Letters from the Other Side of the Rain.
DISCLAIMER: All poetry found herein is, like all poetry, based on true fiction.Saturday, April 01, 2006
Dear Humanity,
There may have been some confusion regarding the lack of my answering emails lately. The reasoning behind that has nothing to do with my disliking any of the senders. It has more to do with the fact that the girl of indeterminate identity who you will meet in this post and who you saw in the last post is going out to seek her fortune, and it is incumbent upon me to follow her. I will be away for some time, I'm afraid, walking after the girl, on the other side of the rain. Don't worry, my letters won't stop.
There has a been a bit of confusion regarding the origin of the girl of indeterminate identity. To avoid further confusion, here's an explic of the inexplicable. It's a fairy tale, so it sounds best read out loud. The voice I heard writing it was that of Mrs. P, the librarian in the elementary school. She always sounded as though she was apologizing, even when she was not.
A Story
There are stories and then there are stories. This one is a story.
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She was the oldest, you see, so her story was doomed from the start. She did not have two beautiful, sweet younger sisters. Instead, she had a firey younger brother, and two beautiful, sweet younger sisters. The eldest daughter is never pretty, so the little girl was not pretty. She was too tall, and too dark, with hair like hickory wood and a smile like snake venom.
Nothing happened to the little girl for a long time. Her father was old and her mother was kinder than she could afford, and the little girl grew tired of her firey brother and beautiful, sweet sisters. She desired a different love, a less settled, more heated love, that could quicken her breath. So she found a young man, and she set her cap for him. But he was fond of a pretty girl with hair like sunshine, and the fate of the eldest daughter is to wait. And so she waited, patiently.
And soon his gaze fell on her, and she fell into his arms in turn. But after a time he tired of her, and he left her alone. The little girl (though not so little any longer, with hips spreading wide and small winter apples on her chest) grieved. She cried and tore her hickory wood hair. And then she decided to wait, for it is the fate of the eldest daughter to wait. Surely, he would return. But the young man had gone to a far land, and he had forgotten her. She loved him still, but she grew tired of waiting.
And so it came to pass that one day the girl rose from her chair by the fire and said, "I am going to go and seek my fortune." Her mother looked at her and said, "Will you go with half a loaf and my blessing, or a full loaf and no?"
"The Lord blesses me," said the girl, "and I need that loaf."
"You are cheating fate," said her mother.
"I will make my own fate," replied the girl.
So she took the loaf, her memorandum book, her thick black coat, and her embroidery ring, tied them up in a spotted hankerchief, and set out to seek her fortune.
And that is how the story began. Do you understand?
And there's also my latest bizarre project, a blank verse drama (that's like Shakespeare) written in common vernacular/Shakespearian speak that will be all about high school kids. It's a bit raunchy, I'm afraid. The raunchiness, however, is entirely blameable on the character of Stuart. To get Stuart, mix Chris Rock, Mercutio, and Jack Black. Mix well, serve raunchy. And as for Elliot, the other main character, take Mark Cohen and blend with the Phantom of the Opera, with a dash of Leo Bloom, and some Ferris Bueller. As for the MAIN main character, Beatrice, if you've ever read Much Ado About Nothing, you're acquainted with her. For more information as to Bea's identity, please see disclaimer.
Human Contact
(ACT ONE, SCENE ONE. EXT LOCKER HALL. ELLIOT ONSTAGE.)
CHORUS: Nothing begins, for nothing ever ends.
Our time is flat lined one dimensional
We cannot say our story now begins
We cannot say our story ever ends.
Our story is the story of a girl
Like that song oddly term'd, "Absolutely,"
It may not be the strains of Orpheus
But it begins our metamorphosis.
(EXIT CHORUS. ENTER STUART.)
ELLIOT: Good morrow, Stu, as Billy Shakes would say.
What hath transpired o'er summertime?
What news bring ye, to please my thirsty ear
And what's the chance we'll make it through the year?
STUART: Elliot, the chance for you is smaller
Than a H-Wood star's chest sans enhancements.
But what of summer? Whadda we ever do?
I'm just Joe Schmoe, although a fried of yours.
Your virtue, old pal, does not grant us fame.
But I am dragging on a speech that holds
No sweetness for my gossip's ear. Hold, hold!
