Control freak pans his next dream OR Not even a flying dream ...

Tonight, I will dream that you and I sit at an impossible diner.
The window beside our table will look out on the vastness of space. The sars seem to be moving around us, or maybe the dining room revolves? Either way, it is glorious and majestic and I won't give it a second glance.
I'll be too busy looking at you.
Tonight, you are going to explain it all.
Everything I needed to know, but never knew to ask.
Sometimes sing.
Sometimes it'll even sound good.
You'll smack me for that tease.
You'll look.
You'll laugh.
I'll watch and wonder.
You'll hint at a future that may never happen; I'll ask about a past we never saw.
You'll sigh. I'll melt
I'll try to say something slick, but the dog headed space diner server will be wanting our order.
I'll struggle because I won't have looked at the menu and reading anything is impossible in dreams and is this a dream and yes brown toast will be fine - more candy flavored coffee when you get the chance.
Once left alone you'll remind me of the view.
I'll say "you mean you?"
Another gentle smack, but you'll smile despite yourself, and direct my gaze to an ever expanding universe.
It will be big and small, and everyone I've thought on lately, will be on the round surfaces of passing planets. They'll either wave in recognition, or ignore me.
Which does what will depend on what each person represents to my subconscious.I'll feel a sudden panic and ask you when we have to go back.
You'll say we're already there, and so I shouldn't worry.
You'll take my hand and trace a letter on this inside of my wrist.
You'll say it's for luck.
That when I wake, I'll remember it for an instant before forgetting.
And that it's okay to forge, because if we didn't forget, we couldn't remember.
I don't need remember.
I don't need to worry.
I just need to wake up.
What a shame: I really could've used another cup of candy flavored coffee ...

You will never know how tightly I can hold a grudge OR I have deleted so many F@#$s

I wrote a tirade at you, but you will never read it.
I erased it.
Like winds over desert, or waves on the shore.
Later I may wish to re-raise my objections, regarding the harms you have caused me; though you may very well be ignorant of any harms on your part-
... this night: let it be done.
I shoot the bullet into the fire.
I whisper into the void.
I forego all debts and let the coins fall wheresoever they may.
Your skeletons are gone from my closet, do not look for them there.
By my own admission, I should not have held them so long as I did
...
But, I can no longer keep them.
Let it be done.
Not only for myself, but for all those in need of a chapter to end.
Let one end, that another may begin.
I would like to begin again.
So I will.
So good night.
So good morning
and so good bye.
When next we meet, we will be strangers once more.

Another game to play with yourself (SFW) OR you can always pass GO

New game: Just a roll of the dice!

For this you just need a pair of six sided dice.
Right before you leave the house - and do I mean right before; this should be the last thing you do before you leave to face the outside world - give the dice a roll.
Look at the result and, no matter what the result is: celebrate!
That number is exactly the one you wanted to roll!
You won.
Congrats.
Enjoy your day!

You win by playing.
You lose by overthinking.

Venting OR I didn't vote the cannibal into office, so stop asking me to feed him

I will not feed my neighbors to you.
In this, I remain inflexible.
So stop asking for them. You rotund varlet.
You may claim, no such request has been made, by you or by your supporters.
A sign of either your deception or your ignorance: the latter proving you a terrible leader and the former revealing you inhuman. You ignominious wretch.
You ask me to feed you the sick, when you rollback medical care. You would then bring in a system that only the healthy could hope to afford, giving you feast over generations of sick and the dying to come. Such high gluttony from such a low creature.
You would ask me to give you the heads of educators and providers; I'm not certain if you do this out envy or spite, regardless you're petulant tantrum is noted. You shameful cad.
You would insist I allow you trample over skulls of the most vulnerable of my community: children. Children with special needs, whom you most certainly despise - without question you despise them. For you to successfully deny it would require a charisma your porcine visage just could not sell. You empty gutless thing.
The sick, the ignorant, the vulnerable and of course the poor.
Yes.
You would take them into your gaping maw, also - if only to suck out the marrow from their malnourished frames.
Stop asking.
I will not hand them to you.
And I will not let you say, you have no intent of taking them, because you have made these intentions perfectly clear. You need to be opposed, wrestled, barred before you'll even give pause in your pursuit.
You ask me to let you envelope the whole of my city, when you rob us of our representatives.
You would eat us, like some hungry troll of a Grimm's tale.
I would have you stay hungry.
I would have you bawl for all of time and see no relief, if it meant I could deny you your intended meal.
Eventually your whines and squeals should grate on me, and your supporters would insist I give you just one vulnerable person to eat.
And like a Greek hero, I should offer you a deal: you may have my neighbor, only if I choose your appetizer.
So hungry you are - you should accept the bargain.
And I should be glad to elaborate: that you may eat my neighbor, only after you've eaten your own stomach.

