TUDAWR 13

TUDAWR



Play

Setting: Up on a branch, up in a tree, up on a hilltop

Characters: me, her, the Wind, the universe



"Do you remember the last time we were here?" I asked with my feet dangling precariously over my branch-seat.

The Wind replied "No, no I don' remember. In fact, I don' even know who you are. There are so many of you these days I can barely make any friends anymore. I used to remember better times, but nowadays there are so many of you I can barely make any friends anymore".

"Wind, you're not making any sense" She told the Wind in a calm and understanding voice. "You are so silly sometimes".

"I know" gasped the Wind. " Mmmhh" (inhale), "aaaaahhh" (exhale), "I knowwhhhhh" howled the Wind.

The Sun was beginning to set at our backs. From a distance, the contour of our bodies was indiscernible against the  branches of the Tree. Our feet dangling bare against the Wind. Our eyes still-set into the flaming skies of dancing rouge and burning orange. Our hands gripping the hard coarse surface of our weathered flora-host. My mustache bristling with life. Her long white hair dancing aimlessly.

"Hey Wind let me ask you something, and be honest with me. That time you told me I had a nice whisper, did you mean it, or were you just saying that?'

"Listen son" he wailed back at me. "Listen to me, listen to the Wind".

.....


.....


.....


"That's not an answer!" I said a bit disrespectfully.

"Yes, yes it is. You just don' understand it" the Wind said to me. "Tell him what I meant" he told her. "Go on don't be shy" he jeered noticing her hesitation.

"Hee sehz youh hav ah whonderfhull whhuispehr" She said,  her lips barely moving. She was at least three branches away from me, but I could hear her clear as day.

The Wind had carried her words to me, His words.

"Who are you again?" said the Wind with real doubt in his blow.


The Universe remains

Tudawr 12

Play

Setting: around me

Characters: me, people around me, the Universe

There is a man wearing a belly shirt showing more fat and hair than should be legally permissible. He is sporting cotton short-shorts with writing in the back that spell out “Baby-Girl”. He is wearing sparkly high heels that are clearly about to crack. “Give us, us free!” they cry under the heavyset pair of kanckles that are crushing them like an elephant wearing sparkly high heels, if the elephant was a whore.

“Hey Mister” I yell at him not really sure he answers to that suffix.

He turns around and his rose wig spins along landing unevenly on his shaven scalp.
“Yeeeees Mr. Bubbles? What can I buy from youuuu todayyyy?” he responds with a terrible English accent. He has clearly never been to Inga-land.

I’m completely confused, and I’m almost ever hardly sometimes confused except on the third of every other Tuesday on a high-solstice evening. This lady-man sees an opening in my blank stare and lunges into me with his scaly lips. I manage to move out of the way just in time to get a kiss on the lower side of my right cheek.
He had fantastically refreshing breath.

There is an old lady yelling in an unintelligible language, probably old-person language from what I can tell.

Telligible.

She is standing in the middle of the street yelling telligibly at the cars that rush past her. She only yells at the ones that honk. The others she just stares at with disdain and revenge in her eyes. When traffic disappears and she finally shuts up, I approach her and ask “What are you and the cars talking about”? She stares at me blankly. Her eyes are there but there is no one home.

“Bbbbhuuuaaaaannk” I yell at her doing my best to say hello in car, I figure maybe she’ll understand me this way.

Slapapap-pap. Triple slap attack.

As I stand there dumbfounded at the speed and agility with which I was just man-handled by an octogenarian, I see her take out a little ringing bell from her purse.  She aims it at parked cars, steadies herself and rings it. There is some lady-man lipstick on her slapping bell-ringing ninja hand.

There is a small child wearing thick bottle-bottomed eyeglasses standing on a bucket near the subway entrance, he is not more than five years old. I notice his shoelaces are untied so I walk up to him and point intently at his feet.

I must’ve scared him.

He froze, took out his inhaler, and proceeded to perform an expertly-delivered judo-chop to my crotch.  He started to run away.  I’m on the floor crouching with pain, one hand on my crotch, the other still pointing at a spot on the floor next to the bucket where his untied shoelaces had been a second ago.

Now they are a couple of feet away. They tripped the little punk. Sweet Lady Justice.  Lady-Man Justice?
Crashing. Couch. Crotch. Crutches and crouching. Triple dare you to make a sentence with all of them.  It’s weird what goes through my mind after I’ve just been punched in the sensibles.

