whoever 'you' are. on franklin/linwood and north there's a tiny park where the skateboarding punks do their grind hootchacallits and generally make a lot of racket or so some namelessentity must think, because a generic sign was put up, just a white background with plain black lettering that says NO SKATEBOARDING. (someone scribbled out the NO w black marker and wrote in yes, ha ha)
there's no city ordinance or penalty violation information on the sign, which leads me to believe it was put up by one of the neighboring businesses, one being a lawyer's firm, the other a dentist. you can't just do that though, it's a park.
the park is also used as a play area for elementary school children who go to the charter school on the same corner. on nice days, they'll all go outside and hoot and holler and play mother-may-i and such whatnot childlike games, but generally cause a ruckus for quiet type citydwellers such as myself, who just want to garden at 2pm. in peace. without the incessant screaming of children. what i need to do is find out who "owns" this park, if the yuppie ass charter school (for which yupass vehicles have made my parking situation bloody torturous) bought it "for the kids" i sure hope not, cause the minute that's negative i'm hanging my own sign that says NO EXCITED SCHOOLCHILDREN right next to the goddamned one about no skateboarding. bah fucking humbug, brats.

Envoie-moi un e-mail. i just remembered a dream i had, except i can't say for sure if it was a dream, or a tv program. this is especially grave given the nature of the dream:

a girl flops down face up on a bed, her face is covered with her hands, then she takes her hands away. she is in distress, and makes a wail like so. she's wondering 'what am i going to do?' but then, in the exact same bed (against a different wall of the room) lies the exact same girl, who starts telling her just what she's going to do, and nastily. she is quite diabolical, this one. the "camera" then flashes to a bunk above the first girl's bed (tv style: not seen previously so as to reveal excitingly) where lies the exact same girl, who agrees in a practical manner with the nasty one, and explains to the first girl that it's a sound plan. the first girl isn't disturbed, but the watcher is: to see the others in flesh is what makes it so.

i remember being surprised that there were three. i remember after the third one, the story cut off somehow, either by changing channel or commercial or another sleep cycle, which is fucked up that i can't say which. like a blackout or a fugue state. it seems too weird and personal (the girl looked a lot like claire danes, who i think i bear just a little bit resemblance to) to be tv, but i remember thinking that while watching it. in a dream, can you be the 'star' and be watching at the same time? and if it did happen in some tv reality induced state of my 'real life', whatthefuckwasthat?

could it be happieness? ha ha, this early on a sunday, no one has stars. i just had an unsatisfying meal of pig ass and chicken periods. happy sunday!!!

talked to my bro (the only one of 6 i'm close to, somehow i've really fucked up as a sister, or perhaps the problem is having brothers) about money, capitalism, bitterness, the ridiculousness of going to mars, etc. he is so bright i am a bit scared for him. he has a boatload of talent. he writes *really good* lyrics, poems, draws these amazing and fucked up pictures, and picked up bass like a paperclip on the floor. but, and i told him this, at 16 he has the fine tang of bitterness of a 70 year old who worked in a factory for 50 and got a pocketwatch for his retirement. he's bright in a way that could burn out really quick, because hatred and bitterness and resentment about the way the world works only gets you so far. it's strange for me, having thought and felt some of the same ways as he does, but now looking back and seeing what "work" "responsibility" "maturity" the "real world" have done to all those ideas/ideals. makes me feel like a sellout, stripped of some former youthful idealistic passion. but for things, for life, sad but true, the do re mi is necessary. he hasn't gotten a job yet, and knows he already hates it. but i am glad he's not asleep in some hilfiger haze, hanging out at the mall (yeahsaralet'sburnitbytheway) and saying 'sup all the time. HE THINKS, BY JOB! HIS HEART BLEEDS, GODDAMNIT!





secondhand heels cause falls on ice
a program might catch you
stretching gently and harmlesslike
you the star in the grid
of some one sky or another

not today.
you think: i fucking need new boots


like i said, manic. is this your homework larry. larry is this your fucking homework. is this your fucking HOMEwork larry.

