Monthly Archives: December 2011

The Devil and Tom Jones Scene 1

An excerpt from a play of mine, “The Devil and Tom Jones.” I’ve always wanted to have this show put on, but the time just isn’t right yet, I suppose. Enjoy!

The setting is a cocktail lounge right smack dab in the middle of the Black Void. There are some things you’d expect to see in a cocktail lounge. Some conversations you’d expect to overhear. But there are other things as well, unexpected things. But all the same, there they are and here they will remain. It’s all distinctly the same. The purpose of it all is reality skewed in a white wine sauce. Oh yeah, and kick ass lounge tunes. Lights up on Marvin. He is sitting alone at the end of the bar nearest the audience. When he’s feeling a monologue, he delivers it to everybody and to himself at the same time.

Marvin: I could rant about my muse. I should rant about my muse. Maybe it’d wake her up. Inspiration is as fickle as fortune. Secretly, they are sisters. Honestly, some days you have it, you know? You can feel the energy zipping through your veins. It’s exciting, it feels good. And then Boom! Gone. No more zipping, no more excitement, no more writing. When that happens I end up at coffee shops or bars staring blankly at white pages blankly staring back. Nothing. Like the bitch went on vacation or something.

Fade up on Devil. And now is the time when the Devil sings your favorite lounge tunes. He is wearing a devil costume. The shinier the better. His secret is self loathing. He lost his self worth when he lost his job. He’s that kind of person. Anyway, he likes to open with Tom Jones’s “She’s a Lady.” When he gets done with that, fade the music down really classy like, because he’s got a few words to say to everyone.

Devil: I’d like to dedicate that song to the memory of Polyester. She was the only woman I ever really loved. Anyway, it’s good to see everyone here tonight. I’ll be your host. The main man, your numero uno, “Light it up Lou.” So, let me be the first to welcome you to the fabulous Barbelos Lounge. Please enjoy your evening.

Fade out on Devil and up on Purple and Trainwreck who are sitting at a table. They each have a couple of shot glasses and a beer in front of them. These are somewhat hip, somewhat careless youth who have been jaded by a society they aren’t sure how to become part of. Some would call them lazy and hopeless. I would call them lost and aware of it.

Purple: If you were a ninja would you be a black one or a white one?

Trainwreck: Why do I have to be black or white? Why can’t I be red?

Purple: Because whoever heard of a red ninja? They don’t exist.

Trainwreck: Says who?

Purple: Says reality, that’s who. Everyone knows that red ninjas are a figment of Hollywood’s imagination, whose real purpose is to lull the viewing public into a hypnotic state so they can be properly brainwashed. I mean everyone knows this, c’mon. So. Black or White?

Trainwreck: But I really like red.

Purple: Enough with red already! Black and white! That’s where it’s at! They represent something. They have meaning. Duality, struggle, good and evil, complimentary polar opposites. One is the combination of all color, the other is the lack thereof. Can you not fathom their substance, their essence?

Trainwreck: Fathom this. Red is a power color. And it is also the color of Santa’s suit, love, Christmas, passion, lust, anger-

Purple: Wait, wait, wait. That doesn’t make sense.

Trainwreck: What doesn’t?

Purple: How can it be the color of love and anger, or love and lust? It has to have an opposite or it doesn’t make any sense.

Trainwreck: Sure it does. It makes perfect sense in that, “Can’t wear white after Labor Day” kind of way.

Purple: It’s “Before Easter.”

Trainwreck: What?

Purple: Can’t wear white before Easter. That’s how it goes.

Trainwreck: No it isn’t.

Purple: Yes it is.

Trainwreck: No! It isn’t!

Purple: Yes! It is!

Trainwreck: Well I don’t give a damn. I like my way better so I’m gonna use it.

Purple: Your way is evil. You should repent and embrace the truth before your heathen soul is lost forever to the torments of HELL!!!!