The ongoing adventures of a kid at heart OR why am I unsupervised?

A classy reception staffed by a team of identically dressed servers.
Servers carrying trays of drinks and platters of food.
Servers wearing black plants, black ties, black vests - all maintaining an atmosphere of dignity and poise.
Amongst the wait staff stands a bearded man, wearing a suit and tie.
He holds a clipboard & a pen. He does this, while instructing the servers to pickup and drop off various things.
He tells them where to walk and where to stop.
He offers phrases like "Well done," "Faster please," and "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed"
He does all of this with an air of authority and confidence.
Servers, in turn, do what he says.
...the  fools!
What foolish foolish fools they all are!
None of them know who this seemingly adult person truly is.
The suit, the beard, the clipboard, even the pen are all part of a clever ruse.
In all actuality, the grown adult telling them what to do is not an adult at all: he's a kid!
A snot nosed kid with with no business being anywhere near responsibility or classy receptions like this one!
A kid was overseeing this high class party of cheese sculptures and champagne flutes!
A kid was ordering around an army of serving staff, who had no business being ordered around by a kid!
Oh if they only knew; how shocked would they be?!
Though, they are not the first ones to be deceived - the charade had been playing out for some time.
For decades the kid, definitely not an adult, had been pulling off this ultimate prank on the whole world!
His plan was simple:
Step 1. Infiltrate the world of salad eating, job working, line waiting, tax filing, body aching adults.
Step 2. Wait.
Step 3. Reveal disguise!
Step 4. Buy a dragon (obviously).

Though his daring plan was full of genius and grit, it did have its pitfalls.
Since he was only pretending to be a responsible adult, the kid had to practice constant vigilance!
For if anyone ever suspected he was only a make believe grown up adult human capable of handling grown up human responsibilities: the prank would fall apart.
Then he would be the one laughed at and called a foolish foolish fool.
Fortunately, while pretending to be a University student: he had mastered the art of pretending to know what you're taking about.
So tonight would not be the night of his grand reveal.
... unless ... no.
Oh, no.
The time!
It was well past his bed time and sleepy time junction was drawing ever ... near ...
The kid playing an adult was in a real pickle of a jam if he couldn't find a way to keep the tucker train from taking him to dreamland!
This was a grownup party, so all the soda was diet!
he'd never get enough sugar to keep him up!
There was only one way, and the kid dreaded the thought of it.
The only way he'd be able to stay up past bedtime, would be to drink *shudder* coffee.
Coffee ... tastes ... gross!
Oh the pickle! Oh the jam!
Whatever will an adult, who's really a kid in disguise, do?!
Find out next time on The ongoing adventures of a kid at heart!

One day "today" will be "that day" OR A hurt to heal from

There are hurts that you cannot wait to heal from. You acknowledge it, you register the level of pain. You may even cry out.
But one clear thought you must allow yourself to have is this: one day this is going to feel so much better.
And it will. It does. Trust that it does.
"When?" I hear you ask in frustration.
When however long it takes to heal, has passed. In time.
It just will.
Today, I know this to be true.
Because today I managed to pull that crank-nasty, niff-retching, sneak-slipping, garbage feeling, rud-musty, doggammed sliver our from under my fingernail!
And my life is made anew!!!

Why your bed always feels so very far away OR Curse you Niff-retcher!

Another adult monster: The Niff-Retcher.

If you were to see the Niff-retcher, you might mistaken it for a bizarrely designed brick laying machine.
But be not mistaken. This is an adult monster and it is keeping you from your comfy mattress!
This creature is a giant head with a long tube for a nose. The nose is a mix between an elephant's trunk and a vacuum cleaner hose. It does not suck up oxygen, but time.
It inhales precious minutes and seconds from you, as you are near your destination at the end of a long day - when you just want to collapse on your bed or sit in your comfy chair.
But no matter how many steps your tired legs may take, and how quickly the seconds seem to fly by, you will not reach your destination any time soon.
For each precious moment that would bring you one step closer to your sweet relief - now devoured by the Niff-retcher- is converted into one step worth of ground! Ground that is vomited out from its impossibly large mouth, permanently set in a wide mocking grin, and placed on your intended route home.
All performed by this diabolical fiend... NIFF-RETCHER!

