I can't figure out whether love is like truffle hunting, songwriting, cleaning a mirror, or solving a mystery.
I know, I'm totally preoccupied with the concept--but that's just because it's so confusing/simple. It's ludicrous (and downright disrespectful) to doubt whether I've really been in love before. I have. Simple as that. Now that my ideas of love have altered however, I find myself getting psyched out. I spend my days staring at the ground because I found a loose five dollar bill one time. Any time there's a hint of green on the concrete, it's "Oh...OH..IS THAT...? IS IT-? Oh...no, I guess not. It's just a 'Home Run Pie' wrapper. Nevermind." and I thrust my hands into my pockets skulk away. Having a constant inner monologue of "Maybe this is it! Maybe this is it! No, maybe THIS is it!" Serves only to disappoint and confuse.
What this seems to be becoming is a declaration against love.
And that's not really really what I want. It may be what I need, though.
And then again, I am definitely over-complicating things.
The concern: Love is possible, but I...
A. Have had it and lost it.
B. Haven't really had it, but have been infatuated enough to think I have. (Then see 'A')
C. Am spending all of my time bitching about it instead of going after every single opportunity that I should.
C2. I have been going for opportunities, however I have also realized that I'm bad at the whole thing--and I should throw in the towel now. (Then see 'B')
D. Am surrounded by it even now, but in order to support a dramatic 'woe is me, I'm so lovelorn--where it my Postal Service CD?' mentality, I have chosen to ignore that fact.
E. Haven't cultivated a deep enough love and understanding of yours truly to even recognize love when it's all up in my greel.
F. Have to get all the "Love? Hah. Let's just get nekked." out of my system first.
F2. Who am I kidding? I will NEVER get option 'F' out of my system.
It's confusing. But not really. I'm just impatient.
Also unconditional love fucking terrifies me. So...y'know...it's probably the right road to begin heading down. There are people I will always love, no matter what. I hope they know that. The hard part is saying, "I'll love you even if you don't love me back. I'll love you when you hate me. I'll love you if I never see you again. I'll love you when you're walking down the aisle with someone else."
Perhaps I've contradicted myself.
In the end--the only one who needs to love you is you...but we have so many derisive words for those people.
Whatever. I'm finally back in ownership of "The Once and Future King."
Love love love,
Dak
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Four shows down as week one nearly draws to a close.
Our teeny group already feels like a family, as do the adorable hubby, wife, and kids who's spare room I sleep in. The past few weeks have been incredibly intense, and I've just been rolling with it. I like being up early (weird.) I love hopping in the Tranny Wagon and rumbling over to a school in the boonies to unload our set in the snow. I love loitering in coffee shops to steal WiFi and download AVGN episodes to watch at home, where I have 4 good minutes of internet every day. I love popping over to the WinCo where everything is cheap and the unhealthy snacks are plentiful. I love pleading with my wife to say the one thing that can, at very least, keep her soul from an eternity of damnation.
Th..that last part happens in the play...
Be bold.
Make tough choices.
Cause trouble.
Surprise people.
Good things to do onstage...incidentally good things to do in life, too. Yoko Ono said "Every time you don't say what you think, you die a little bit." That's absolutely true. That goes for doing what you really want as well. I can't ever afford to be less me. Nobody can and nobody should. For the past few weeks, I've enjoyed the luxury of really feeling like myself--and not trying to impress anyone. I've been able to step back and say "Whoa...this is ME." Whatever that entails. And hell, it's been TOUGH to remove the judgment. But...as I found out at Grandma's memorial...that's the ONLY thing you can do. The only way you can do this the right way is to be wholly honest and wholly yourself. Avoid the fake armor. Throw away the big scary mask and just be sweet to people. There is ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY no way that can hurt you. Making the decision to be Lord of the Deuches only shows your hand to the table. Pair o' twos, huh? 'Course you had to bluff your ass off.
Well fuck it, man. Come here and get a hug. You're the coolest. No, shut the fuck up--you are. I don't wanna' hear any excuses.
