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Sunday, August 17, 2014

DD Poem - A Divorced Dad Rides the Subway

Hey.

Here's this week's Divorced Dad Poem:



A Divorced Dad Rides the Subway

Outside. It’s always a dangerous gambit.
He’s prepared. Subway pass secured and tapping his wallet.
Each step down into the station becomes choreographed falling.
On the bottom step, a rat, previously hidden,
With its lower half pulped and savagely bleeding,
In defiance of his fatal condition,
Lunges past him towards the open air.

What do you do when you encounter your familiar?

And what happens once that kindred spirit has left you,
Most likely to fight and spit and bleed itself out for a few
Hours at most, until his tiny, determined eyes grow ossified
And the struggle ends?

He’s marinating on this worry, hands shaking as he slides the pass,
Pushes his hip between the turnstile,
And steps down onto the platform.
Thought chewing pensive upon pensive thought,

When out of the random circumstance,
A spritely  mohawked  woman in a jean jacket
Exits a newly arrived subway car,
Spies him, holds up her tattooed hand and exclaims:

High Five!

He turns, and with equal passion, slaps her hand.
He’s back in the connected, loving world.
Sidles into an open seat.
And covets that small, tender mercy of being seen.
Being known.
Hand to hand.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

New Poem Series - Divorced Dad Poems -

Hey.

This new poem series came out of a weird riff brought on by a new friend, Robin Rightmyer.

He showed up to rehearsal and we started improvising a character based on how he looked - which was eerily, like a divorced dad - that mix of sadness, exhaustion, and eagerness.

And, because I'm insane, and clearly don't have enough projects to do, I thought it would make a fascinating, absurd poem series. One I'll do every Sunday.  See how a divorced dad does stuff.

Here's this week's poem:



A Divorced Dad at the Movies

He’s nodding his head to a new pop rock song when
The vice of Velcro and polystyrene slides forward,
Pinches his unkempt eyebrows.  He sighs, pries off his
Bike helmet. A flood of cool air rises from his matted scalp
And he unbuttons his wrinkled short sleeve dress shirt,
Exposing a faded Superman cotton t-shirt.  His treasure.
Extra large popcorn in tow with the trench of synthetic butter gel
Pooling at the bottom of the bag. Not enough salt.  A Diet Coke,
Extra large.   Trailers lap up the screen.  He smirks, having just conceived
The perfect pun. Delivers it, and wheels to his right to enjoy a response.

But he’s a solitary figure in an empty row.  
He forgot.  Just that second.
This was once their church.
This was once their whispered ritual.

He smiles, low and to the ground. The lights dim, and as he bites down on the inside of his cheek,
(Intentionally)
He digs into a box of candy, fingers working in rote, and with perfect ease,
Aims a hat trick of malted milk balls into his quivering mouth.

Thursday, July 31, 2014

TFLN - Magic, Mundane

Hey,

Here's this week's www.textsfromlastnight.com poem.



(717)
How the hell does my fucking boss know about the goddamn magician I fucked?

This –
This goes against some kind of code,
Right?
Magicians aren’t supposed to reveal tricks.
And, besides –
It wasn’t , it wasn’t my fault.
Jeez. I’m not some messed up skank
Spending weekends in Atlantic City,
Leaning up against every stage door,
Scanning for a man quick with his fingers,
Hungry for a little buck strange.
It was just a blind date.
Jules wasn’t wearing a cape or slathered in baby oil.
Just a tweed jacket.  We ate Ethiopian cuisine,
Talked about publishing, losing parents young.
That sudden, somber shift your jaw makes
When you realize you’re the oldest
And have to tender the load. Childhood’s over.
Never got to share that unexpected pain with someone before.
He heard me. Not just rote, empty pity. He had walked that cruel road. 
And soon, we were at his place, two hungry, complementary shapes.
And that night, I woke to pee,
Looked around, saw the velour costumes,the cages of rabbits, white turtle doves.
The kerosene torches, the thin, wobbly swords, the wooden devices meant to bind
Another woman, cut in her two,
And winch her whole. Reborn.  And  I’ll admit.  I wanted that.
For a moment. To be his weirder half.
But the world looks unkindly upon the strange.   
Best to be ordinary. Show no colors. Tell no stories.
I collected my clothes.
I held my breath.
Tried not to sob.
And left.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Finalists for new headshots

All photography by LSOWA Photography
http://www.lsowaphotography.com/

THEATRICAL




COMMERCIAL

WILD CARD
(for children's theatre, creeper roles, etc)



Saturday, July 5, 2014

We've Got To Try - First Draft of New Song (for K.K. for me)

Hey.