How to beat it:
A Niff-retcher feeds only on small increments of time, otherwise its tube gets clogged.
So, in order to stop up it's hose: one must fill a minute or a second with an hours worth of weight, thought and care.
If you find yourself eagerly counting the seconds before reaching your destination; try reflecting, instead, on the heavy impact that these seemingly little moments have on your life overall. Appreciate them for more than a moment in between life. See them as a part of life.
This is life.
With any luck, these few moments of protracted perspective will choke the annoying vermin, long enough for you to escape.
Also: listening to modern music helps, as Niff-retchers have notoriously snobbish views on anything composed after the baroque period.

Sleep well, weary traveler.

On wells, lamps and stars OR What I really want for christmas

I wish I was a better dancer.
I wish I was fluent in at least one more language.
I wish I had less hair on my body and more on my head.
I wish my arms didn't seem genetically opposed to building muscle.
I wish I only had to eat for fun, because sometimes it is a chore to feed myself for necessity.
I wish living wasn't so expensive.
I wish dying wasn't so expected.
I wish I could fly.
I wish I could trade every one of these wishes for just this one: to a source of comfort for every friend that ever was in need. Because I am tired of coming up short on answers, when asked: "why is the world so heavy? Why do I have to carry it?"
I just sit with the discomfort of that question. Hating every piece of trite I would like to say, but don't. Not for fear of being wrong. Worse. For fear of being right: that the struggle is the gig. That the burden is the gift.
I wish, if I only had one wish, that I could ease the pain of every friend in need.
And I'm not sure what that looks like.
If I had two wishes, it would be that and flying. I really want to know what clouds feels like.

Is this a flirting? OR classic absurdist pick up lines

I don't know if it's you, the alcohol, or the existential dread resulting from an ever expanding universe - not acting in opposition to, but entirely indifferently towards our experiences in this universe - but I'd really love to stare into the void with you.

Check YAY or NAY

A hero's burden OR Why my right hand?! WHY!?

I recently watched a television show where the protagonist's arm is popped - the official medical term - during a fight. He proceeds to fight off his opponent one armed, until they have to pause action to trade verbal barbs and quips - the truest test of a warrior spirit is the ability to throw shade.
Before the fisticuffs resume, our protagonist pops his popped arm back into place - the ol' poppity-pop physicians call it.
Where you or I would simply vomit and go into a coma, this mighty hero continued the fight.
I bring this up, because I managed to catch a sliver underneath my finger nail today, only to keep working as though I was completely fine. I then proceeded to type out this post.
We are so alike he and I.
Except TV guy didn't then go type out a blog entry afterwards.
So *scoff* who's the badass now?

*The sliver is still under my nail because it hurts too much to take out and I keep squinting and whimpering through the discomfort. Please make it stop PLEASE!!!!!

A commercial I'd love to audition for OR Look forward to my kickstarter!

INT DAY.
A living room on a sound stage. Neatly dressed, and nothing really wrong with it, but clearly a living room for an infomercial.
NARRATOR: Has this ever happened to you?
NOT-A-REAL-PERSON, an early 30 something, enters a living room. Then painfully stubs their toe on a coffee table.

NOT-A-REAL-PERSON: (Containing their howls of pain) Shhhhhhooooooo-hooo ... boy ...

With their outrage at the injustice this universe continues to bring, successfully contained, NOT-A-REAL-PERSON takes two steps,
then promptly explodes. It is sudden and violent. Only shoes and scorched carpet remains of the human who stood there but a moment ago.

NARRATOR: Sounds like someone should have screamed into the void!

INSERT still image of a Black hole sucking up light, matter and hope.

NARRATOR: What's that? The dark recesses of space not part of your daily commute? Well I guess you're plumb out of luck, aren't you?

CUT back to living room with smoldering remains. Small fires have appeared.

NARRATOR: Haha! Just kidding! We've got you covered.

NOT-A-REAL-PERSON is magically returned from their untimely death and all previous destruction is wiped clean as though nothing happened.
But NOT-A-REAL-PERSON has seen beyond the pale; their eyes are set in a permanent cold yet distant stare.

NARRATOR: Introducing the blow hard!

A bizarre blowhorn with a jug in the end transports itself into NOT-A-REAL-PERSON'S hands. This does not shock them though. Nothing can shock them anymore...

NARRATOR: Whether from a stubbed toe, a long day at the office factory, or your favorite show not getting renewed: simply let the rage out into the Blowhard!

NOT-A-REAL-PERSON wails into the device.

NARRATOR: Oops, don't forget that mute button.

NOT-A-REAL-PERSON'S screams are suddenly voiceless. We no longer hear their howls of terror from witnessing that which await us all after death - an impossible city of shadows filled with nightmares and pain.

NARRATOR: Continue screaming until the bottle is full or your give way to exhaustion, whichever comes first.

