Saturday, April 28, 2012

The Widow….ACT ONE, scene thre

 (Soft guitar music plays. Lights up on THEO’s living room. THEO enters, dressed in a cocktail dress and high heels. Made up, he should resemble a young Deneuve or Audrey Hepburn. MARK enters, carrying a tray with cookies, coffee and cups. He places the tray on a low table. THEO goes to adjust the fire.)
Is that Larry playing?
His “Suite as T”. As in Theo. Did you enjoy dinner?
Great. You’re a terrific cook.
I only serve food I’ve created myself. I put my love into the meal and then give it to the people I care about. Almost a communion. Take. Eat. This is my body, given to you, for your sins.
(THEO picks up a cookie and holds it to MARK’s lips. A long pause. MARK takes the cookie into his mouth.  He  drinks some coffee, then stops and takes THEO’s hand and looks at it closely. THEO pulls it back.)
The jewelry smith’s curse. Liquid metal and sharp tools leaving scars.
I was looking at your manicure. There’s a name for that style, isn’t there?
French tips. I like the subtlety.
Is it all right for me to say that you look very pretty tonight?
That was the intended effect. 
Did you always want to do this? Wear high heels and all?
Actually, I never thought about it until Mother decided that I was her perfect little dress up doll and began teaching me.
She did?
Oh, yes. I’m the daughter she never had.
She wanted a girl?
No. She just wants me to want to be a girl, but I like being a boy.
So, wearing dresses doesn’t mean you want to be a woman?
You must get out of the suburbs more often. The world is not simply gay or straight. There are transvestites, transsexuals, cross dressers, leather boys, bisexuals and as many variations as there are human beings. I am an extremely feminine gay man, who prefers my lovers to be extremely masculine, but I don’t want to be a woman. I love being a man who loves men. It’s a very special gift.
A gift?
As men, we make love more sweetly, as we know what most pleases us.
Is that why?
Why I’m gay?  Oh, no. One is born that way and then, discovers the joys and benefits. Tell me, you like lace and satin?
Not to wear. To see. On you, they’re nice.
And I prefer that you dress just like that. A wool suit. Wingtip shoes and a tie. I would hate a world without masculine and feminine, wouldn’t you?
I like to see pearls. Momma always wore them. She had a whole case full of pearls. Long ones and doubles and the tiny ones....
Seed pearls.
Those were my favorite.
Does your wife wear lace and satin?
That’s not her style.
Would you like her to wear lace and satin?
I want her to do whatever makes her comfortable.
Are you comfortable with me?
You’re  honest. I appreciate that.
Is honesty a problem in your life?
People don’t exactly lie. It’s more like they can’t face the truth, so they make up a better story to hold their lives together.
Have you ever done that?
I’m only human. Listen. I want to thank you for Summer. Larry would of never had a child on his own, but you got him to do it and you can see Larry in her little face and it’s like he’s still alive in her and that’s great! Amazing.
She was so adorable this morning, lining up her dolls and bears and telling them all about her new Uncle. They were firmly warned to be on best behavior.
They were all perfect ladies and gentlemen. I couldn’t help but notice that there seem to be two Ken dolls living together in the Malibu Dream House?
According to Summer, they’re Ken and Kiki. Kiki’s been known to appear dressed in Barbie’s more spectacular ensembles and dance around to numbers Summer heard at Mother’s nightclub. I’m proud to say she knows every word of “Copacabana.” Will Tracey be all right with that when she comes to play?
Oh, Tracey’s great. She’ll accept anything as long as there’s cookies.
The key to gay rights...bring cookies. I’m sorry Caroline had to miss dinner. I do hope she can make it tonight. Does she work late often?
More and more lately.
Is something wrong?
I am. Some kind of post graduate blues. We’ll work it out.
(The music acquires a bit of a beat. THEO begins to dance. MARK sits back on the couch and watches. THEO dances closer and takes MARK’s hands.)
Dance with me.
Do I lead?
I rather abdicated the role when I put on high heels.
(MARK stands an they begin to dance. MARK puts his hands around THEO’s waist. THEO slides his arms around MARK’s neck. They dance slowly.)
There’s nothing nicer than a man who can dance.
That’s what Momma always said when she dragged me to lessons.
What would she have thought of me?
She’d of asked you a thousand questions. She’d of loved Summer. You both would of adored her. Is this dress silk?
Where’s the lace and satin?
Underneath. And yes, garters are involved. Oh. A tingle all through you. I think I know your secret, Mark. You love the feminine. Soft and sweet. Leaning on your strong shoulder. I don’t think you’ve ever met a woman who was woman enough for you. 
I believe in Feminism.
You can have both.
Femininity is just biology, really.
Exactly. Trying to attract the male for procreation.
Or pleasure.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Just A Brief Burp

It’s been a long time since last I wrote words
I find I have a lack of inspiration.

I’m trying to stop the daydream machine
Using reality for creation.

I know that Charlie Gallagher was Dave
And another was Kirk and Roxy was….

Not one of the women was yours truly,
Not pretty or smart enough for the buzz.

I need to write of prison or of sports
And leave romantic claptrap to my youth.