'Tis time to speak on some more "Life Skills," things.
The guys and me was talking up a storm.
ELLIOT: (ASIDE.) A storm, I see, destined to rain on me. (END ASIDE.)
What things have I guilt of in these "Life Skills?"
I beg of you, term me not vulgarly.
STUART: Oh, we have got you now, you horny boy!
Anyone with eyes can see you're after
That blonde with the thin legs - oh, whatsername -
ELLIOT: Megan Misinski.
STUART: And what a name it is! Your tongue don't trip
On Russian syllables. If you're not crushed
I think it's time for some needed Viagra.
In fact, I've thought that for some time. What's wrong
With girls that you're holed up with your lady
All made of glass and metal, with a mouse
Cords and a keyboard, for easy input?
Despite the input, computers don't put out.
It can't replace the feelings of a girl
Get of the World Wide Web, widen your world.
ELLIOT: Lay off, Stuart. No, I won't call you Stu!
You've made me mad, fuck off, go play with guys
Who don't spend all their lives out on the 'net.
So long big guy, and as you adios,
Remember to forget to greet Megan.
STUART: I gotcha. Oooh, don't those insults burn. Not.
Oh well then. 'Twill be a bright day when there's
Lumps in the iron pants of Elliot.
ELLIOT: And so the brainded Philistine exits.
Most likely he's not thinking of the fact
That reality's just realty, waiting
Patiently for an agent to arrive.
But who here could be that thinking agent?
Rebellion is the new complancency.
Hats off to Ferris Bueller, anyone?
Someday I'll do just that, I'll steal a car
Play sick, call Stu up, thieve Megan from her class
And then just drive, like running sans the pain.
I run sometimes, it satisfies a thirst
That I can't name, and who could, after all?
Not Stuart. He has never been much help
With all his "pimp juice" and his "daddy-os."
He doesn't realize what one swop can do
When it is done with letters. Take "exits."
We all know what it means, it means to leave.
But switch the T and S and you've "exist."
And no one knows what that means. Ist to live?
No. I exist, but have no life to give.
Too much iambic for the me. Sleep now. Sleep good.
Must learn how to write a rondel.
Toodles,
Kat
There may have been some confusion regarding the lack of my answering emails lately. The reasoning behind that has nothing to do with my disliking any of the senders. It has more to do with the fact that the girl of indeterminate identity who you will meet in this post and who you saw in the last post is going out to seek her fortune, and it is incumbent upon me to follow her. I will be away for some time, I'm afraid, walking after the girl, on the other side of the rain. Don't worry, my letters won't stop.
There has a been a bit of confusion regarding the origin of the girl of indeterminate identity. To avoid further confusion, here's an explic of the inexplicable. It's a fairy tale, so it sounds best read out loud. The voice I heard writing it was that of Mrs. P, the librarian in the elementary school. She always sounded as though she was apologizing, even when she was not.
A Story
There are stories and then there are stories. This one is a story.
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She was the oldest, you see, so her story was doomed from the start. She did not have two beautiful, sweet younger sisters. Instead, she had a firey younger brother, and two beautiful, sweet younger sisters. The eldest daughter is never pretty, so the little girl was not pretty. She was too tall, and too dark, with hair like hickory wood and a smile like snake venom.
Nothing happened to the little girl for a long time. Her father was old and her mother was kinder than she could afford, and the little girl grew tired of her firey brother and beautiful, sweet sisters. She desired a different love, a less settled, more heated love, that could quicken her breath. So she found a young man, and she set her cap for him. But he was fond of a pretty girl with hair like sunshine, and the fate of the eldest daughter is to wait. And so she waited, patiently.
And soon his gaze fell on her, and she fell into his arms in turn. But after a time he tired of her, and he left her alone. The little girl (though not so little any longer, with hips spreading wide and small winter apples on her chest) grieved. She cried and tore her hickory wood hair. And then she decided to wait, for it is the fate of the eldest daughter to wait. Surely, he would return. But the young man had gone to a far land, and he had forgotten her. She loved him still, but she grew tired of waiting.
And so it came to pass that one day the girl rose from her chair by the fire and said, "I am going to go and seek my fortune." Her mother looked at her and said, "Will you go with half a loaf and my blessing, or a full loaf and no?"