NOT-A-REAL-PERSON continues for an uncomfortable amount of time.

NARRATOR: Look at 'em go!

NOT-A-REAL-PERSON is not stopping. They have yet to blink, let alone take a breath. Is this even possible? NOT-A-REAL-PERSON collapses.

NARRATOR: You tell em! After you're finished venting all your frustration, simply remove the Blow Jar from the Blow Hard.
Then, carefully, throw it away.
It's now someone else's problem.

Slow zoom into the wide open eyes of the unresponsive NOT-A-REAL-PERSON.

NARRATOR: Please consult a doctor before putting your lips on anything, side effects may include: laryngitis, a collapsed lung, blood shot eye, less passionate lovemaking, and ringing in ears. Jars are not made from recycled material, throwing them out is adding to the carbon footprint, we did this deliberately because we hate the world and everyone in it so guess who we voted for in the last provincial election hahaha jay kay but seriously though follow us on instagram @scottdontgotthegram. By hearing or seeing any or all of this ad you owe us a kiss. C'thulu 2023.

Serious advice regarding emotional supression OR Teenage mooody anger Gremlins

If you are upset. Don't apologize. Just be upset.
Allow yourself to be upset. Otherwise you'll be walking around with an Anger Gremlin in your heart. Yelling at you. Screaming it's head off, and you're just gonna continue to ignore it, which will make matters worse.
Not only will you have a Gremlin screaming at you, it'll also have a complex because you're ignoring it. You'll have an insecure little anger gremlin in your heart. A moody teenager of a Gremlin, screaming and anxious all the time. Unsure of it's place in this world.
Then you're in real trouble.
Now you gotta put your anger gremlin into counseling and feed it to make sure it's getting it's daily intake - otherwise it'll just gorge itself on soda and junk. Teenage Gremlins: they cannot feed themselves.
Then it'll feel even worse about itself because now your anxious, emotional, anger gremlin can't even feed itself - no wonder you're so ashamed of me, maybe I'll just stay in my room and never come out!
And they never do!
So please.
Do yourself a favour. Do your emotional gremlins a favour: let em out.
And don't apologize.

Bad play makes great critic OR Pigeon facts

In attempts to explore some untapped intellectual real estate: I wrote a play about a carrier pigeon race.
It's on a shelf for when Disney comes calling.
I know more about raising pigeons (called pigeon fancying by the way) - then ever I have need.
As competent a dramatist as I am, I will not claim that this thing I wrote in less than twenty four hours is my magnum opus.
But, one line does keep coming back to me.
"They got wings, you understand? Them with wings has a whole world of reasons to stay away, and they will.
So they gotta have a good reason to come back. They gotta choose coming back here, over everywhere else in the world. They're not like people, they won't just stick around out of habit."
"St Crispin's Day" it isn't, but that's not what bothers me.
I feel like this play is accusing me of being a slouch in life.
I feel insulted; taking criticism from a mediocre play with onstage bird impressions.
Even if there is some truth to it ...
So: You have a reason to stay where you are?
Or has it just become habit?

We really are balloons OR A snowfree memory

I keep having visions of myself: lying in a field under a noonday sun.
There is no snow, so it may be a memory.
No bugs or critters bother me, so it's more likely to be a dream.
I lay there casually hands folded behind my head, taking in what light I can before the day gives way to dusk.
I drink in more than my fill, as though I intend to store it for the rainy days to come.
I am struck by how much space I have within me.
To store a whole day's sun, in this fantastical place.
My chest is cleared of all rubble and rock, that which was leftover from the pair of size 8's that made themselves home.
My cheeks no longer clogged with insincerity, my forehead free of worry.
The quarry between both shoulder blades has become a vast ocean, so leaning back is akin to being carried on a wave.
Between each rib was once a cobweb of concern and self doubt, now clouds without shape or threat of storm.
The expanse in my hips, knees and toes is now rid rust and ash. Faerie lights and warm breezes make home there now.
Each sliver of fear, once painfully lodged in several parts of my throat, has been expertly removed!
The timing of which is most fortuitous, for the briar patch of regret that once snaked its way through my stomachs lining, has been brilliantly turned to rose petals.
These weightless wonders dance, not on a wind, but on a song.
I cannot hear it, but I know it's there.
Always been there.
I know that when I wake from this reprieve, these healing gifts will have rescinded.
Rust and webs and weeds and worry will all be where, always were.
One cannot will it away.
But there is a song in me.
So I best tend to my spaces, if I hope one day to hear it.

Grown up rules to hide n seek OR Remember Ghost writer?!