Trainwreck: I really don’t think I’d go to hell just because I didn’t agree with the way you chose to interpret a cultural cliché. God’s not that petty.

Purple: You most certainly will end up in hell because God is a down right stickler for proper grammar and syntax. That’s why it’s written down like it is. So there wouldn’t be any mistakes. As a matter of fact, proper grammar is such a deadly sin that it had to have its own category of Uber Deadly Sin created. So, yeah. Repent or die, infidel. And you know what else?

Trainwreck: What’s that?

Purple: The devil is red. And so is Hell. How’s that for your favorite color, you minion of Beelzebub.

Trainwreck: You live in a sad and terrible little world, don’t you?

Fade out and up on the Devil.

Devil: Remember Pablo! He was all that ever really mattered. What? Are you—can you really—have you forgotten? And after you promised you never would? Gawd! You freaks make me crazy! Pablo! Jesus! No! I didn’t mean Jesus. Pablo isn’t Jesus. Jesus is Jesus. I know this because that’s him sitting at the table in the corner over there. Hey Jesus!

Jesus: Hey.

Devil: Yeah, no. Pablo isn’t Jesus. You know who else isn’t Jesus? You aren’t. How does that make you feel? (beat) But you know what? Who cares how you feel? Why is it always about how you feel? I mean, who ever asked Jesus how he felt? How he likes a bunch of groupies mimicking his every move and doting over every utterance like obsessive girlfriends? Well? Who ever asked him? You? You? Answer me! Well, fine! I’m asking him right freakin’ now! Hey Jesus!

Jesus: What!

Devil: How do you like a bunch of confessed posers constantly nipping at your heels?

Jesus: Kinda creeps me out.

Devil: You hear that? It creeps him out! You know who you people are like? You’re like that chick in that movie who moved in with that other chick. And then she started getting all freaky and wearing that other chick’s clothes and getting the same hair cut and stuff. Before you knew it she was trying to bang the other chick’s dude! People died, man! They died! And that’s what you people remind me of! Boiled Rabbits! Oh what? You’re getting all pissy like I’m the bad guy. Like I made you do it. Like you got no free will. You know what you ain’t got? You ain’t got no class, dig? No style, no rhythm, no heart. And that’s my fault? Please. (He brushes it off) Are you independent souls? Or are you puppets? Fade up with Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” Give the Devil till the first chorus then fade out on him and up on Missy and Sigmund.

Tsunami’s Last Kiss

“Hold my hand. It’s alright,” I told her, but I lied. It wasn’t alright. The huge ball of fire plummeting toward earth would kill us. All of us. We waited and watched with the rest of the city, heads turned upward to watch the sky fall. The newsman said it was falling right on us. People panicked when they heard. Some tried to flee the city, but got mired in the flow of traffic. Other people simply went insane and threw themselves from buildings, or in front of trains, or hung themselves, or overdosed, you get the picture. The rest of us just watched and waited.

“It’s alright,” I told her again and squeezed her clammy hand. But I lied. Heat scorched our skin as the flaming asteroid crashed into the ocean.

“It missed us!” somebody yelled with relief. “We’re going to be o.k.!”

The crowd cheered until we saw the tsunami lording over the highest skyscraper and rumbling like a thousand locomotives.

“It’s alright,” I told her and held her tight one last time. “We’ll be in heaven soon.” I kissed her deeply then wiped the tears from her beautiful green eyes.

The tsunami smashed into the downtown skyline and snapped skyscrapers like twigs. People screamed and broke away, futilely trying to escape. But not us. I kissed her instead. To feel that warmth one last time. To feel the connection that burns between two people. I kissed her and then we held hands. We watched as our world was submersed in water. We waited as mankind’s legacy was reclaimed by nature. We drowned and joined countless others resigned to nothing more than footnotes in a forgotten epoch of history.

