Rupert Found A Thing

Speaker: Billy Bleasdale--Human Boy

Audience: His "Dear Dairy"

Rupert found something. We were walking home and he saw it in the grass by the road. He got really close to it. I didn't like it. It looked like a bad accident. When Rupert picked up a stick and poked at it, it was soft. The stuff on the outside was thin and wet. It wrinkled when the stick touched it. There was a bad smell too. I said we should tell an adult. Rupert said he figured adults think they know too much already and they should be worried about important things like making sure they are functioning well enough to bring a child into the world. I said I didn't know anything about all of that. Whatever the thing was, it might be dangerous or carrying infectious diseases. There were also lots of wires coming out of it. It was smushed. Rupert wanted to know more. What was it called? Where did it come from? Rupert picked it up and shook it and something inside of it settled and shifted. Rupert was saying something quietly to himself. He whispered the way he whispered when he told kids things he wasn't supposed to know. He told them the kinds of things we felt like we would get in trouble for thinking about. There were a few holes on the thing and sometimes the outside would shift and cover some holes and open up others. Rupert said it was heavy and the colors changed when he put his hands on it and took them off. I told Rupert it was getting dark and I had to be home for dinner. I told Rupert I didn't want to leave him out here alone. I told Rupert I was leaving. I left Rupert alone in the field with the thing.

That night, Rupert became a father. He had five children and he named them all Electric Picks. He was a loving and caring father until he died.

Themes: Failed loss of innocence

Half of Three

Reflections

There's evil in the world. I don't fight it. There's good in the world. I watch it. I'm not a man of justice. I'm not a man of crooked schemes. There's no piano on my rooftop and no bones beneath my shoes. Days tip over at ten miles-per-hour. I'm not a man on a throne of golden hair. I have no trident to raise the ire of the seas. I don't have a fancy job or a cutting jaw. I sleep and am sufficient most every day.

I have destroyed all of the glass jars in the city so that maybe you will love me. Yes, it was a big gesture. No, it was not well-executed. That is how I ask that you love me--largely but not finely. Speak your words with the clarity of a numbed lip. Give me broad slaps of affection like noodley sleeves. I have destroyed all of the glass jars in the city and it is unsafe to walk in many places so that you might love me. I used a hammer. It took a month and the project is ongoing. At the bottom of the Ocean is something indescribably beautiful but we'd die down there and I like the way you breathe. I'm not a man with a bomb on a train. I don't have a special trap for money or smiles. I am the man that destroyed all of the glass jars in the city in the hope that it would get your attention long enough for me to think of something else to keep your attention. Or, you could do something to get my attention because it's not like this is a one-way street or anything.

Speaker: Gipper Beanhard. Self-styled Man of the Gip. Speaking extemporaneously on a stage about various topics.

Audience: Listeners with no general preference but open to confusion

Theme: Learning new information.

Splattermin begins

Once there was a Splatterman. He did everything he could. He was the Splatterman ad no one else could hold the title of Splatterman while he was using it--which was all the time. His drive was supreme.

One day, the one and only true Splatterman was in need of snow because he desired to make the most beautiful snow angel ever. So the Splatterman took a giant bucket of ice cubes from his neighbor, Roger, who he did not like at all. Then, the Splatterman very carefully flushed all of the ice cubes down the toilet. He flushed them one by one and made sure to place them in the exact center of the water only after the water had completely settled. It took him two hours but that night it snowed because of the Splatterman's actions and the next day he made the most beautiful snow angel ever. It is still preserved today in a museum at the bottom of the Ocean. Everything I just said was entirely true.

Speaker: Master Chuck, the Sandwich delivery kung-fu master.

Audience: Parking Lots

Theme: The Splatterman's drive is supreme.

Bolfman

In the ancient lore of the Grizzled Hags, there is a tale of pure fright that is told so often that is now fiercely defended as truth. The Tale of the Bolfman can never be forgotten. The Bolfman is a fearsome creature, standing at 5' 7'', 185 lbs. He's patched with fur like a wolf and a man and some other weird creature all fused together in an unholy union. He stalks public bathrooms and steals all the toilet paper just before you enter the stall. You, as the unsuspecting victim, experience your first jolt of terror when you realize you have no TP for wiping. But, that is only a preliminary shock because you realize that a meager scrap lingers on the floor just at the far edge of the stall. You lean hard, with your pants resting around your ankles, to try to reach it. Just as your quivering finger is about to press down on the paper, it scoots out of reach. The true manic horror begins when you are compelled to leave the safety of the seat, still severely bent over, and burst out of the stall in full-waddle. Your single-minded pursuit of the ever-retreating paper leads you past the sinks, waste-basket, and paper towel dispenser and straight for the exit. And then, just like all victims of the Bolfman, the last thing you see before you reenter society is the face of the Bolfman. He laughs. Then he cries. Then he laughs again. He finally disappears while crying. But now, everyone in Target is staring at the pantsless man who has just let the single square of One-Ply toilet paper float gently to the floor as a look on his face suggests he has just emerged from a thick, muddled haze.

