my audience, other artists, love…what if?

But what if I succeed? What if I stand tall, if my voice resonates with someone else? What if I can connect with other artists, with love, with life…What if I can be truly, fully and completely…happy? Isn’t it time I welcome the release of all that’s pent-up in those rubber surrounds? Isn’t it past time I relish the sweet release of the exploding pops? Wouldn’t it be grand to spend the next however many years I have left devoting my life to popping those damned balloons?