In my youth, when I thought there were ghost in a room, I would say "I know you're there."
Now I am older and a little wiser.
I know better than to talk to ghosts that way.
Now I say "I'm here."
As a child, I assumed those that hid were playing games of hide and seek.
That when you are caught, you may no longer hide.
Rules are rules.
Now I know that those that hide, aren't always ready to be caught.
The same goes for the living.
I no longer call them out on their shifts in mood, or aloofness, or growing distance to myself.
They are wherever they are: I need to trust they chose to be there.
What they may not know, however, is that I am just right here.
Not a room's length away.
You're there, or maybe you're not. But I am most certainly right here.
Now you know.
And I'll stay if you like.
Or I'll go.

The cat broke another mirror OR The cat broke ANOTHER mirror

The cat ... broke ... another ... MIRROR!!!

House coat judgement OR I've been talking to a jury of no ones again...

House coat court is now in session. Honorable Judge know it all residing.
As this is my housecoat, and I am wearing it - also I feel powerless in the wake of all the arguments and banter going on in the world at every given minute of every given day - I shall now make my final remarks: Someone asked me recently how I felt about ... I can't even remember, I was intoxicated at the time...
But I replied with my best impression of a sage like gunslinger:
"They got atoms for guts, don't they? Why should I be so angry at anyone with atoms for guts? We're all gonna be a tree later anyway, so why hate 'em now?"
Otherwise we might as well go back to being one body, and I don't remember the early days of pre-cellular mitosis, but I am sure it was quite crowded. And I've grown fond of my "me" time. And everyone elses "me" time.
I saw someone on the street the other day, and as they walked passed they were smiling. Not at anything.
Just smiling.
I have no idea why.
It could have just been that the sun was still up despite all the snow.
It could have been put on. Smiling for the sake of smiling.
It could have been anything.
Not knowing is better than knowing, in this case. That subtle reminder that there is an infinite clockwork of joy and sorrow and boredom going on outside of my control or purview.
Every issue is simpler than we make it, and more complex than we allow it to be.
So be kind where you can.
You all got atoms for guts.
...
Even in wish fulfillment court, this stuff is unsatisfying as F#@%.
Court adjourned!

Please find attached OR I've wasted my life writing emails ...

Hello,
 

Me again. Regarding my last message, I notice now that I sent it without attaching my head shot.
Embarrassing, I know.
Please find my headshot attached to this message.
While I have you, I'm also noticing I used irregardless in my last correspondence and I know there has been much debate about that particular word being used.
Since we are making amendments anyway, I would appreciate it if you would imagine I used the word regardless in its stead. Personally, I have no problem with the word, but it isn't really part of my usual vernacular. I think I only used it in hopes of sounding more qualified, and in doing so have revealed myself to only be insecure.
I am sure you can empathize, and I thank you for your understanding.
Lastly, I am feeling a twinge of regret with my choice of closing.
At your service was a bit too formal, and it offers a level of commitment I am uncomfortable making in the valediction of an email, to a person I have never met in person.
As with my other follies, disregard my zealous closing.
In closing of this email, let me thank you for your patience and for accepting these revisions, for whenever you get around to reading my previous message.
Again, I wish you all the best with the submission proccess and your auditions to follow.
Kindest regards,

Cotts Garfland

P.S.
Forgive the many post scripts in my prior message: I have been kept wide awake with regret since hitting send.

A history of crushing OR I keep marrying people in alternate universes

I have had/ do have/ used to have/ still have/ will probably always have a whopping crush on you.
You may not know it, or you may and not want to give it away, either way if you think it could be you: it's definitely you.
You the dancer. The singer. The musician. The writer and the reader.
The poet and the researcher.
You work with you hands/ on your feet/ at a desk/ behind a wheel.
You sew, you stitch, you paint, you sketch and you never show it off, but you should cause it's really good!
Or you do show it off, because it is really good!
Or it's just okay and you do it just for fun and show it to no one, because everyone is way too public about their personal projects...
I crushed on you when you beat me at cards, and demanded a foot rub as payment.
Or when we danced together/apart/you danced and I watched/I danced and you watched.
I crushed on you when you were in front of a crowd of people making grotesque faces and funny voices - whatever it took to make em howl. I shouted "what?!" between laughs - because my brain just genuinely couldn't comprehend what your were doing.
I crushed on you when you asked me to sing a duet after having only heard me once - I played it off like it wasn't the coolest thing in the world to be asked; but it very much was.
You dressed up for the occasion/You dressed down/You showed up in a costume - the mustaches we shared were dapper and we were dapper while wearing them.
Or you skipped out entirely, because you weren't up to it that night.
If you don't think you have been this for anyone at any time, think again.
This isn't regarding one person, it's regarding many.
Because I have a problem.
I confuse falling with flying.
I have flown for so many sudden glances and come hither looks and fun facts about culture/pop culture/ science/ religion/ literature/ furniture/ food/ drink/cartoons/ comics/ comic books/ and more all ending with my face planting itself on the rock face below.
Despite years and heartache, I willingly fall.
If for no other reason than to feel like flying. If only for that time between the free and the ...
If dreams are the seeds of lives not yet lived, I have planted forests of marriages and affairs to anyone that has made me mutter the words "what if"
This is not me complaining.
I just thought you should know.
Because we've known each other so long/ we only just met/ we barely know each other at all.
But I will always have/still have/used to have such a crush on you.