Speaker: Ranger Frank, Urban Ranger.

Audience: Two unruly punks caught chuckling in a manner suggesting defiance and disregard for citizenship.

Themes: Dark forces responsible for flexing enormous amounts of supernatural strength to bring out mundane amounts of embarrassment and confusion.

Lucky That It's Dark Now

Speaker: Old Man with Old Man Face in Old Man Voice

Audience: Tiny Stranger

Theme: Repetition

"Every morning I used to bike a mile-and-a-half to work. By November, it was dark at that time and disappearance of the sun combined with the repetition of the route taught me that anything takes on almost mythic qualities if performed enough times. That's the power of repetition. You bike down a street once and you'll never remember it. You bike down a street 50 times and you'll be able to watch yourself cruise through the dark as you're biking. It is made real. It becomes an observable part of your identity. Until, you do it so many times, hundreds of times, that it becomes mythology. The bike ride was there before you and it will remain long after. The fruit in your backpack has a voice and tells you things. The trees sway disapprovingly at your hustle and bustle. The road has all kinds of surfaces and textures with powerful emotions embedded. Some spots are silky smooth and you roll along with dull grace. Other patches make your teeth rattle and your guts rumble and you hate these sections. You curse the lazy resurfacing crew--bane of your cosmos. We are never without ritual. Repetition brings about all of thing.

Fruit Puffs

Ladies and gentlemen, listen very closely to what you are about to hear. Humanity's greatest threats are will be toppled like building blocks under the giant swagger of Science. We have grave answers to questions that have kept you and your loved ones up at night. Namely, we have discovered a process that allows for the animation of fruit. Yes, you have heard me correctly, dear people. Fruit is now alive. Fruit is our friend. If you have a look at this display case I've unveiled--you'll see exactly what I mean. The apple, the lemon, the carrot, and the orange are all sentient beings. The apple has bright green skin and sweet flesh but it also possesses eyes, a mouth, and a brain. The lemon is zesty but can also learn, feel, and imagine. The carrot is rich in vitamins and minerals but also suffers from neurosis. The orange is horribly deformed beyond repair and begs to be put down. We should really remove him from the display but no one is willing to touch him. Not even our most unpaid interns. Death is the final frontier. The first step to crossing this threshold is bringing about life . This is all terrible exciting so keep your eyes squinted and your shoulders hunched to prepare for the wonders of modern Science. Keep time with the tick of the atomic clock on the wall.

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Speaker: A doctor from one of those old black-and-white movies that are used as samples in weird rap videos.

Audience: The awe-struck citizens of the United States of America, brought to them via live television broadcast.

Theme: The Past has the best ideas about the Future.

Inner Weft

This robot is very sad. His metal casing feels too tight. Something has interrupted his standard operating mode. The tower draws the lenses of his eyes. He can process mountains of information in instant. He can absorb, organize, and utilize the data which encompasses his enormous dome of awareness. Yet, despite this, he cannot see beyond the black facade of the looming structure. The tower holds something in its depths. He should not be limited to the visible spectrum of light. His eyes can see on all frequencies. The tower conceals its secrets all the same.

Perhaps there are desires or fears locked away. Perhaps a fragment of his past must be reclaimed. Perhaps there is a destiny burning to be fulfilled.

Or perhaps this sad, brittle robot only desires to know what he cannot know. He cannot fill the void with creations of his own. The sad, googly-eyed robot takes a shaking step. He is not afraid. He is just crappy and sad. A little tin-can slugger with a brain of crusted bolts versus the world. 

A world a week

Swollen tubes. Most fascinating couch crystals hard on a butt. Sequentially frying pans, mugs, and stools. Very good bendy straw. Mountains like gently pickled scabs. Glassy grass blades and a tall tower with a make-friend stripe fever.