I'm done with regret.

I look at my changing body, getting smaller and smaller.

I examine my mental health, feeling more malleable than ages. Granted, my normal is never gonna be close to most people's normal. I'm a deeply empathic soul.  But, while stressors may affect me time to time,  I feel the urge to help others again, and doing so gives me grace and cheer.

And this song, while specifically for K.K, it's also for me. It's for the world. It's a sign that I'm happy. I'm ready to be willing to be happy.  To take risks in order to find some new, uncharted levels of happy.

And yes, things went with K.K. pretty much like I thought they would. But the song still rings true. It's a song of hope, for both of us.  That we'll find someone caring and right that will curl us with shared joy.

I know I'm not easy. I know that I'm super intense. I know that 999 out of a 1000 people are gonna be turned off by me or only want me in teeny tiny doses. 

But I've got to try.

Here we go!

Lyrics

first verse

ive got my heart up
youve got your guard up
i know that healing
ive been reeling
spent these past three years feeling
mighty unappealing
brought up poor
never self same sure
but im growing kind
youve got your stories
wanna hear your stories
favorite ice cream flavor
speak ill savor
talk about your tattoos
and your next door neighbor
lets make time
for a dinner date im
rather fond of your mind

chorus
you told me on the train
youre grabbing fistfuls of happy
want to join you as you play
share in your secret smile
as you caper and wile away
you told me on the train
that youre done with relationships
i softly heard you sigh
i know the struggle comes hard
but honey weve got to try
weve got to try

second verse
i know its silly
oh yes im silly
gotta keep it silly
certain really
measure out the tougher stuff
 not willy nilly
grin by grin
what a tale we spin
through the fire in your song
lets love the moment
holy blessed moment
wick away the torment
find whats dormant
press into each other become self informant
nothings planned
if youll have me stand
take my hand
come along

chorus

bridge
and even though i might not be your type
thats fine
let our friendship intertwine
no longer strangers clad with familiar faces
and even though our hearts may sometimes
shudder shake
better that than lie awake
never know that wondrous sense of
being vulnerable

final verse
got my heart up
youve got your guard up
i know that healing
ive been reeling
spent these past three years feeling
mighty unappealing
brought up poor
never self same sure
but im growing kind

chorus x 2




Friday, May 23, 2014

Every Three Weeks She Sees An Architect - New Song

Hey.

Why do I do this? Write songs. Scratch and scratch.
I'm not a musician. I'm a best a singer/songwriter.
I guess I use songs as anthems, as a way to solve problems, answer questions.
One question I've never been able to answer these past three is years is this: how to have a healthy, loving relationship in New York City.

And this song is a portrait of a friend of a friend. And me coming to terms with the cruelty and the beauty of this city and how maybe, just maybe, love might be waiting for me as well.

Here we go.


lyrics


first verse
this towns an abattoir vacation
people fall behind
like friar bartholomew called them
trees in winter
weekday morning a destination
to a client bound
running errands a helping hand
working for an acronym untangled
that doesnt quite respect

chorus
and every three weeks she sees an architect
every three weeks she sees an architect
every three weeks she sees an architect
and every three weeks she sees an architect
every three weeks she sees an architect
every three weeks she sees an architect

second verse
this towns a diet of expectation
wither by the year
said teju cole in jest its a palimpsest
she was an actress of dedication
in between the grind
but distractions often find
their own rapacious way to slay a dream
unto neglect

chorus

bridge
oh arent you so damn proud
youve written another song
only face youve seen todays
a delivery man
meanwhile in a sterile office complex
the architect hes pointing out his building
and she hides a yawn his favor she is gilding
she hides the fact she mispronounced his name
those first three months a liar
oh me and you were making do with second hand
desire

third verse
this town its public isolation
love however you can
quote myself for a spell
were only guests in this hotel
she bears no halting hestitation
heart is open and wide
and her friends and her lovers climb in
step inside
she burns with vigor
how i genuflect

chorus



Monday, April 28, 2014

What the #RunCM2014 Marathon Taught Me -

Hey.

So, some of you know that I'm an actor in New York City. One of my friends from college, Winnie Lok, started a theatre company with polymath Ryan McCurdy called  FACING PAGE PRODUCTIONS.  It's a way to create new theatrical experiences from classical works. I took part in their inaugural production of 2012's NO FEAR SHAKESPEARE'S RICHARD III.