Divine Fractals and the Mind of God

It is popular belief that God is in everything. That every aspect of Creation has stemmed from God in his infinite wisdom. Thus, Creation could be seen as a reflection of God, Itself. Everything in Creation, containing its own divine spark, is like a divine Fractal. As above so below. Everything in Creation is, essentially, another aspect of God. Another tiny piece of It, so to speak.

So, Creation, being a reflection of God, shattered into countless pieces and agitated the Abyss into creating God in a physical form. Hence the Universe. Now consider each and every aspect of the universe. If Creation is God looking at His own reflection and trying to understand Himself, then each and every part of Creation, though it appears separate and individual, is in reality, a part of the Greater Whole. Thus, not only are people part of the Mind of God, but the experiences those people are having and the thoughts and emotions tied to those experiences are also part of that Mind. But the rabbit hole doesn’t stop there. The background and settings to those experiences and everything happening outside of them to everything and everybody else encompasses that Mind as well. Each and every thing in Creation from the Universe as a whole down to the tiniest quark is a piece of the reflection of the Mind of God. Warning:

Trying to grasp that concept may cause vertigo and headaches.
So the question remains, “How do we humans understand that Mind? How do we see the Greater Whole for what it is?” The answer is simple: We don’t. It’s like asking a figure in a painting to step outside the painting and describe it. Impossible. The figure would physically have to step outside his own existence. The paradox lies in the fact that as far as the figure is concerned, outside the frame, the painting doesn’t exist. And if the painting doesn’t exist, then neither does the figure vainly attempting to explain it all. He is as much a part of the painting as the trees and sky and grass and mountains set as his backdrop.

We cannot step outside the boundaries of Creation. It is our painting. The best we can do is to examine the painting from the inside hoping to glean some understanding of the artist on the outside. This examination gave us the polar twins religion and science. The difference being that religion gives credit to the artist for his masterpiece and science staunchly insists that the masterpiece spontaneously sprang into being of its own volition. Something akin to that picture of the hand drawing itself on paper.
So we return to humanity’s vain folly. In order to understand the Mind of God, we would have to step outside the painting. We would literally have to see every last person, place, thing or idea in the universe AT ONCE and AS ONE. Only then would we “understand the meaning of it all”. Unfortunately the very notion is impossible for the human mind to truly fathom, much less understand.

This doesn’t mean that God doesn’t exist and we can’t glimpse His Works from time to time. It doesn’t mean that we should quit seeking spiritual truths, enlightenment, salvation or whatever one may prefer to call it. It means that we, as figures in this beautiful masterpiece, must realize and accept what we are. Whatever glimpses of the Great Whole we are allowed to see are only that: glimpses of something much larger than ourselves. Something our limited perceptions can never understand.
See the world as your self.
Have faith in the way things are.
Love the world as your self;
then you can care for all things.
“`The Tao Te Ching

Why We Need A Renaissance

Looking for a good book I journeyed into a very popular bookstore chain. Pick any one (that still hasn’t gone bankrupt) you want, they’re all the same. This was the beginning. I stared at the philosophy section, the poetry section, and the theatre section. I picked up book after book to find nothing but the same mass-produced names, ideas, and beliefs. Now call it a premonition, a vision, an undeniable truth, whatever it was I heard a little voice in the back of my head say, “it’s time for a Renaissance”. And I agree. It is time for a revolution of thought, a revolution of beliefs, time for a revolution of the mind.

We have had our very essences stolen from us. Siphoned from us by benevolent dictators in their ivory towers. We have become less than human. We have become empty shells waiting to be filled with whatever our benevolent dictators deem suitable. We crave some new philosophy so that we may intrigue our friends with banality at the dinner table. Or we need some new-found religion to fill our spiritual appetite (as if there are not enough out there already) so that we may face the new day with a false sense of security. We have developed a false sense of entitlement and deluded ourselves into thinking that “everyone is special”.