Love love love,
Dakotah
Our teeny group already feels like a family, as do the adorable hubby, wife, and kids who's spare room I sleep in. The past few weeks have been incredibly intense, and I've just been rolling with it. I like being up early (weird.) I love hopping in the Tranny Wagon and rumbling over to a school in the boonies to unload our set in the snow. I love loitering in coffee shops to steal WiFi and download AVGN episodes to watch at home, where I have 4 good minutes of internet every day. I love popping over to the WinCo where everything is cheap and the unhealthy snacks are plentiful. I love pleading with my wife to say the one thing that can, at very least, keep her soul from an eternity of damnation.
Th..that last part happens in the play...
Be bold.
Make tough choices.
Cause trouble.
Surprise people.
Good things to do onstage...incidentally good things to do in life, too. Yoko Ono said "Every time you don't say what you think, you die a little bit." That's absolutely true. That goes for doing what you really want as well. I can't ever afford to be less me. Nobody can and nobody should. For the past few weeks, I've enjoyed the luxury of really feeling like myself--and not trying to impress anyone. I've been able to step back and say "Whoa...this is ME." Whatever that entails. And hell, it's been TOUGH to remove the judgment. But...as I found out at Grandma's memorial...that's the ONLY thing you can do. The only way you can do this the right way is to be wholly honest and wholly yourself. Avoid the fake armor. Throw away the big scary mask and just be sweet to people. There is ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY no way that can hurt you. Making the decision to be Lord of the Deuches only shows your hand to the table. Pair o' twos, huh? 'Course you had to bluff your ass off.
Well fuck it, man. Come here and get a hug. You're the coolest. No, shut the fuck up--you are. I don't wanna' hear any excuses.
Love love love,
Dakotah
Monday, February 22, 2010
X-Urped
Here's even MORE of the play. It's finished. Let me know if you want the whole thing. I'll send it to you....or whatever---I don't even really care... *weep*
MAN. Ow.
WOMAN. You fucking deserve it.
MAN. Getting sloppily to his feet. You hit really hard.
Pause
WOMAN. Are you alright?
MAN. No.
WOMAN. Good. How’s your metaphor?
MAN. Ha ha.
WOMAN. I should’ve kicked you in the junk.
MAN. Thanks.
WOMAN. Or tazed you.
MAN. You’re a peach.
WOMAN. Don’t do that again.
MAN. No kidding.
WOMAN. I’m going.
MAN. I don’t want you to.
WOMAN. Why not?
MAN. Because we’re getting close.
WOMAN. To what? Really?
MAN. Where’d you put those veggies?
WOMAN. They’re in the freezer.
MAN. Uh huh. Walks into the kitchen.
WOMAN. I should’ve put em in the middle drawer on the left. Or the oven. The broiler. Would’ve been more your style.
MAN. Off. You’re a doll. Returning with the veggies pressed to his mouth. He goes to the couch and flops down. I’ll tell you one thing, we definitely jumped that ‘sleeping together’ hurdle.
WOMAN. Yeah, right?
MAN. So…well done.
WOMAN. I’m not staying though.
MAN. I kinda’ figured. He winces.
WOMAN. How’s your face?
MAN. Feels a little ‘punched’.
WOMAN. There’s a cream for that.
MAN. I’m going to call you ‘Tina Tactful’ from now on.
WOMAN. Tina? Ew.
MAN. You brought it on yourself. What’s wrong with ‘Tina’ anyway?
WOMAN. Stop saying it.
MAN. It’s like you can’t restrain a pretty girl with extreme force anymore these days.
WOMAN. I’ll ignore the creepiness of that sentence because you called me ‘pretty’.
Love love love!!
Dakotah
MAN. Ow.
WOMAN. You fucking deserve it.
MAN. Getting sloppily to his feet. You hit really hard.
Pause
WOMAN. Are you alright?
MAN. No.
WOMAN. Good. How’s your metaphor?
MAN. Ha ha.
WOMAN. I should’ve kicked you in the junk.
MAN. Thanks.
WOMAN. Or tazed you.
MAN. You’re a peach.
WOMAN. Don’t do that again.
MAN. No kidding.
WOMAN. I’m going.
MAN. I don’t want you to.
WOMAN. Why not?
MAN. Because we’re getting close.