i mean pure rage. like when a lid won't screw off or a shoelace won't go through the hole and you try and try and it just won't? what do you do when that happens? i think responses to that situation are hilarious, so let me know.

i am getting strangely paranoid about things i never ever would have imagined i would have before. something in my brita? (HA) ohthatwassuchabadjoket... but, there it is. such as the creeping certainty that the "good" beef, "good" eggs etc i buy, priced, what, 30 or so % higher than the "bad", are just the same as all the other shit, and the corporate viejos are all having a huge laugh at dupes such as me "sensitive" about where my food comes from.
also, to help out a friend i submitted to a demo of a vacuum drunk on its own power, and was abhorred to the point of near vomit at the shit this thing pulled up from my carpet/couch/ceiling/mattress. now i don't like a scummy ass house or anything, but neither am i a freak about the things i can't see. but this thing made me all afraid of the shit i *might be* breathing in, and all the dust mites and dust motes, eating and shitting and breeding everywhere, all over everything in the house. cost of the vaccum? oh, just $1500. (hmm, travel just about *anywhere,* or buy this vacuum? haha) paranoia will cost you, i guess.
there are other little examples, but why count when i just know it ain't right. i don't think it's me, i definitely suspect the world and all its bling flash whirr is up to its dirty tricks all the time, but of course what does that sound like?

Attention All Partisans of Subversive Theatre
Coming Up Next:
the Black leader they're hoping you'll forget . .
PAUL ROBESON SPEAKS OUT!
by Phillip Hayes Dean
What?
PAUL ROBESON SPEAKS OUT! is a two-hour, two-act, one-man biographical play by Phillip Hayes Dean presented in collaboration with the Buffalo Ensemble Theatre.
Who?
Our production stars veteran actor/director Willie W. Judson, Jr. in the title role with musical accompaniment by Louis Irving under the direction of Kurt Schneiderman.
Where?
All shows are held at the New Phoenix Theatre on the Park at 95 North Johnson Park just two blocks from the corner of Elmwood & Chippewa.
When?
Opening night is Thursday,
February 5th at 8pm. This is our only Thursday performance. After that, shows are Fridays & Saturdays at 8pm and Sundays at 6pm for three weekends through February 22nd.
How Much?
We're talking about art not fast food. Like all Subversive Theatre productions, PAUL ROBESON SPEAKS OUT! is free and open to anyone who is open-minded enough to come and see it.
But our lofty ideals don't pay the bills. Therefore, we will gratefully accept donations immediately following each performance.
Hear Ye ! Hear Ye !
For our production of the inspiring one-man play PAUL ROBESON SPEAKS OUT! we are very exited to feature veteran actor/director Willie W. Judson, Jr. in the title role as the incomparable Black actor, singer, orator, and activist. Not the first time following in Robeson's footsteps, Judson starred in the Irish Classical Theatre's 2000 rendition of EMPEROR JONES in the role immortalized by Robeson in 1925.
PAUL ROBESON SPEAKS OUT! is directed by Subversive Theatre's Founder & Artistic Director Kurt Schneiderman.
This deeply passionate two act biographical drama re-kindles Robeson's fighting spirit from his early days as the third Black man ever admitted to Rutger's University in 1915 right on through to his defiant stand against McCarthyism in the 1950s.
About the Play
Written under the title of simply PAUL ROBESON, this piece has twice been performed on Broadway. First by James Earl Jones in 1979 and then again by Avery Brooks (that's right, the Commander from Deep Space Nine) in 1995.
Called a "wonderfully moving play" by the New York Post, PAUL ROBESON SPEAKS OUT! has been seen in almost every city in America (including neighboring Rochester in 1997 and Cleveland in 2001), except our own home town.
We are very proud to present the Buffalo premiere of this empowering historical filibuster.