For the heavy breathing and sweaty sex
I’m getting just a bit too long of tooth.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Playing With Rhyme Exercise

Finally, Spring begins for real
I enjoy blue skies and green trees
Without the stab of pollen’s bite.

Does anyone care what I feel,
Or what she wants or what she sees?
Ah, I’m getting too old to fight.

Falling in love lands on a cloud,
Falling out is splat on cement.
With only your nose breaking the fall.

Got many things of which I’m proud,
So it’s time that I take the hint,
And clear my head to hear the call.

I saw you post for a brief flash
“Concentrating on survival.”
And then, the words just disappeared.

You knew I was there for a dash
And would see the words' arrival.
Or was it the world’s eyes you feared?

I am silent. You have to know
That you alone can save your life.
As I alone take care of me.

But I know that your strength will flow
And you will overcome the strife
I pray you continue to be.

Monday, April 23, 2012

ESSAY: HEY! GUESS WHAT? I’m old and I’m fat!

I understand that my family is not a slender race, especially as we age, but I know what I’ve been neglecting and where I’ve been indulging. I can’t use the MS a an excuse because I know that if I’m lighter and do my exercise, I can keep moving. One of the things that Boring* women do is that we use food as comfort and reward and it’s too late before we realize that it’s punishing us and killing us. I bring this up in context of the picture taken by an actress’s husband after the reading of “Amour Americain.” Even wearing black, I didn’t realize how heavy I’ve gotten and I can’t excuse my gluten free, dairy free diet because I haven’t exactly stuck to it as well as I should.

It’s especially painful due one of the themes of “Amour Americain”, which is that Love shouldn’t be about the shell, but the inner thoughts and philosophy and talents of the person.  However, another theme is Art, and I cheated a bit. Siriana, who is supposedly based on me, is younger and hotter than I ever was. There will probably never be an overweight actress cast in the part.  (And I sure as Hell don’t have a PhD or teach at NYU.) Perhaps the most honest thing about the play was that I based it on Rostand. In the rewrite, we must have more of Cyrano’s honesty in Sirianna’s mouth, as he knew he was ugly and I realize that I am not sexual or beautiful. I have a round face, which psychiatrists say is not trusted by 99 percent of viewers. (I could NOT sell you the Brooklyn Bridge, no matter how good my con; but you WOULD buy it off of someone with the right proportions to his or her face. This is something the advertising world knows far too well.) An artist, like Picasso, loves beauty and perfection, as well he should. Even my beloved Neruda took his inspiration from younger lovelies. I, the writer, was inspired by a younger man.

And so, Roxy (Roxane), this is another apology to you. You did see my worth as a person and you did understand my Art (and still do, as you have never interfered with the writing of the play.). You are younger and beautiful and you know what you want.  I hope you find her, Sweetie. I'll bet she'll be a knockout. Thank you for giving me a beautiful child by the name of “Amour Americain”. Please paint. Please write. Please make videos and songs. The world needs you to be you. And it’s a great way to meet chicks!

The twice a day workouts and trying to stay more active begins today along with the 1,200 calorie a day diet, and no cheating. I will not dye my hair and I will not wear makeup as I am a Feminist, but I will try to be more strong and healthy as…I am a Feminist. 

*Real Maiden Name

Monday, April 16, 2012

Reading of play on 4/22 Taking a few weeks off

We are doing a reading of Amour Americain on Sunday, April 22 so I have to keep my mind on that and not new work. Will return to the steady drip, drip, drip of Reinhard on the 23 unless I realize I have to completely rewrite the monster AA.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Late At Night with a Touch of Brandy

Sue is, in no one’s wildest dreams, a prize.
There is no balm or cream that can disguise,
The tiny wrinkles that surround my eyes.

Alas, no bounce will ever lift my boobs;
Eggs do not traverse fallopian tubes;
And K-Y must provide all needed lubes.

My shape now most resembles a fat duck,
And I move not like Jagger, but like a truck.
This verse is the sole place I’ll see a “fuck”.

Alas, all I can now give you is brains,
And a laugh or two as my rhyming strains,
As I strive to turn lead into refrains.

Yet, I know I still have things to offer,
Even though the boys don’t want to boff her:
She still has a few coins in her coffer.

A Sonnet From Amour Americaine

A part I am of all the stars and heavens,
And like the Eagle, I am pure as light.
My true heart is broken into sevens
One for every Ocean, blue and white.
Amusing now that Death is my dear friend.
Never far…waiting to fulfill his task.
I will be joyful to see journey’s end.
And drop away this sinful being’s mask.
I’ve seen too much of hunger and of want
Folks with no blanket sleeping on the ground
Desperate as animals on the hunt.
Praying that Jesus’s mercy is found.
Yet, I’m content living among those fools.
Who are, in Heaven’s eyes, the precious jewels.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

The New Opening To 'Amour Americaine'

Bit distracted by the upcoming reading of the big play. So, to put something on the blog, here is the new opening to the play.