How to care for the thirty something human OR Is all of this a chore for anyone else?!?

Bed times are impossible to enforce.
Just let them succumb in time.
Upon waking up, they will stay in bed for an hour if you let them.
Set an alarm - in addition to the three alarms already set for actually waking up - and hope they take the cue.
Try to feed them three meals a day.
If a meal is skipped, don't let them overload on snacks to compensate.
They will insist that chips and juice constitutes a meal so long as they add a some grapes and cheese.
This is not true.
They know it.
You know it.
We all know it.
Yet, this grown ass adult is still trying to make a meal out of a bag of rippled chips!!?
*sigh*
Get them outside for a walk.
Even if they have nowhere to be.
If they don't leave they will forget there is an outside world, insisting that all their memories are just dreams they had while awake and that they are in fact a living God in a universe the size of their apartment, so they don't have to work or pay taxes anymore because what kind of God would create a universe for them self wherein they have to use public transport just to clear soiled napkins and broken wine glasses for a Christmas party in October?!!!
...
...
...
Water.
They need it.
How much is up for debate.
Just have a glass full on the night stand throughout the day.

Worst episode ever OR I need new slippers

Tonight on a very special episode of "living the dream"
Our hero (question mark?) stays inside: all day! Wearing patchy pj's, a big housecoat and warn out slippers - he watches television shows that have been wrapped for over a decade and videos of strangers playing video games on the internet. And just when the action gets too packed: the house cat makes an appearance! Insisting he be fed - EVEN THOUGH HE JUST WAS!
Roll credits over some light stretching on a 9 year old yoga mat.
It all makes for some pretty boring television.
But that's life.
Sometimes boring is a blessing.

Pickle and Goose OR my gritty detective procedural

A pair of bank robbers, fresh off a bout of bank robbery, attempt to get away in their getaway van.
The two ski mask wearing fiends, grins of victory spread on their respective scruffy faces - you've seen bank robbers, they never shave the day of - are confident they will get away with their ill gotten gains.
But confidence quickly gives way to horror, as the driver looks ahead!
"What's that on the road?!" The driver asks?
His compatriot shrieks in response "GOOSE!"
The getaway vehicle swerves to avoid the frightening fowl before crashing into an u attended hotdog stand.
The robbers are launched from the vehicle and land as two broken heaps on the pavement.
Because not wearing a seat belt is a crime, and they are criminals.
*Honk*
Back at the precinct the chief of police chews out his loose goose cannon cop.
CHIEF: Thousands of dollars in damages, the mayor is on my ass! Are you trying to send me into early retirement?!
*Honk*
CHIEF: I don't wanna hear it! You're getting a new partner! Maybe they'll rub off on you and you'll get some honest to god police work done, instead of the cowboy antics you've been pulling!
The chief indicates to the seat right beside the goose.
It's a pickle.
Just a pickle.
Sitting on a chair.
Dunno how it got there, but there it is.
The goose seems nonplussed by this. The goose may not even be aware of anything going on around it. Here they sit. The stars of:

It's pickle and Goose,
Pickle and Goose,
Ones on a bun and the other's on the run!
It's pickle and Goose!
*honk*
Pickle and Goose ...