Who was Paul Robeson ?
Famous for his performances in SHOWBOAT and EMPEROR JONES, the first Black man to ever portray Othello on an American stage, notorious for his tours of the Soviet Union, outspoken in his support for leftist forces in the Spanish Civil War, a leader in the fight for civil rights, union right, and anti-lynching legislation, a lawyer, a film star, an All-American college football athlete, a world-renown singer -- there's little Paul Robeson did not do.
A household name throughout the 1930s, 40s, and 50s, his opposition to the Korean War, his close ties with the Soviet Union, and his involvement with international peace efforts all contirbuted to his eventual investigation by the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1956 and his virtual deletion from American history.
Thankfully, this play helps revive Robeson's fighting spirit. We hope you'll join us in keeping the legacy of this great Black activist alive!

Harrassment Sucks

ran across the glimpse of a delightedly dramatized life again today. it seems i desperately want out of the role i have writ for myself, strengthened after seeing a play. plays are so fucked up, as mirrors of sorts, and i wonder if acting might be something i should try. but isn't that what everyone wants. drama, and more of the same, s'il vous plait. i want to say i'm interested in real life, whatever that may mean, in being a real person, doing real things and being true. but the truth of that is, it bores me terribly. i have tried, with so much struggle and little success, to "know myself" or whatever. i'm quite sick of it, actually. the answer seems simple, go ahead and write these worlds around me, if i want them so badly (gasp:do i dare? and do i dare?), go ahead and live them: stroll down streets with a parasol and in gloves 'how do you do'ing everyone, drink sloe gin fizzes all day out of martini glasses in 40s underwear speaking bad french, order dinners in piratese, what's to stop me, dammit?! fear. fear, fear, fear, fear, all senseless, but so powerful, a loaded 'that might make me leave this life behind' kind of pandering. a stupid thing to be afraid of? when that might be exactly the thing. when this one is driving me slowly insane.
maybe i need to do more drugs to live the life i (think i) want. but maybe that's the easy way, and i have been taking that way for a very long time.

damn it, to dream of a garden full of things let to go wild, things that will multiply with or without human help, babies toddling through the pennyroyal, sparrow hunting sparrows, stalks of plants hanging upside down from trees for tea, and myself, rolling in the earth and the sun.

i had a super weird dream in which gdub was giving this important speech, except two rows over a man and woman were arguing and talking very loudly, and weren't paying him any attention at all. this was definitely a dream, because, rather than congratulating them and shaking their hands, i was *pissed.* i thought "you just don't *DO* that!"
well, it turns out i have to give a speech too. i go up on stage and don't say anything for many many seconds. this is because i'm trying to demonstrate the beauty and eloquence of silence. except the crowd starts heckling me horribly and laughing. so i start talking, saying that in our culture, silence is a thing to be cursed and hated and run from, that we never get a moment's peace, that inside each of us is a truth (and right when i said that, the entire first row, who were all in the army, chanted some marching song REALLY LOUD, and the theatre erupted in hoots and laughter) and someone came up on stage and told me to exit. obviously this dream is very unpleasant as it seems to mock the futility of trying to deal with the world calmly and sanely, and also because somewhere deep in my subconscious i think gwb ought to be listened to? yikes.

if i had unlimited piles of cash, i would seriously consider a sex change. gimme a penis, doc, is what i would say.
then i could become the kind of man i truly would like to be: dirty. i'd grow a scraggly beard, work on the perfect mullet, get very fat on whoppers, and drink a pallet's worth of piel's, OV, or golden anniversary a week. i'd have an unlimited supply of bawdy jokes and tales, and i'd tell em all to ya if ya came roun m'trailer ever so often. i'd like to be this kind of man mostly for that crazed fervor so unique to them and them only. plus i'd really like to growl, hoot, holler, poorly enunciate, live in a trailer, drink, eat, and smoke too much, go in to town for some pussy, have a lot of junk in my yard, shoot off m'shotgun at parties just for the hell of it, and scratch myself a lot for a while. then i'd go back to being a woman.