WOMAN. To what? Really?
MAN. Where’d you put those veggies?
WOMAN. They’re in the freezer.
MAN. Uh huh. Walks into the kitchen.
WOMAN. I should’ve put em in the middle drawer on the left. Or the oven. The broiler. Would’ve been more your style.
MAN. Off. You’re a doll. Returning with the veggies pressed to his mouth. He goes to the couch and flops down. I’ll tell you one thing, we definitely jumped that ‘sleeping together’ hurdle.
WOMAN. Yeah, right?
MAN. So…well done.
WOMAN. I’m not staying though.
MAN. I kinda’ figured. He winces.
WOMAN. How’s your face?
MAN. Feels a little ‘punched’.
WOMAN. There’s a cream for that.
MAN. I’m going to call you ‘Tina Tactful’ from now on.
WOMAN. Tina? Ew.
MAN. You brought it on yourself. What’s wrong with ‘Tina’ anyway?
WOMAN. Stop saying it.
MAN. It’s like you can’t restrain a pretty girl with extreme force anymore these days.
WOMAN. I’ll ignore the creepiness of that sentence because you called me ‘pretty’.
Love love love!!
Dakotah
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Vidjeo!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gk5VpwOiTHI
This video is great...and not just because of the opening shot.
(Bigger update later.)
(That's what...he...said..?)
This video is great...and not just because of the opening shot.
(Bigger update later.)
(That's what...he...said..?)
Friday, February 19, 2010
For Grandma
I think, when it’s done right
With love and honesty
And a genuine appreciation for Godzilla
And pride, because there’s nothing else to call it
And no condiments--keep em’ off the table.
You can achieve a thing like immortality
A diffusion of spirit or,
rather,
a magnification.
Because while we are sad
(just like you wanted--but really just like we all do)
We’ve never been greater than we are now
That we carry you wherever we go.
With love and honesty
And a genuine appreciation for Godzilla
And pride, because there’s nothing else to call it
And no condiments--keep em’ off the table.
You can achieve a thing like immortality
A diffusion of spirit or,
rather,
a magnification.
Because while we are sad
(just like you wanted--but really just like we all do)
We’ve never been greater than we are now
That we carry you wherever we go.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
More of that one play.
Who knows if this will go anywhere, but here's some more of it.
MAN. No. I just can’t imagine it really working. Two strangers get together, have a big celebration, throw jewelry on, and then mush their entire lives into one? In-laws and husbands’ friends and couples tennis matches and matching armchairs?
WOMAN. Some people take solace in partnership, I’m sure that’s not too hairy a concept for you.
MAN. Define hairy.
WOMAN. Vaudeville voice. You should see my legs. Yakketty shmakketty doo~!
MAN. Partnership and safety are different things. Reality is inherently unsafe.
WOMAN. Really? Pause. Really? Have you been through reality? All of it? Stood at life’s tasting bar and sipped ounce glasses of joy and sorrow? Pain? Ecstasy? Loss? Spit it out and analyze the flavors for yourself?
MAN. So now you’re metaphoring.
WOMAN. You like it? I made it myself.
MAN. Very pretty.
WOMAN. Thanks, I exfoliate. Oh, fuck-- Darts into the kitchen, then speaks from offstage. Actually, that’s not bad--I think it’s a good representation of--Shit! Ahh--fuck!
MAN. You alright?
Pause.
WOMAN. Off. Fucking shit fuck!
MAN. Oh! Man! Hold on--
The man dashes into the kitchen. We hear a freezer door open and a bag of frozen vegetables removed.
MAN. Off. Here, hold this.
WOMAN. Off. God fucking dammit--
MAN. Off. You alright?
WOMAN. Off. No.
MAN. Off. You’ll live.
WOMAN. Off. Fucking handle, for fuck’s sake.
MAN. Off. Hold it. Keep holding it. Pause. Is your metaphor okay?
WOMAN. Off. Fuck you.
We hear a few pans move about, then eggs begin to sizzle audibly.
MAN. Off. Why don’t I take over?
WOMAN. Off. Good, I was going to make you anyway. The woman walks on, clutching a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel in her right hand. Now and again, she looks at it and shakes her head.