Coming this fall to CTV

Sometimes I hate my brain OR the play I refuse to write

WOW WHAT AN AMAZING IDEA FOR A NEW CANADIAN PLAY! THANKS BRAIN!!!
It starts with an old man revising his will to leave everything to his dog, instead of his family who never get along and never pay attention to him, but then he quite suddenly dies. Onstage. Alone. That'll be the our little secret audience. BUCKLE UP!!! WINK! WINK! BLINK! One by one the family members arrive at Pop-pop's home to celebrate his birthday. Don't worry none of them notice he's dead, because apparently old people are props and it's probably symbolic of youths selfish whatever whatever blah blah blah stab myself with my university degree-
The overbearing matriarch of the family arrives first, to bake the birthday cake, while her sniveling entitled child just want to play the videogamez on the youtubez - yes you read that correctly: videogamez ON the youtubez. Solid insights into youth culture there brain!!
This will be a great foil to the no nonsense "Kid's today are so spoiled; back in my day we went to the job factory and had babies with ladies who couldn't vote" character who arrives next. The capital "M" MAN of this family unit! He's a man. Not like everyone else who isn't a man! Like those NOT-MEN in this world of sissy blah blah blah - there are, no joke, actual human beings who talk/think/act like this misstep of human evolution and now I'm just oozing them onto a page so they no longer clog my brain-
BUT WATCH OUT! He's in trouble, because Miss woke from university arrives. Fresh off of her crusade to - insert a fox news anchors' stereotype of an entitled snowflake youth today fighting for equal rights or warring against the Christmas or whatever because we HAVE TO APPEAL TO EVERYONE RIGHT! GOD FORBID I write something DIVISIVE BECAUSE I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO LOVE M-
*deep* Calming* Breaths*
-ahem-
so these characters don't get along.
No one is paying attention to Grandpa, but everyone is making statements like they're his favorite - but the audience knows that none of them are the favorite. Also he's dead WINKEDY WINK! Time for grace!
Ugh I'm agnostic!
That's why you're ruining this world!
YOU ruined the world!
Dinner table climate change debate - did I say debate, I meant screaming fit!!
You owe us an apology!
Cheque's in the mail kid!Rabble rabble rabble everyone talks over everyone else.
Everyone takes a simultaneous breath.
Everyone continues to rabble!
STOP! Something's wrong with grandpa ... and the cake is burning!
Grandpa's dead! And the burning cake is burning down the house!
Pop pop's dog delivers a monologue.
No one understands it, because he's a dog.
He only speaks dog.
Much depth. Very symbolism. I vomit into my brain.

This was what my brain thought of in the first 20 minutes of a writing competition whose prompts were:
A secret only the audience knows
A burnt birthday cake
An opinion about the climate
A cheque in the mail
I hate that my brain thought of something so contrived, gutless, and stupid. My eyes rolled up into my skull several times while typing this out.
I have lost my contact lenses.
G'NIGHT!

An actor prepares OR Sir, you're scarring the other passengers

A young man looking to feed his fix approaches the man on the street. He has exactly what the young man is looking for ...DEALER: I got exactly what you're looking for, son. But let's narrow it down, kay? Kay.
What's your flavour? Liberica? Arabica? Robusta? ... Excelsa ...?! Alright: fine grind; course grind?
I know you don't want no instant - GTFO of here with that, you see that pimp 'round the corner for that Maxwell house no name brand bull shit! He still gonna cut it with tea leaves and dirt too, just cause he can
... Now what particular party we talking? Mocha, Chai, Frap, latte, Americano, basic drip or were you thinking a a red eye? Espresso shots? Uno, dos, tres?
What you take it with? We got low fat, all skim, homo, 1, 2, 10, 18%.
What's that?
(Laughs)
Ch'yea we got soy, if you got money. Now make an order, cuz I don't got all day!

- Written en route to an audition for the part of a drug dealer specializing in coffee. No sides were provided but I thought I'd prepare something.
Special thanks to the subway car of people who gave me a LOT of space while repeatedly said "Liberica, Arabica, Robusta, Excelsa" over and over and over. Really lent me some authenticity.

Like looking in a mirror OR You owe me sky!

The moon looks like an eye tonight.
Okay.
The moon looks like an eye every night.
But tonight it looks like a half closed eye.
Like the sky is sleepy or suspicious.
Given the season, I think sleepy.
Oh sleepy sky. Do not worry. I won't challenge you to a staring contest.
Even though now would be the perfect time to challenge you to a staring contest.
But I won't.
I'm big like that.
Besides, you'd probably cheat.

I remember you all OR I'm still not sure I get metaphors

Some friendships are gardens.
Some are monuments, to the gardens that once were.
Do not weep on monuments.
Not being alive, it will never die.
Never dying, it cannot grow. So,
Save up your tears.
Water the garden.

A loose metaphor for an actor's side job OR When can I be superman???

HELP!
Please someone save all the babies from the baby seeking tornado!
Oh no: the puppies!
They're falling into puppy specific quicksand - that's quicksand that pulls the cutest and most loved doggo's into the earth to never be seen or heard from again!
Such horror!
Such cruelty!!!
Surely someone will save them!? Save us!!?!
Anybody! Save the the world! Save the puppies and the babies!!!