ShovelJaw

Hellome Everywell! My name is ShovelJaw and I'm an Intergalactic Dirt Farmer. It's a lucrative make money magnate. People call me ShovelJaw because of my friendly demeanor and my face. Some people wonder who a dirt farmer earns his daily grits. It's simply really. I call up my buddy Preston and he delivers a big pile of dirt to me planet which was formerly a geometry teacher's Honda Civic. In the future, there's a way to combine a Honda Civics with dirt to form a planet. It's simply really. In fact, they're still looking for a way that you can combine dirt and a Honda Civic and NOT form a planet. They go together so well. Anyway, I take some dirt out of my heap and I throw it at something flying by like a monster truck or a comet or somebody's younger brother and if life grows from that dirty, they'll eventually be intelligent enough to know I created them and they owe me $25 Space Bucks. It's been a pretty good deal so far. I've sowed my seeds wide and far. Sometimes I eat the dirt for fun.

One time, I met a magic soap salesman who unlocked my own memory of being born. I lost the soap...

Sheep on Board

Great Surfing Sheep, you are what Awesome dreams of, nestled in its racing car bed. You teach us how to be excellent to each other. You teach us to brush our teeth because the minty paste puts a fresh start between our gums. You teach us to remember how blue the sky is. You teach us so much. You teach us more than we can know. You teach us that good things don't always exist as a means to an end. Sometimes they are just good and should be worked for tirelessly so that they remain good. Like a giant mouse reading a book in a tall tree. You have to scare him back up there when he tries to climb down. It's a full-time job but we need that mouse to read in that tree. We need it because it deserves to be.

Difficulty Feet Cosby!

You get two today for having none yesterday!

Cooking is pretty easy. It's a lot like building a rocket ship to the Moon. At first, you think, there's no way I can build this rocket ship. But, when you start, you think, look at me! I'm building a rocket ship to the Moon! This is an achievement that will continue to define the reach of man's imagination until we devolve back into newts. Just like cooking helps us not be so hungry. It's the enthusiasm that's the key though. Being able to know--to realize what you're doing as you're doing it. I mean, there's a tremendous well of strength to draw from in being able to identify yourself in the moment as a person with a purpose and a job and working to reach a goal. You blast the obstacles and the hurdles because you're blazing through like a steak knife fired out of a cannon! And eating is like being on the Moon and looking back and realizing that you're in the future right now! But that's the not the real reward. That's the part you have to do. You cooked food-you gotta eat it. Built a rocket--gotta take it to the Moon now. It's like how building a box fort is way better than hanging out in the box fort. That box fort is cramped and smells bad and dark but you have to claim it because building it was incredible.

Cooking--rocket ship--box fort. Doing counts--not ends.

This Villain is

is a traffic cone with an evil balloon outside of Morbo Mart.

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James did not consider himself easily impressed. He continued tapping the edge of a quarter against the curb surrounding the island of dirt in the Morbo Mart parking lot. He did not give his attention to petty demonstrations like the sentient traffic cone standing on a pyramid of wooden crates casting nefarious glances with the help of an angry-faced balloon.

After robots stole his brain and ran it through a machine that triple-strained, stained, and repainted, all of James' experiences and memories consisted of a heightened reality. This included his memory of the robots and their machine--just to give an example of the kinds of heightened reality he was dealing with. James was aware that he was the source of occurrences like the tiny evil traffic cone yet he still found them tiring and thin. Like a cardboard cut-out of a celebrity or a cardboard three-headed monkey. They lacked depth. They seemed to rob the world of any kind of extra meaning that might be under something boring and ordinary and unnoticeable because of its painful average qualities.

Not that he could ever know. Because even if he could really let himself see something boring, it's not like he'd be able to get past the terrible numbing boredom of it. He'd have to look away--seek the interesting. It was like trying to breathe mud. Boredom impressed him. 

Man with a Microwave

Part I

He was a big-headed man with a microwave in his hand.

Part II

A vagrant with a suped-up portable appliance reconfigured trash into melted trash for fun

Part III

Like a scientist in the lab turning lady's shoes into a solid brick of bees. Like toes with mouths chewing egg shells and sprouting smelling stickers on the nail. Like a stomach pumping gastric juice on pandas that giants eat and belch out parades for children. Like the chasm in the couch cushions stealing change and funding research on the sweat that shines on sleeping foreheads. Like the scratches on the back in the picture in the book in the box buried in a yard beneath wicker skeletons of clowns. Like charged eyes watching men with orange hair, seven of the them, walk single file to the store. Like the conversations of thick coats in the off season safe in musty darkness. Like cool water trickling from the noses of helpful friends and centaurs. Like the glue between a suspicious stop sign and tickled brown eggs. Like excellent spices sprinkled atop large mounds of toy trucks and hibernating bigfoots and other things young boys write tenderly in diaries about. Like Wisconsin sharp cheddar thrown at high velocity at the reheated burgers leaking slurred orders to recast the verb and introduce the fuming tooth to a pack of loose teens simmering in a ditch trying to fly a kite tied to a sunkist bottle over crags catch a breeze or keep running to maintain height like he would but it's winter so he stays inside to microwave burritos and think about how everything he sees is just being caught sliding through its way to anything else.

