Moving at a FAIL'S pace

Alright, so I only finished four monologues. But hey, come on--I had Idaho Shakes coming up (I know you'd rather hear about that--I'll tell ya') and I had to pack...and...uh....party with all my friends...and...hm...Poo! Lots of that. I had to make some doo-doo towers.

That's gross. That's totally gross.

So I'm here! The flight was FABULOUS. And I mean that in the gayest way possible. The flight crew was comprised of a pilot, co-pilot, a SINGING HEAD FLIGHT ATTENDANT, and a pair of ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS DIVAS. The divas were dudes. I had a long conversation with one of em' about Mario 3. So yes, needless to say--we really hit it off. Go Southwest. Who knew?

It was snowing when I got it. See, evidently this is a state that has seasons. It's snowing now, the temperature is floating around the 40s, but in the summer it'll hit upwards of 105. Shnap. Right? I'm also living with a family of four, who are all super cute and totally candid. They made me taco salad. They are great.

I'm driving the Idaho Shakespeare Minivan right now--which I'll have to take a picture of. Or rather, I'll have to get a camera and take a picture of. Fwah. Oh, and I got lost on the way to the theatre. Double awesome! On the whole, I feel far more comfortable than I did in Nebraska--but nothing against all my Nebraska peeps. It's just easier the second time around.

(It took me about 20 minutes to write that last paragraph. Butts.)

Oh, and yeah--art imitating life? I haven't seen another negro yet. Not-a-one. In Nebraska there were like....four or five. Not in the same place, of course, but for the duration of the trip. I think I'll get a bet going with myself. My ballpark? Week three. Yeah. We'll see each other from across the street and everything will become slow motion and flower petals. We'll frolic toward each other, closed hands held forward in what will become the sweetest, most tender fist-pound ever recorded.

I already miss you fuckers, and its day two. I really hope I stay a while, because this is already a sweet gig...but I kinda' hope I don't...because I've got a sweet gig back at home.

Love love love,
Dakotah

P.S. I'M not torrenting Xenogears at a coffee shop, YOU are.

Monologue Fest! (Part Four)

Here's another! Yum yum honeybuns...I took a break there for a bit, but I don't want to miss my deadline. Again, at the end, I'll have you vote on which one I should perform.

Shazam

A woman stands down-center, a look of exasperation on her face. She wears elaborate star-dusted robes and a tall pointed hat. SL of her is a standing table holding a large dark pot. The woman shakes her head and takes a deep breath before rambling through her words.

You have to listen to what I’m saying--it’s a lost cause. I’m sorry you spent so much money and time and effort tracking us down--we are a very secretive organization, and I do appreciate that you specifically selected me to be your liaison…but there is absolutely nothing I can do. Nothing I can do that would work, that is. I know the tendency with you people is to dig into the bowels of history and science in order to extract the quickest fix. The longshot. Without really understanding the implications of what you’re getting yourselves into, you dive right in and hope for the best. It’s the exact same lack of perspective that got you into this mess in the first place! And…I mean come on, just because you haven’t inherited ‘The Sight’ (all hail the sixty moons of Saturn for bestowing upon us the gift of the infinite eye) doesn’t mean you can simply ignore your impact on the very tomorrow you live in! For the sake of the universe, you can’t just ignore the things you can’t see.

The woman calms herself down. Takes a deep breath and glides to her large pot.

Here, for example.

She removes a beer can from the cauldron.

This is a drinking receptacle. It’s made of aluminum.

She places the can into the pot and closes the lid--a second later, her eyes roll back and she enters a trance. Her hands caress the air around the pot for a few seconds…then as soon as it happens, it stops. She blinks awake and opens the lid, removing a sheet of aluminum from the pot.

Alright? That’s it! That’s all I can do for you! It’s still here, and it’s still aluminum. Yes, I can change it into a liquid or a gas or…a plasma, whatever. Sure…but you’re not seeing the main issue here.

She speaks as if addressing a child.

When you close your eyes, do you think the world disappears? No. You’re right. It’s still there. If you can’t see something, does it not exist? Does…oh…say…Siberia exist? Yes. Yes it does. How about…Lisbon? Sure it does. Riiight. What about…oh….gee….the refuse you threw out last week? Yes. You betcha. It’s still there. How about…oohh…next week? That is to say…does next week exist? If you're not looking at next week, is it still there? Are we…are we having trouble with this one?