Never fear!
Somebody can!
And somebody will! SUPERMAN!!!
...
Just as soon as Clark Kent finishes typing up this article about the local street market/weird shaped whatever at the whatever's day whatever/Is generation blah, blah-ing the blah-blah-distry???
Sorry.
Superman can't save the day right now, Clark Kent has a deadline.
Clark has to meet the deadline, otherwise Clark's boss won't get off his back about deadline!
And what with print media already being such a tight racket to get involved in, Clark has no reason to complain, and it is SO EXPENSIVE to rent in Metropolis - he's just glad to have any sustainable income.
Hmmm, not sure he'll be able to save both the puppies AND the babies ... he should save just the babies - IF he has to choose one ... or maybe most of the babies and some of the puppies. Is that a fair compromise? Is there anything in the fridge for dinner? That spinach has to be bad by now, right?
Just save the puppies?
That's crazy, I have to save some babies.
Oh crap, I have only noodles and no pasta don't I? If I buy sauce, I can grab spinach too ... no. What if the spinach I have is still good, then I won't finish the spinach I buy, and then half of it will go bad and I'll feel bad for wasting it.
UGH!!!
... Half puppies, half babies?!
F@#% it! Why bother save anyone or anything?!
... I'll just grab poppeye's tonight ...
how many "m"s in "commitment"?

Uncertain OR don't ghost people, man, it can really play with their heads

I am uncertain.
Un- certain. Under certain. Under my certainty. Holding up certainty and in my exhaustion trying to maintain certain, I lose my grip- I have lost my grip on my certainty - not my sanity, that's a later entry (certaintly) - and I drop it!
It drops. I dropped it. I feel bad.
I feel bad and I don't know if I should.
So I do.
Just in case.
The worst of it is, I wouldn't know what to say to you now.
Not now, not today.
I wouldn't know what conversations had or had not happened.
Not for certain.
Not the true bits, right before the role play started.
Before I wrote your lines for you and imagined your saying them - your voice, your tone, your humor but all my lines.
Lines by me, but said by my imagined you.
Because I imagined you, when I no longer heard from you.
My imagined you knows all about real me.
I can't hide real me from imagined you.
And that's why real you might have ran away; because all that imagined you knows, real you must know, because I no longer know what you know!
So what I do know - what I know for certain - is that I don't know you now.
Not anymore.
I don't know you.
I feel bad, whether or not I should.
I feel bad that I don't know you.
Because if I don't know you, how can you know me.
You can't.
You can't, so you don't.
You don't know me.
So, I feel bad.
Now, I am certain.

SAND!!!!

Did you know we're running out of sand?
Yea.
Sand.
That stuff that nudists and Hayden Christensens wish wouldn't get everywhere.
The thing that Blake once wrote he saw the world in a grain of.
A substance I once watched a giant blue anthropomorphic cartoon newt turn into a window one Saturday morning - ensuring I would always remember what glass is made out of.
Sand.
Sand, as it turns out, is the main ingredient in concrete. And since we as a global community essentially build the concrete equivalent of one New York City every year, we now find ourselves on a crash course to burning through all accessible deposits of usable sand.
Father: the sleeper has awakened.
So severe is this rock dandruff depletion, that a new kind of criminal has arisen to capitalize on our shortages: Sand thieves.
Groups of plucky entrepreneurs who make their money by illegally seizing and selling black market sand.
Make that movie with a straight face, Hollywood.
So if you should find, one summer day, that you no longer can walk barefoot along your favorite lakeside dunescape - you might just have to settle for the nearest condo building.
But don't go to high.
Even if you don't fear heights, there's always a risk of falling.
I'm always afraid I'll want to fall - not in a self harm kind of way, but just a bizarre compulsion to sway forward and then do a flip or twelve.
The french have a phrase for this feeling: l’appel du vide. Not the flipping part, just the sensation of suddenly wanting to swerve into traffic, or step off the platform in front of an oncoming train. This emotion creates the shaky sensation of not being able to trust your own instincts. It literally translates into English as “the call of the void.”
Leave it to the french to make oblivion sound sexy.
I find comfort in knowing this phrase exists - “The call of the void.”
It suggests that sudden inexplicable bouts of self destructive thoughts are not only common, they're human.
And if it's human on an individual level, maybe it's also human on a planetary scale. Maybe it explains some of our behavior as a species ...
We didn't burn through every grain of sand because we wanted to. Sure, capitalism, greed, and general disregard for anything past your bottom line are the major contributors -
but is it not also possible that we may want to take a little collective tumble over a ledge.
As though we are compelled.

L’appel du vide - anyone?