MAN. Off. So, tasting bar?
WOMAN. You’re wrong about marriage. It turns all…weird when you talk about it. Then again, everything turns weird when you talk about it.
MAN. Off. Thanks, I exfoliate.
WOMAN. I think you’re more basic than you think. Or maybe you’re afraid you’re more basic than you think.
MAN. Off. Maybe.
WOMAN. You grow up with fantasy, books that tell you to take a chance, kiss a frog. Now we walk around disappointed because there are fewer unicorns than we were promised. I’ve never even ridden a horse.
MAN. Off. Me neither. How do you want these eggs?
WOMAN. Whatever.
MAN. Off. Weren’t you gung-ho about this a minute ago?
WOMAN. Scrambled then.
MAN. Off. I can make them ‘over whatever’ if you want. ‘Whatever side up‘.
WOMAN. Don’t tease me, I’m crippled. When does that change happen, you think?
MAN. Off. What change?
WOMAN. Wonder to disappointment.
MAN. Off. I’ve wondered that myself.
Pause.
WOMAN. Settling is okay, right? It’s a way to do it.
MAN. Off. Like marriage.
WOMAN. Oh, shut up.
MAN. Stepping into the room. We all die single. Marriage doesn’t change our biology. Saying a thing, having a party, eating some cake, wearing some metal--dissect it all and pin it down. They’re breeds of butterflies that we make a pattern out of and call ‘marriage’. It’s all so-- He does the Woman’s earlier gesture for how he was acting. You get that. Right?
WOMAN. I think you’re wrong.
MAN. Well that’s fine.
WOMAN. Oh my God, don’t be smug. I’ve let you be weird, but don’t be smug. Go cook the fucking eggs.
MAN. Will you make the fucking pancakes?
WOMAN. Fuck yeah, I will.
MAN. Al-fucking-right.
The man walks back into the kitchen.
WOMAN. I’m starting to see how the snow globe thing happened.
MAN. No. I just can’t imagine it really working. Two strangers get together, have a big celebration, throw jewelry on, and then mush their entire lives into one? In-laws and husbands’ friends and couples tennis matches and matching armchairs?
WOMAN. Some people take solace in partnership, I’m sure that’s not too hairy a concept for you.
MAN. Define hairy.
WOMAN. Vaudeville voice. You should see my legs. Yakketty shmakketty doo~!
MAN. Partnership and safety are different things. Reality is inherently unsafe.
WOMAN. Really? Pause. Really? Have you been through reality? All of it? Stood at life’s tasting bar and sipped ounce glasses of joy and sorrow? Pain? Ecstasy? Loss? Spit it out and analyze the flavors for yourself?
MAN. So now you’re metaphoring.
WOMAN. You like it? I made it myself.
MAN. Very pretty.
WOMAN. Thanks, I exfoliate. Oh, fuck-- Darts into the kitchen, then speaks from offstage. Actually, that’s not bad--I think it’s a good representation of--Shit! Ahh--fuck!
MAN. You alright?
Pause.
WOMAN. Off. Fucking shit fuck!
MAN. Oh! Man! Hold on--
The man dashes into the kitchen. We hear a freezer door open and a bag of frozen vegetables removed.
MAN. Off. Here, hold this.
WOMAN. Off. God fucking dammit--
MAN. Off. You alright?
WOMAN. Off. No.
MAN. Off. You’ll live.
WOMAN. Off. Fucking handle, for fuck’s sake.
MAN. Off. Hold it. Keep holding it. Pause. Is your metaphor okay?
WOMAN. Off. Fuck you.
We hear a few pans move about, then eggs begin to sizzle audibly.
MAN. Off. Why don’t I take over?
WOMAN. Off. Good, I was going to make you anyway. The woman walks on, clutching a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel in her right hand. Now and again, she looks at it and shakes her head.
MAN. Off. So, tasting bar?
WOMAN. You’re wrong about marriage. It turns all…weird when you talk about it. Then again, everything turns weird when you talk about it.
MAN. Off. Thanks, I exfoliate.
WOMAN. I think you’re more basic than you think. Or maybe you’re afraid you’re more basic than you think.