The Company's Marathon was passed down to Ryan and Winnie from Gordy Hoffman, who had began it in 1996. The first NY iteration took place in 2013, and I was honored to be a part of it, and read a few roles.

But this year, I wanted to give more. Along with donating to the Marathon's Kickstarter, I chose to volunteer for two overnight shifts for the marathon, as well as schedule in more chances to read. And, with that, I tapped into far greater insights about the experience that I'd ever gleamed from a theatrical confluence.

So, what's the Company's Marathon?  Shortly put, it's a complete reading of all of Shakespeare's plays, one right after the other for a period of no more than 86 hours. The play order is chosen year to year; this year it was bestowed upon Kate Mulgrew, and I admired her choices. Romeo and Juliet for the start. Winter's Tale for the end. The Henry's in the dead of night, for the hard-core enthusiasts.  

Here's what I learned: about me, about Shakespeare, about my friends. Here's what the #RunCM2014 taught me:

 -Those first moments back feel like summer camp.  That hour before the first play is read, sipping drinks and making small talk with folks you remember reading with the year before. Meeting new people and discovering how they're connected with Winnie/Ryan/Rachel or just heard about the marathon.  People who just love Shakespeare. Feeling old crushes flame up again like carpet fibers striking up against your flinty little heart.  But you promised yourself the time for crushes in your life was over. So you chat up the boyfriend architect. Ask him about cycling uphill. Listen. Smile. Press your teeth into the meat of your cheek and breathe. You talk to the other crush, as she pushes up her glasses tightly against her forehead and smiles, just politely.

 -Sure, reading one play or two plays in a row is commendable, but you don't show your stuff, your deep empathic, passionate, somewhat insane choices until you're on the third play in a row and you're reading Two Gentlemen of Verona with three people who apparently have already done the show before, and it's thrilling, trying to match their rhythms and meet that same level of humor and attention.

- A play marathon is a beast you can never climb entirely.  I'd check tweets and get giddy at the thought of others tackling late night/early morning works and thinking: man, I'd love to work with them in the next few days, and then getting to do so.

 -Sometimes, you're a sentimental fool, Jones. You say you swear off crushes, but you ask for a phone number, are politely and correctly shut down, and you sleep until it stops hurting.  You're a thirty five year old man.  This is not your role. You should know this.

- A marathon does not oblige stalled or delayed trains. If it's just you and it's time to Julius Caesar, you read Julius Caesar by yourself.  So I did, for about thirty-five minutes.  Then, my Brutus and some others arrived and we had ourselves some fun.

- I am not special. I am one of a million voices in this city who makes things and speaks things. Some of these people get paid. Some get lauded. 

-By that same token, despite my deep issues with how I look, my own mental-esteem, this place, this world is exactly where I belong. 

-In the future, one should not simply bring a 16 oz bottle of coke, some water, and a can of pringles when one plans to read overnight for over 16 hours.

- Verse madness is a real thing. Ryan McCurdy and I felt it with Coriolanus. Especially while reading it as a two person play.  We started rapping at one point,. then playing Simon with dialect choices until Hannah Gold graciously stepped in to bring it to a three person affair.

- Making up Act songs for Gower for Pericles is the stuff of barking madness.  And I write songs.  

- The more I listen to and watch the Tempest, the more I hate it. It's just a broken, evil play. It almost makes more sense if it's the syphilitic hallucinations of King Lear just after Cordelia is hung but before everyone rushes in. 

- When I told you how my name is pronounced and you told me that you didn't know the architect's actual name until three months into your thing, you know I repeated the mnemonic. I want to be remembered.

- Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe it was the moment, maybe it was just how awesome the actor (Joe Raik) playing Edgar was( since we were doing this on our feet), but by the time he takes me( The Earl of Gloucester) to the cliffs to jump, I started to weep. Easily weep. Same with meeting up with Lear.  Just an unexpected series of moments.

-Laura Hill shook me awake with her beautiful approach to Cleopatra. I was honored to get to read with her.

- As Kris Pearce and his group took the stage to read Shrew, and as Winnie took an hour to sleep, I took my daily injection, swallowed a pill, sipped some water, and got to see the beginner's marathon mind all over again. It was infectious. The way people make the horn sounds when Alarums are indicated or stamp their feet as footsteps are noted. Or how people act whole pages opposite themselves.  It was glorious.

- I didn't know if I had it in me to pull off Winter's Tale, but somehow, I did King Leontes, the bear, The Shepherd, Autocyclus, and got to do with Rachel, Winnie, and at the end, Ryan. A perfect, fitting end.