"The Lord blesses me," said the girl, "and I need that loaf."
"You are cheating fate," said her mother.
"I will make my own fate," replied the girl.
So she took the loaf, her memorandum book, her thick black coat, and her embroidery ring, tied them up in a spotted hankerchief, and set out to seek her fortune.
And that is how the story began. Do you understand?
And there's also my latest bizarre project, a blank verse drama (that's like Shakespeare) written in common vernacular/Shakespearian speak that will be all about high school kids. It's a bit raunchy, I'm afraid. The raunchiness, however, is entirely blameable on the character of Stuart. To get Stuart, mix Chris Rock, Mercutio, and Jack Black. Mix well, serve raunchy. And as for Elliot, the other main character, take Mark Cohen and blend with the Phantom of the Opera, with a dash of Leo Bloom, and some Ferris Bueller. As for the MAIN main character, Beatrice, if you've ever read Much Ado About Nothing, you're acquainted with her. For more information as to Bea's identity, please see disclaimer.
Human Contact
(ACT ONE, SCENE ONE. EXT LOCKER HALL. ELLIOT ONSTAGE.)
CHORUS: Nothing begins, for nothing ever ends.
Our time is flat lined one dimensional
We cannot say our story now begins
We cannot say our story ever ends.
Our story is the story of a girl
Like that song oddly term'd, "Absolutely,"
It may not be the strains of Orpheus
But it begins our metamorphosis.
(EXIT CHORUS. ENTER STUART.)
ELLIOT: Good morrow, Stu, as Billy Shakes would say.
What hath transpired o'er summertime?
What news bring ye, to please my thirsty ear
And what's the chance we'll make it through the year?
STUART: Elliot, the chance for you is smaller
Than a H-Wood star's chest sans enhancements.
But what of summer? Whadda we ever do?
I'm just Joe Schmoe, although a fried of yours.
Your virtue, old pal, does not grant us fame.
But I am dragging on a speech that holds
No sweetness for my gossip's ear. Hold, hold!
'Tis time to speak on some more "Life Skills," things.
The guys and me was talking up a storm.
ELLIOT: (ASIDE.) A storm, I see, destined to rain on me. (END ASIDE.)
What things have I guilt of in these "Life Skills?"
I beg of you, term me not vulgarly.
STUART: Oh, we have got you now, you horny boy!
Anyone with eyes can see you're after
That blonde with the thin legs - oh, whatsername -
ELLIOT: Megan Misinski.
STUART: And what a name it is! Your tongue don't trip
On Russian syllables. If you're not crushed
I think it's time for some needed Viagra.
In fact, I've thought that for some time. What's wrong
With girls that you're holed up with your lady
All made of glass and metal, with a mouse
Cords and a keyboard, for easy input?
Despite the input, computers don't put out.
It can't replace the feelings of a girl
Get of the World Wide Web, widen your world.
ELLIOT: Lay off, Stuart. No, I won't call you Stu!
You've made me mad, fuck off, go play with guys
Who don't spend all their lives out on the 'net.
So long big guy, and as you adios,
Remember to forget to greet Megan.
STUART: I gotcha. Oooh, don't those insults burn. Not.
Oh well then. 'Twill be a bright day when there's
Lumps in the iron pants of Elliot.
ELLIOT: And so the brainded Philistine exits.
Most likely he's not thinking of the fact
That reality's just realty, waiting
Patiently for an agent to arrive.
But who here could be that thinking agent?
Rebellion is the new complancency.
Hats off to Ferris Bueller, anyone?
Someday I'll do just that, I'll steal a car
Play sick, call Stu up, thieve Megan from her class
And then just drive, like running sans the pain.
I run sometimes, it satisfies a thirst
That I can't name, and who could, after all?
Not Stuart. He has never been much help
With all his "pimp juice" and his "daddy-os."
He doesn't realize what one swop can do
When it is done with letters. Take "exits."
We all know what it means, it means to leave.
But switch the T and S and you've "exist."
And no one knows what that means. Ist to live?
No. I exist, but have no life to give.
Too much iambic for the me. Sleep now. Sleep good.
Must learn how to write a rondel.
Toodles,
Kat
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