Her exasperation builds.

YES IT FUCKING IS! COME ON, PEOPLE!! USE YOUR IMAGINATIONS AT LEAST! And whether or not you’ll be here to see it, it’s still going to HAPPEN.

Look…I’m not trying to come off like an environmentalist. If I’m an activist for anything, it’s thinking. Rational thought. This…fooling ourselves it’s just…

She sighs.

Come the fuck on. You can’t fix your problems if you refuse to think. For fuck's sake, I’m an alchemist, not a magician.

Love,
Dakotah

Monologue Fest! (Part Three)

Here's the next one! It's pretty out there, but they've all been that way I guess. Enjoy!!

Saint

An extremely run-down young man shuffles onstage, staggers for a moment, then looks up as if the light bothers him. He grimaces, looks about tensely, breathes out a puff of air and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

I know you don't really know me or nothin', but I wanna' say thank you. Thank you for savin' my life. Now no, don't go thinkin' it was givin' blood or nothin'. It wasn't anything like that. You just...you've just been there fer me. So...thank you.

The young man starts pacing.

Like one time I was on acid, right? Y'know...among other shit. I was with some other guys, but I was havin' this real bad trip, right? Like...I get all up in my head on that shit. I'm like...I'm like that anyway, but like—this time was real intense. Real like—metaphysical personal shit. I started seein' these eyes and shit everywhere. The walls started like...bleeding and there was this red glow from the lights and it got like...it was just bad y'know? So anyway, everybody like...went to bed and everything, but I was still awake—just trippin' out and getting' the shakes and all that sorta' shit. I couldn't stay warm, right? I wrapped a blanket around myself and I still kept shiverin' like it wouldn't stop. I didn't know what else to do so... The man laughs. Look, I'm sorry. You prolly don't wanna' hear this part...but I just gotta' get it off my chest. I start jackin' off, right? Cuz like—I dunno, somethin' about is just...it's familiar. Y'know? I don't care if it makes sense. Anyway, I wasn't...gettin' anywhere. Y'know? I started thinkin' about all sort of shit, but nothin' was doin' it for me. And like..my heart was pounding like crazy cuz I was still trippin' balls. I was feverish. I couldn't stop sweatin' and clenchin' my jaw. And fuck, man, I was still seein' shit. That—darkness was tryin' to claw its way into my brain through my eyelids and just...suddenly...you were there. I don't know why. You just...you showed up.

The man smiles.

This might sound weird...but...my heart slowed down. I calmed down. I don't know if it was cuz' I was still seein' shit or whatever, but you—listen, again sorry but—you took me in one hand and with the other you pushed my face up to yours and kissed me. I remember you wore this...I dunno...gypsy costume or something. Ocean blues and greens...and...from there we. Well...look, you can probably guess the rest. Right? But look—I don't know what it was about that, but after we finished, you poured a golden light over my whole body and whispered into my ear until I fell asleep.

It wasn't 'till later that I found out I was in the early stages of an OD. Y'know. If I hadn't slowed my heart rate down, it woulda been...well yeah, it woulda' been bad. So just...thank you. I've never told you that, but thank you.

The man begins to walk away.

But um...let's not talk about it, alright? It's weird.

Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them!

Love,
Dakotah

Monologue Fest! (Part Two)

Here's number 2 of 5. Yahoo!

Casual Encounter

Lights up on an attractive man typing away on a laptop. 'The Girl From Ipanema' plays from the speaker. He clicks around a bit, then stops and looks at his screen. He looks up.

“Tongue in your bung. M for W. I get pleasure from giving your nice sweet ass oral until you (finger quotes) 'Assgasm'. You need to be very clean...et cetra et cetra....I will lick and tongue your backdoor for as long you like.” The man lets out a sigh and shakes his head. Definitely not one of mine. The man puts his laptop aside. Who would wanna' go on a rollercoaster called “There are three loops in it”? Hm? “This one spins around”? There's no...mystery here. No excitement. No, sweetie—this was clearly made in haste. You've got to take your time, even with Casual Encounters.

Oh I'm sorry--you are...familiar?