MAN. Off. Maybe.
WOMAN. You grow up with fantasy, books that tell you to take a chance, kiss a frog. Now we walk around disappointed because there are fewer unicorns than we were promised. I’ve never even ridden a horse.
MAN. Off. Me neither. How do you want these eggs?
WOMAN. Whatever.
MAN. Off. Weren’t you gung-ho about this a minute ago?
WOMAN. Scrambled then.
MAN. Off. I can make them ‘over whatever’ if you want. ‘Whatever side up‘.
WOMAN. Don’t tease me, I’m crippled. When does that change happen, you think?
MAN. Off. What change?
WOMAN. Wonder to disappointment.
MAN. Off. I’ve wondered that myself.
Pause.
WOMAN. Settling is okay, right? It’s a way to do it.
MAN. Off. Like marriage.
WOMAN. Oh, shut up.
MAN. Stepping into the room. We all die single. Marriage doesn’t change our biology. Saying a thing, having a party, eating some cake, wearing some metal--dissect it all and pin it down. They’re breeds of butterflies that we make a pattern out of and call ‘marriage’. It’s all so-- He does the Woman’s earlier gesture for how he was acting. You get that. Right?
WOMAN. I think you’re wrong.
MAN. Well that’s fine.
WOMAN. Oh my God, don’t be smug. I’ve let you be weird, but don’t be smug. Go cook the fucking eggs.
MAN. Will you make the fucking pancakes?
WOMAN. Fuck yeah, I will.
MAN. Al-fucking-right.
The man walks back into the kitchen.
WOMAN. I’m starting to see how the snow globe thing happened.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Feels like Makin' Love
Should yield 2 equal portions--if not, please throw away the product and start the recipe from the beginning.
Ingredients:
2 Cups Tenderness
1 1/2 Cups Desire
1 1/2 Cups Utter Lunacy
1 Cup Distilled Coincidence
6 Tablespoons 'The Right Thing'
3 Tablespoons 'Pure Utter Chaos' (Substitute Chaos Extract for a lighter option)
Salt to Taste
"Fuck..." he said. "I'm out of salt."
Love is weird, man. Are you supposed to fill your cup and keep pouring? Letting the excess run over the edges and into the world? Are you supposed to fill a hip flask and take swigs when nobody's watching? Do you keep it in the top shelf, presenting it for your guests with a flourish so you can all "oooh" and "aaah". "Yes, it's from India. It's very exotic." Do you keep it in super-soaker and let fly at the passing cars, pumping and panting in the inbetween time? I think it behooves to open the spigots on your fingertips and leave everyone you meet sopping wet (and yes, that WAS a double entendre.)
I'm certain of this, there is no right way.
So shit, son. Whatever value it gains in scarcity, it loses in purity. Deep love, like deep thought, is a muscle well worth exercising.
That's all for now, OH GOD 7% BATTERY POWER LEFT.
Love Love Love!
Dakotah
Ingredients:
2 Cups Tenderness
1 1/2 Cups Desire
1 1/2 Cups Utter Lunacy
1 Cup Distilled Coincidence
6 Tablespoons 'The Right Thing'
3 Tablespoons 'Pure Utter Chaos' (Substitute Chaos Extract for a lighter option)
Salt to Taste
"Fuck..." he said. "I'm out of salt."
Love is weird, man. Are you supposed to fill your cup and keep pouring? Letting the excess run over the edges and into the world? Are you supposed to fill a hip flask and take swigs when nobody's watching? Do you keep it in the top shelf, presenting it for your guests with a flourish so you can all "oooh" and "aaah". "Yes, it's from India. It's very exotic." Do you keep it in super-soaker and let fly at the passing cars, pumping and panting in the inbetween time? I think it behooves to open the spigots on your fingertips and leave everyone you meet sopping wet (and yes, that WAS a double entendre.)
I'm certain of this, there is no right way.
So shit, son. Whatever value it gains in scarcity, it loses in purity. Deep love, like deep thought, is a muscle well worth exercising.
That's all for now, OH GOD 7% BATTERY POWER LEFT.
Love Love Love!
Dakotah
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)