There is a man on the floor thinking senseless anagrams. His ability to procreate in question, his face emasculated by the wisdom of dementia slaps, and his lower right cheek branded by smeared cheap transvestite lipstick.

Whatever happened to natural selection?

The Universe Remains

TUDAWR 11

TUDAWR

TUDAWR 11

Play

Characters: Me, her, the Universe

Setting: Hot summer day

“Uiihuuu, sure is hot today, huh boy?” She asked me with the most refreshing of smiles. I knew what was coming, I could barely contain myself, yet I did nothing.

“Yes ma’am” is all I could say to her. My lips were almost dry-shut and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. There was no sand in my mouth, I checked, but it surely felt like there was.

“Ooo-oh-oh I’ been walkin’,
Down the rivah,
Where the sunshine,
Comes a’callin”

She exploded in song like only she knew how to. Like only she knew how to, on a high-summer day.

Her deep honeydew voice rang true even from outside the house. Even as she walked away I could still hear her voice, her voice of steel, her voice was here, near my ear, even from outside the house, even as she walked away.

“Ooo-oh-oh I’ been struttin’,
Down the rivah,
Where the sunshine,
Comes a’runin”

I love it when she sings. Cannon ball into a lake, autumn leaves and a new rake; a shooting star, the last cookie in the jar; crocodile eating the impala, vacations in Shambala.

Come on, what rhymes with impala!?

With my back sweat-glued to the chair, I began to feel hungry, I felt like a steamed dumpling. Sweaty and delicious.

“…Where the sunshine,
Shines no mooore mooore more”



“Boy! You ready?”

“Where we goin’?

“Shambala of course”


The Universe remains

TUDAWR10

TUDAWR10

Play

Characters: Me. My Shadow, prime pigeons, the Universe

Setting: City Limits

“At least there are shadows”, countered my Shadow, annoyance beginning to show in his ashen voice. “There would be no shadow-lightning hunting without us.”

“Well I still think the world doesn’t need you following us, and creeping up on us, and imitating us, and shadowing us, and disappearing on us,” I said to my Shadow in desperation, knowing I’d lost the argument. “You are undependable and unstable. I need a Shadow that is always there when I need him”.

“Oohh, I see what’s going on! Are you still upset about this morning? I told you it was an accident. I only flinched because that pigeon was flying straight at me,” replied my shadow curtly. “I’m not going anywhere, relax.”

There had been a lightning storm that morning. Like every third Tuesday after a Monday’s date's yearly aggregate adds up to a prime number, there had been a lightning storm that morning. I was of course chasing lightning out on the street, my Shadow walking along behind me as my scouting partner and lightning trap-extraordinaire. Shadow-lightning hunting is not an easy sport. You and your shadow must communicate at all times. Lightning is the enemy, lightning is the prize.

Note to fellow lightning-hunters: lightning knows the difference between you and your Shadow. They like shadows because they’ve never complained about their touch. When lightning reaches out to us, our Shadows reach back to them in return. If this is news to you, if you’ve never heard about this timeless love affair, perhaps you should talk to your own or other Shadows more often.

My Shadow ran away with Lightning once.

Couldn’t find him for 29 days. I spoke to 23 other Shadows before I could find him. I looked behind 19 curtains before I could find him. I walked through 17 storms before I could find him. I spent 13 days burrowing through the underground subway tunnels before I could find him. I ate 11 bags of spicy crickets before I could fin him.

Lightning is not for-e-ver, a body is. Shadows sometime forget this. Treat your shadow kindly.

“Ok, I’m sorry I lost my temper. It’s just that sometimes you make me angry. I’m sorry,” I said to my Shadow regretfully not wanting to lose him again. “But we’ve talked about this before, pigeons are just silly birds, you don’t have to be afraid of them. They won’t hurt you”.

“Listen to me,” said my Shadow pronouncing every word as clearly as he could. I could still hear the ash in his voice, no matter how hard he struggled to get rid of the raspy gurgling noises. “Those pigeons were looking at me, I’m telling you, I could feel their eyes all over my outline, they are after me.”