Oh, honey--let me educate you! In the era of technology, where everything is at your fingertips—hmm—we still need that extra little bit of connection. Not just talking to an old college friend, not just gettin' coffee witcher coworkers, but—well—fuckin'. Even the magical iPhone hasn't solved that problem. I can press a button to find the nearest sushi restaurant, make a reservation, and have drinks on the table by the time I get there—but my dick certainly won't suck itself. Pause To be crass. So they've got a little place online where you can write out a one-line personal ad to get—hmm--what you want. The only problem is that most people are not the eloquent type. They want what they want and they can't think of anything else. For example. The man picks up his laptop again, clicks around a bit, then looks at his screen with satisfaction. “Hey, where's the giant cocks at? Hungry for deepthroat and a tight ass.” Man cocks his eyebrow. I won't even get into the spellin' errors, but this definitely does not serve to entice. It's written like bathroom scrawl. Utterly no magic at all. This nervous little boy should have come to me. I am what you'd call a 'Marketing Expert'. People come to me to add a little flavor to their—hm—'invitations'. For example this lady e-mails me one day, says “Look, I'm twenty-eight, gorgeous, and a dancer—and all I want is a good no-strings-attached fuck.” I say to her “Sweetie, you've got to be eloquent. Mysterious. A little witty, a little charming. You've gotta' sell it. None o' this hamfisted 'light brown hair, blue eyes, huge breasts' junk. Lure em in~” So for a little fee, I turned her desire into a regular rolex ad. Ahem--

The man clicks around on his laptop, grins, then looks at the audience.

First line--”You got one leg over your shoulder.” Intrigued? Of course you are. The man clicks dramatically. Ka-lick-ka. “Now contact me. You won't be sorry. I'm willing, open minded and I am able to bend to both of our wills and twist into some pretty crazy positions. Let's show the Kama Sutra what we can do!” Now that is an ad. That was written by yours truly. Y'see, there's a major difference between....the man clicks around ...ah—'Young Stud Em for Em'—aaaand...the man clicks around again...'Part saving the world...part savoring it'. Isn't there? Now--the man closes his laptop and leans forward --what can I do for you?

P.S. All of the examples in this monologue are REAL CRAIGSLIST ADS.

Monologue Fest!

Well..not the UCSB Monologue Festival (which was awesome.) This is the Dakotah Brown monologue festival. By that, I mean--I'm going to write five monologues by next Friday and I'd like you AVID READERS to select the best one out of the group. I'll memorize and perform it via YouTube or...y'know...just on here. Maybe I can develop this into a submission-based thing-a-ma-bob, but for now I just need to increase my body of self-written work.

SO, widdout furder a doo-doo sticks. Here's the first one!

Deals

How's it goin'? How are ya'? How's the family? Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and have a seat there.

The man in a suit arranges some papers on his desk.

Aaaalright. So I've been looking through your file and it looks like just about everything is in order. You must have a good...guy. It's all up to date. You've got documentation for everything. Good. We can get down to brass tacks. The real..ah..meat of the deal. So- The man folds his hands -I've prepared a few deals for you based on your current financial situation, and I think you're going to enjoy what I've come up with. First off, you've got your basic deal. You have free access to the green paved roads, with bonus days on Sunday and Thursday, where you can use the red and blue roads from seven pm until midnight. All the standard pedestrian walkways are free and the premium walking paths are pay-as-you-go. You don't have to worry about that, though—I'm looking through your usual routes on here...aaaaand yeah, no you'll be good. Oop, wait—you'll have to take a slightly more scenic path to and from the grocery store, but that's fine. We could all use the exercise, am I right? I'll go ahead and throw in public toilets within a certain area and, if you don't mind the small surcharge, you can have access to 'raising your voice'. That's a good deal. If I were you, I'd keep that one in the docket. You won't find an access deal much better than that.

Hm? Go on?