Two flowers on a sill

There are two mechanical sunflowers sitting on my windowsill. One of them is headless. When the sun hits their little solar cells, they overflow with quiet, contained--bridled joy. Their heads (the one with a head) bob side to side while their petals flail up and down like the sun is a non-stop jam with tasty licks that refuse to quit.

I wish they really could overflow. I wish that there was a day in April that was so sunny and bright that the sheer happiness generated by the solar cells blew their tender circuits. Their heads and leaves smashed through their plastic cases and overreached their joints and all the limbs spilled into the air, glowing white. It would smell like birthday cake. When the colored spots that blinded you cleared away you would see a message in a little puff of smoke lingering over the shells that said, "Mission Accomplished, sir."

Mechanical plants can't do that. But we can. We should strive for it. We should live to transcend the bounds of novelty smiley trinkets. Grandma's ablaze! Our circuits are supple and the energy is primed all around. Our limbs can churn and our expressions can burn red hot through blizzards. I am not a flower! I am not a mecha-flower! I am a man! A man who holds his own purpose--and also two mechanical flowers, and also a lot of memories I'm still sorting out, in my own two hands!

Floating Tomato

I really like sheep, you guys.

That's all I'm trying to say. They are fun to draw.

Also tomatoes.

This was probably more fun to make than it is to look at.

Future Me is going to be disappointed.

Man with No Face Says

Life demands to be lived. But, for the Man with No Face, only one question keeps the lights on in his crummy, dingy apartment. A single bulb dangling from the cracked ceiling illuminates his futile search. He pours over the contents of his broken life. If he had a mouth, he would surely cry out, 

"Where is the receipt from the cashier of my dreams who used to work at the Hardees down the street?!"

His anguished screams would echo through every alley, settling in forgotten corners with cats, dirt, pills, vomit, bottles, bums, bags, coats, ash, dirt, dust, and grime. 

A glossy piece of paper that oh-so-briefly touched the hands of that exquisitely jaded darling of the food service industry would mean everything to him. To have a link to that which does not make one "ick".

Well, looking for it means an awful lot too. Finding it actually probably wouldn't be all that great. Nor could a man with no face actually find anything. But, you do what you gotta do.

Eyeing the Space Leg

My virtue is MORE!

Quantity over quality!

Provide! Provide!

Create! Create!

No time, no patience, no reward to refine!

Inhale,exhale,inhale,exhale, the cycle's demands.

Half finished suggestion! Wanting more. Wanting another.

NEW MORE! MORE NEW!

Wipe the slate a thousand million trillion times!

My virtue is the giant pile of tiny pieces!

Rise and expand! Breathe.

A life is made of many many breaths and beats.

Continue with the Same!

"We don't want any! You always come around here with your big new--Yeah? What'd you say to me?

What'd you say? Well, I'll stick about twenty of those and everything else that comes with the bonus offer up into your loved one's--"

"Did you leave? Are you still there? Oh, I lost you for a second. Didn't want to be talking to nobody. What's that? Oh! Isn't that just the way you kids are now? I didn't slave over a hot stove and watch my hands turn rough and gnarled just so you could come around and--what?"

"What? No! I'm not interested. No, not at this time. Thank you though. That's kind of you to make such a generous offer. I don't need your pity though! I have a giant cat that I've almost trained to do half of my bidding!...Right?...Ah...wait! Come back! Come back!"

Start with the New!

A tankard of coffee.
Give thanks HARD for coffee.
Think hard WITH coffee!

I like mornings more every year.

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I have coffee on my fingers and my breath. Smells are like numbers. They both organize things. Pies and gasoline smell good so we know that they are good things that help us. A one hundred is good so we know that getting one hundreds is a good thing. Leprosy does not smell good. We know then that that is a moral failure. A dozen lepers is not a good amount of lepers so we know that is also not good.

Numbers oftentimes come in pairs. Like 2 and 30. That's a pair of numbers. You can plot that on a graph and find the slope or pirate treasures. Smells also can come in pairs. Shame and hair. Those are two smells. You can plot those on a graph and find out where it becomes important to shower even though no one is around.

Spinach smells sort of good. 38 is sort of good. We're organizing. We have to categorize things. It's how we know things are important. 2014. That's a new year and a new number. That's important. When other people's problems have smells attached to them--I tend to pay a lot more attention. Given the choice between helping a person who popped too much popcorn and helping a person whose feelings accidentally got hurt by a stranger, the popcorn problem smells like it is worth my time.