Once upon a time, a female writer met a male artist and was dazzled by his amazing talent and beautiful hands. Alas, he told her that he could never love her because she was “too short.” With no choice but to accept this, she left him and returned to her home. But one night at one a.m., she sat straight up in her bed and spoke one word…”Cyrano!” Believe it or not, there had never been a female “Cyrano de Bergerac”, because it’s rude to call a woman “ugly”…but you can call her “crippled.”
(A cane is tossed on stage. She catches it.)
She can have Multiple Sclerosis and be six inches too short. And thus, I was born…Siriana D. Bergmann…Professor of English Literature at New York University. Now, how do you adapt the rest of the roles, you may ask? Well, let Le Bret still be my best friend, but make him a lady called “The Brit”. Ragueneau, the French boulanger is now Raganno, the Italian baker. Ligniere has been redubbed Lee Genet. The Count De Guiche can be equally evil as Ceci Guisse. Montfleury has become Maria Flowers and the handsome Christian De Neuvillette, Cyrano’s rival, is now the beautiful Chrissie Newsome, the little bitch who steals my man. And then, there’s the biggest challenge…a male equivalent of Cyrano’s secret love…Roxane….
(Light up stage right on Roxy, painting on an easel.)
Oblivious to all but art and beauty; he knows that he, too, is beautiful. Women inspire him both on the canvas and in the bed. Setting the play in 1996 not only removes it from the distractions of computers and cell phones but puts the scenario in an age where one can be careless and superficial…and identified by a graffiti tag. Take the name, Robert Xavier Yeager and voila! The hip and dazzling moniker: “Roxy.” So begins our play, with a salute to the master, Monsieur Rostand.
It’s time to exchange facts with sweet fiction,
Let all hopeless realities just die.
Make the heartaches into actors’ diction
And jump into bed with her pretty lie.
All will live and none will face demise.
We’ll show it more poetic than it was.
We will attempt to make mere Fools seem wise,
Victims of Fate, not of the mind’s mad buzz.
As for her, the ink stained Lady Playwright,
She vows to show her heart so pathetic,
Her brain blinded over the senses’ light.
And her eyes dazzled by the romantic.
Her one hope is to make some drama free.
And be half as skillful an artist as he.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Sonnet XXXXVII Living a Daily Life

There is a list of things to do in here,
And it’s time for me to play the grown up.
I am so not yet a grownup, I fear,
Don’t have the independence thing sewn up.
Not one of my daydreams has dirty dishes,
Or a ten-foot pile of clean clothes to hang.
So much for gay Cinderella wishes,
Of a handsome Prince who just wants to bang.
I fear that we are stuck with reality,
And all the crap and piss and stink of it.
The bills and daily beastiality,
Aging and ill until a grave we fit.
We moan about the price it costs to live,
Until we consider the alternative.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Essay Time, Part III...Easing Out of Womanhood and Into Humanity

Androgyny is a term derived from the Greek words ανήρ, stem ανδρ- (anér, andr-, meaning man) and γυνή (gyné, meaning woman), referring to the combination of masculine and feminine characteristics. I gather that I don’t understand exactly what female clothing and grooming mean to a male, specifically an American male. The idea of seduction; of purposely doing everything to gain the attention of a man has always been alien to me. In the 1960’s we all wore jeans and ponchos and had our hair tied back in colorful bands of cloth and we had a Hell of a lot of sex and it was all pretty damned good. We expected our men to know what they were doing. And then The Big Chill hit and we became consumers with the advertisers telling us what we want. Sex Kittens started moving in and taking the men away from liberated women and they didn’t mind wasting money on makeup and lace and dressing to please. They only wanted to please the men. I have often been called a Lesbian because I continue to dress in the comfortable and sexless. All I can say is “I wish.” What I am is androgynous: A straight woman who wants to dress as easily as a man. No makeup. No high heels or tight bodices. I don’t judge anyone else as long as they’re not being used or abused by a man. Most of the women in Montclair travel the middle ground. Montclair women are well groomed and comfortable, with a minimum of makeup and deeply committed to the sweater set. Jersey ain’t all “The Jersey Shore” or “The Real Housewives”. We are Montclair. We have mansions and consciences. What I like about my car is not her color but that she has Rack and Pinion steering…racing steering. I like that I have control of my money and no one is complaining about my cooking or housecleaning. My face is too wide to be beautiful and my body is acquiring a middleaged duck shape that can’t quite pull off the leather bustier these days. Relationships can’t be about sex any more because Multiple Sclerosis isn’t sexy. And things like brains and courage are great in Facebook postings, but they don’t get you any wolf whistles on the street. My big challenge right now is accepting this and learning to be alone. It’s difficult, but it’s easier than walking in spike heels.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Letting Jack Go

Letting Jack Go

Sometimes you have to choose
And give yourself the blues
Only one could live today
So watch him drift away
Cling to the memories
Of Love on rolling seas
Here I am, back on shore
Alone just like before
But smarter than I was
Knowing what fortune does
We are one even when
We choose to lay with men
Morning comes, off we go
To prove all that we know
Not a wife nor mother
Unique, like no other
Inspiration intact
Know the one simple fact
He wanted you to live
And that’s all he could give
And one more thing is true
All that you have is you