LRI’m turning over…slowly… slowly… Must not be sick… I’m not sick. Probably just in love. You know: Love has the same symptoms as cholera. Oh god, I could have cholera. Or maybe scurvy. When was the last time I had vitamin C? No, it couldn’t be scurvy… Only pirates get scurvy… Yeah, Pirates and Me. He knocks at the door. I freeze. He’s humming that song. I know what he wants, but I can’t help him today- I have scurvy.LR
I lean onto my side. I look at his back through the window -Shit! It’s not him. Well this should be fun. The guy knocks down my door. I slide quickly off my bed and grab the .45 from under my mattress. Those aren’t no
And Then Spinning around the small room. The pink taffeta flowing out in all directions. I bring into being a world. Far away yet so close in my mind. This is a real world that fills my room, one that is populated by all kinds of creatures foreign to me. Those that swim, that fly, that walk, scuttle, and scoot across my bedroom floor; I know that these all truly exist in a different land. I have seen their pictures and read their stories. A duck billed platypus is playing with his friends in the pond outside the window. The red kangaroos leap across the bed and out the room. Green snakes hang from tAnd Then
ThunderThunderThunder
Lights up on a silhouetted restaurant. There are two people sitting at a small table in an empty room, upstage, separated from the main restaurant by a large partition they sit in silence and darkness, frozen. At first we hear the noise of the restaurant, people laughing and talking loudly, food being prepared, served, and eaten, slowly that noise is replaced by intense rain fall. The lights drop on the main restaurant but silhouettes are still seen of the people sitting, eating, and laughing, etc. but they are frozen. The lights come up on the two people sitting by themselves. Jon, early twenties, is at
HumboldtR. Humboldt Nyssa P. Hamilton Lapidote knew it was over at that moment. The New Yorker had, after popular demand had demanded it, showed up at his doorstep in the form of John D. Jackson and his personal photographer to do a profile on Emily R Humboldt. Normally a large and important magazine asking for an interview would not be a problem except for the fact that there was no Emily R. Humboldt. A few years back Lapidote had inherited a meatpackinHumboldt
So...
Tired
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