Ohio Finale, in One Act . Started on 11/17/11

SETTING

The living room of an off-campus apartment at Ohio University, Athens, Ohio. May 6, 1970. The kitchen entry is upstage left showing a bit of the appliances. Upstage right is the hallway leading to bathrooms and bedrooms. There are large windows stage right and stage left with the blinds down and bedsheet curtains. The furnishings of the living room are roadside rescues. The “coffee table” is the classic wooden wire holder from the telephone or electric company, round with solid sides that is laid down to make a table. The bookshelves are made from plastic milk cartons. (You might have trouble finding this in the 21^st Century. Ask your parents or grandparents.) The sofa is stained, broken and bowed. There are a few black light posters of Jim Morrison and The Grateful Dead and political posters with Che Guevera and Huey Newton; but the most prominent posters are theatrical, for “Hair” and “Godspell” and “Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern are Dead”. There should be a dance bag on the floor and Shakespearean swords leaning against the wall and the books should be all theatrical: Chekov and Uta Hagen.

(The play begins with The Doors’ “When the Music’s Over.” But the lights only come up enough to see four people laying on the floor of the darkened apartment. Outside, there are flashlights waving by the windows and you hear men laughing , walking through the leaves and tapping on the windows.)

MALE VOICE, OFFSTAGE

Don’t tell me what to think, Samuel, I know they’s hiding a bunch a Hippies in there. Boy! Boy! You all hear me in there? Hippie boy! I know you’re in there, you Commie son of a bitch!

BENJI

Oh, save me Erato…this is not the way I’m supposed to die!

THE OTHER THREE ON THE FLOOR

SHHHHHHH!!!!!

Sonnet XI

Sonnet XI

Sometimes you have to fucking quiet down,

And stop thinking and talking and just sit,

And breathe the air of your small Jersey town,

And wash off the accumulated shit.

Postpone the reading of my stupid play,

And cook up a few dozen recipes,

Pay heed to the wise friends who chose to stay,

And ignore the ones who jumped like fleas.

What I’ve done right is what I need to thrive.

The wrong part was mere femininity,

Thinking I could keep the dead ones alive,

While they reveled in their morbidity.

Now, excuse me while I change the laundry

I pray that I’ve answered any quandary.

November 15 Over and Out

On the fringe of memory,

I no longer care if you

Are alive or dead.

The snows have already left

Their mark on our mountains

All the leaves are red.

Would my eyes had never seen

Love chained by pain and lust

Dressed in leather black.

I live in a simpler world

Among the striving souls

Trying not to crack.

My life is so organized

No problems in the mix

So much less intense.

You life is like the March Hare’s

Up is down, black is white

Nor a sense of sense.

Sun rises in the East and it

Sets in the Golden West

I don’t understand.

How the world can be so twisted

Through internet wires

In one single land.

We can’t be friends without the

Pain you seem to desire

Maybe that’s the clue.

Clean yourself in Heaven’s stream

Pray that your God forgives

I must forget you.

Back in “Blech!” -- Ready to Bother You All Again

Back in “Blech!”

I believe it was that respected literary publication, Mad Magazine, that first parsed the highly descriptive term: “Blech.” It sums up many of the tasks we take on every day or the things we see rotting upon the pavement.  It can be used in describing Coach Sandusky. I might have not spelled it precisely, as Professor Alfred E. Newman does, but it’s the thought that counts. I have once more stupidly allowed myself to get dragged into another person’s Blech and I have, after a year, crawled out of the ooze pit, alive, but humbled and shaken. I dove in thinking I could help, and once more discovered that they are very happy living in the smegma and was once again reminded that some of them eventually despise the person trying to help. To say more would indicate that I still had hope and I do not. Bye, Bye, Black Bird. So, now, I must start paying attention to the World. My life, believe it or not, actually is pretty good. I was laid off three years ago but got right on Disability and Pension and am now on Medicare. I have no debts and some savings. The MS is slowed down by the medicine and I am surrounded by friends and still writing. I’ve started to attend meetings and marches and while I think the Right Wing will never stop trying to destroy the world, I am fighting to try to at least slow it down. I must read more and I must learn. The only way to help one person is to try to help the entire world and to make the Earth a better place to live. You have to be outside the “Blech” pool to help anyone because you can and should grab any hand that is reaching out of it, looking for assistance. The ones who don’t want to leave should be left there to rot as they can only drag you down.

Can't Seem to Find the Inspiration These Days

OK, I should put my mind firmly onto the play that we're supposed to be reading for the public soon. And I do want to go to Lulu and put together the small poetry book of the ten sonnets with a matching haiku, but I have lost the crazy. My inspiration for the last year has been stupid, crazy and self-destructive. Not the slightest bit based in reality, but it got me out of my slump and made me write plays again, and poetry for the first time.  However, my inspiration was overwhelming me and sucking the air out of my lungs and my words and I had to kill it dead with one blow. Except to correct and rewrite, I will never write one more word about it. I will only write about reality but I don't know what it is I want to say. Fantasy nearly destroyed me and I have seen it destroy a dear one and it has to stop, at least, in this apartment in Montclair. So, I may be absent for a few days while I put the pieces together, but look for me before Thanksgiving. Love to you all, my 24 loyal followers.

Sonnet X

Sonnet X

Words fail me. Thoughts fail me. Art is useless.

And yet we find ourselves subscribed to Fate.

But maybe all we have is neediness.

Which makes the sweetest caring turn to hate.

The gentlest touch will cause a snarling snap

And bring the harpies flying for my face.

What could have been a comfort turns to crap

And makes the worldwide web a crowded place.

Time has come to disappear in silence.

And see what months apart can mitigate.

I can't take another crash of violence.

Or wrestling others’ urge to dominate.

Your demons locked in blackest memory

Will never understand that I am me.

Sonnet iX

Sonnet IX

Just one time I wrote a happy ending.

And felt that I was soaring through the sky.

I must try to not be so unbending.

A woman alone can still find a high.

The men-children in my past were helpless.

And the best one felt little love for me.

My parents jinxed me from day one, I guess.

I was probably lucky to be free.

I have managed to manage all my needs.

Even when challenged by a mild disease.

And should give to the world my nobler deeds.

And should vow to take what joy I can seize.

On paper my happiest ending is death.

But from now on let’s enjoy every breath.