Helpless spoiled children is what we have become. We live in an era where anyTHING we want can be acquired with the push of a button. We fatten ourselves with poisons and chemicals and processed food. We waste precious time figuring out how to make simple things simpler. Filling every second of every minute of every hour of every day with some menial task because having any free time would literally drive us crazy. This is what society (as an extension of our benevolent dictators) has forged us into. A populace of fools unable sit and enjoy one moment without thought of who is dying, starving, fighting, becoming rich, becoming poor, and who is screwing who. We live in a world where young people consider the internet a need on par with food and shelter and think that updating a Facebook status is more important than actually hanging out with friends. We perpetrate our disconnected connectedness every time we text the person we are sitting next to instead of actually talking to them.

We live in a time where all original thought has been massacred and consumed by the Media Machine. A machine that remakes and remakes the popular until the original beautiful idea is obscured in rehashed shit. This is a time when original ideas have ceased, creativity is destroyed, where dreams are traded in for quick cash. We live in a world that has become an endless cycle of the past. Like Rome at the height of its degradation. We are all junkies and whores searching for our 15 minutes in the spotlight.

Radio stations play the same mindless crap all day long. Groups that don’t have enough talent to write their own songs or music have become the wave of the day. It’s not about creating something new, it’s about producing something that’ll make a few bucks. Television and talk radio shows constantly tell us what and how to think. They fill our head with useless contradictions to keep our minds dull and distracted. Reality television exploits the worst of human nature and has twisted dysfunction into a societal norm to be lauded and praised.

When did we cross the line into degradation? How can we sit and continue to let this happen without any moral or ethical dilemma? We can’t.

It is true that this has all been stated before by people far more educated and experienced than I. However, everything must start some somewhere–with someone. The time for a Renaissance is now.

Philip K. Dickbot

Philip K. Dickbot.

Philip K. Dickbot

I got a web bot in my brain
From spending too much time
On the internet.

It was a viral virus like a video
Vexing my mental registry with predictions most grim.

I named it Philip K. Dickbot
Because he wore pink like VALIS
While dreaming of androids dreaming of
Eclectic sheeple.

Are you paranoid yet?
I know

Scanning the night sky darkly for an Archer’s Transmigration.

Until then, I’ll sit in my high castle
With a drill bit in my hand
Waiting for whoever robbed my safe
To send me to the Promised Land.








Lovely Zen

The truth is:
One cannot Live
they are already Dead.

To know Life
understand a world without it.

To accept its offerings,
you must have nothing to take.

Know God and see Him
in universal splendor.

Hear songs
sung by angelic hearts
and weep in harmony with their vibrations.

Passion fuels the soul.

Love feeds starving innocence.

Are you enamored with Being?
or is it spoiled by Living?

In the great plays of
all individual yet connected sages:

There are dreams shadowed by reality.

There is reality controlled by dreams.

There is Awakening offered to slumbering giants.

There is a secret in plain sight:

Life is holy and every moment sacred.


–God’s Manchild has fallen from Grace–

It Began…
Before history was remembered.
Before the future was forgotten.

It was…
A sweet dance with Heaven’s forsaken Children.
The collective Prometheans who taught us the Way.
Winged Mercuries who breached that infinite Gap
At the expense of themselves.

And now…
No silent screams can save us.
No thunderous prayers can move mountains.
For mustard seeds are burning suns
Too large
too bright
to touch.
Forever scorching the fingers of lost children reaching for faith.


And so…

I’m writing in L.A.
Preserving the legends of our youth.
Assuring us a place in history
That no one will care to read.

We sit on this balcony
High above our dreams
Watching cars with their unnecessary noise
Swim quickly by.

There are whispers of our deepest fantasies in the linings
Of the dull hum that is city life.

We were there.

Wayward souls gathered around the Excitement
That haunts the spirits of pioneers.

A generation lost in change.

Falling in a city of fallen angels

We watched with divine voyeurism
A scene from life made a parable of lies.
Softening implications of need with cheep beer.

We could’ve done that—became heroes…
But we smoked cigarettes instead.

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