Alright! I knew you had a nose for values, my friend. The next deal is a bit tricky. I had to do some finagling to draw this one up, but I know my loopholes. This is like the last one; green roads anytime, bonus days, walking paths—no premium walking paths at all, but whatever you'd be paying for those goes directly into talking with premium members. How's that? Say you go to a bar—well, assuming you pay for entertainment access of course—but say you go to a bar, see a nice looking lady across the way—but boom, you realize she's paying for premium access. You'd never be able to speak to her. Or, y'know, more specifically the anvil in her inner ear is tuned to a wavelength that doesn't accept incoming sound from public sources. You can talk all you want—at a normal volume until you pay to upgrade—and she wouldn't hear a word of it. But now, with this other deal, you can give her a 'hello'. Spring for a few drinks and take her home along the green roads. Of course you'd only be able to converse once you're back there. I mean...it's a shame they don't make other options available for more...ah..frugal individuals...but y'know how it is. I don't make the rules here. Hey, if you get that raise though—we might be able to tack on a basic touching plan. Get some interaction going on? Hm? Anyway, I would take that one. That one's veeery—huh? Oh. I gotcha. Okay, nothing flashy. That's fine. I understand that. You're saving up. That's great. I totally respect that. We can dial it down so you can afford it. Are you interested in the..ah...no-frills deal?

Okay, yeah—just let me...

The Man in the Suit flips through the papers on his desk, singles one out with a slight hint of disgust.

..Alright, here we are. Ultra-Basic. You get green roads on weekdays from six am to five pm. After that they're off-limits...so try not to drive before or after that. It'd be an automatic violation, and nobody wants to see that happen, am I right? Standard pedestrian walkways are free on weekdays, but the tolls are in effect on weekends and holidays. In addition, there are blackout days where...ah...where I suggest you find something really good on TV.

The Man laughs.

Speech is basic-to-basic, 'raising your voice' is charged per-use and you have an exertion cap of forty minutes total...weekly aaand no more than ten minutes a day. You'll have to ahh...cut the jogging routes a little shorter now, eh? That's about it, if you're interested. It's a good deal, don't get me wrong. If I could afford to cut back on some of the finer things, I'd be on it myself. Unfortunately the ol' yacht won't sail itself. Am I right? Huh? Am I right?

Hey-WHOA!! and Love the One You Is

(I'm watching the coolest conversation between Tom Whitaker's clone and a skinny intense man with glasses outside. In my head there's a lot of profanity and metaphysics.)

SO in returning to L.A., I began to notice a certain...attitude...I guess? Yeah, that's what we'll call it. I've dubbed this attitude "Hey-WHOA!!" (Also comes in profanity flavor!) Now imagine doing that while throwing your hands up in your face, protectively. Do it a couple of times, and you'll begin to embody what I'm talking about. It's not even like I was gone for very long, but going to Nebraska--where strangers ask "Have you had enough to eat?" was a very nice eye-opener. I realized that in my self, I'm generally quick to put up the barriers. It got to the point where I'd just lock myself in for the sake of preemptively protecting my ego. (Which incidentally is the single off of my new emo rock album.) It's not a fun way to be. It's sort of telling yourself that you can't handle anything. "BE CAREFUL ALL THE TIME BECAUSE YOU SUCK BALLS." LOTS of folks in L.A., for reasons I may dive into in some other rambling pseudo-intellectual post, embody this attitude to a T.

ALTERNATIVELY

"If you can't be the one you love, love the one you is"

More often than not, I'll beat myself up about things instead of just outright fixing them. Its easier for me to find motivation through self-hatred rather than through an objective and love-based desire to change. Being a dick to yourself feels powerful and dramatic, but it can't sustain itself. You can pull out you guts and stomp on em as much as you want, but in the end--you're still gutless. Lately, I've been opting instead to just come from a place of love and let changes take the time they need. You don't teach a child to walk by screaming f-bombs at it when it falls down. Though...*snicker*...I mean...the image is delicious.

But no, seriously. You're loved. If we have enough love to give some to our favorite pair of shoes--we can eat least sling some in our own direction.

Speaking of which-

Love Love Love and Dirty Jokes,
Dakotah

Fun Sized!

Here are a few nibbles of thought from this evening so far--

How come the one Asian guy at Fuddruckers was wearing a Bruce Lee shirt? Who wrote tonight's goddamn episode? I could use their blatant lack of tact on my staff.

Budweiser is actually the serf of beers. Perhaps in a bloody regime change in might sneak in and usurp the throne.

Where are all my Mexicans at? How am I supposed to practice my awkward, stumbling, Espanol? PISO MOJADO!

Pomplamoose is a band I'd talk about if I wanted to get into bed with a short-haired girl with black-rimmed glasses and an ironic t-shirt.

The night is young, expect a much less cohesive addendum to this post in a matter of hours.