“Every number greater than 205 is the sum of distinct primes of the form 6n + 1.” I had heard my shadow say earlier that morning right before lightning stroke. You know your Shadow is scared when it starts babbling about prime numbers. I was too slow to react. I turned around just in time to see my shadow flinch and duck for cover. I thought this time I’d lose him for sure, I thought I’d never see my Shadow again, I thought I’d be shadowless for the rest of time. For a split second I panicked and a fear unspeakable ran like burning molten ash through my body. Then I saw a small flock of 2, 3, 5 or 7 pigeons had flown above us.

He wasn’t running away, he was just scared of the pigeons.

I rather have lost my chance to catch a fresh bolt, I rather have a coward shadow, I rather eat 235711 spicy crickets, than to walk this world without my Shadow.

“Hey man, I’m really sorry”, my Shadow told me after a long moment of silence. I could tell he was genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry too”, I told him as lovingly as possible.

As I finished uttering these words I looked straight down to a puddle of water that had recently been borne from the falling rain. “You two are so gay” said my Reflection. “Oh shut up, you know I love you too”.

The Universe remains.

TUDAWR9

TUDAWR

Play

Characters: Me, her, a cat, the Universe

Setting: a Movie Theater

I was at that point where you can't eat anymore popcorn, where you tell yourself that the last bunch in your hand will be the last, where the over accumulation of salt in your mouth makes your teeth gritty and your tongue oily. But I kept eating. At the same time I was staring at the screen. My mind was neither watching the film nor eating away at the tortured kernels of maize. I was doing both and neither at the same time, I was seriously annoyed. So I ate another handful and kept staring. I wasn't able to transform a third mental activity into and actual physical manifestation and make myself either stop staring at the screen and fully concentrate on finishing the bag of popcorn or stop eating and pay and fully concentrate on the film.

I payed for the ticket, pay attention to the movie.

I payed for the popcorn, pay attention to popcorn.

I'm confused.

How I wished I could be outside looking up at the nightsky letting these thoughts drown among the stars. Wow, that was very well structured thought, good syntax, very poetic, very smart.

I remember reading that smarter people eat more salt than, than, than, than the people that don't eat as much salt as the people that eat salt.

Ouch! Brain freeze.

I'm even more confused than before. But my fourth or fifth wave of thought is telling me I should concentrate on the salty popcorn.

But wait! Theatre is art and poetry in movement; I read once that observing and learning to appreciate others' artistic manifestos makes you smarter than, than, you know, than me and you. Maybe not you, but maybe you. Now all the voices in favor of concentrating no watching the film are yelling louder than the popcorn cheerers.

Now the popcorn team comes back with redoubled strength gracefully and learnedly speaking about dietary values and tasty butter butter butter. Movie-team steps back, for a second hesitating, taken aback. They ground their feet, close their fists, straighten their overcoats and sombreros, and prepare to strike back. Entertainment, joy, imagination, music, action, beauty!

Ouch, ouuuch, ouuchh, ouuch! This is too much, I feel a brain-industrial refrigerator freeze about to take over!

Meeeeowwww.

I turn around and look at what I thought was an empty seat next to me. But instead I see that there is a cat inside an empty bucket of popcorn staring straight at me through a pair of 3-D glasses.

Meeow? I answer back instantly regretting it, I don't speak cat.

Wait, what? Ok, that is definitely too much. Brain iceage. Begin systems shutdo....

"Hey mister!" said a female voice. The lights were on, the cat was gone, and I was alone stare-ing blankly into a disappointingly empty screen and holding a mouthful of soggy bland popcorn half-way to my mouth.

"Hey mister, closing time".

I love going to the movies. And eating popcorn.

The Universe Remains

TUDAWR8

Play

Characters: Me, me as well, forest creatures, the wind, the universe.

Setting: The forest floor

I woke up in the woods again. I don’t know really how it happened this time.

I don’t know how it happened the other times either. Every once in a while I’ll just wake up lying on the floor in a random place. Most of the times it’s under my hammock, but sometimes not.

Knot, plus knot, plus knot, plus knot, equals either carpet or hammock, or naught at all.

This time I’m on the ground somewhere surrounded by trees and other small plants, all crowned and lavishly dressed with brightly colored and other not so brightly colored leaves. As I stand up I notice that my rainboots are stuffed to the brim with dead leaves. I think about taking them off for a second but then I decide against it. Taking off my Penguin Suit just to get rid of the dead leaves is too much of an effort at this time in the woods. If I think about them just enough, they’ll start to feel comfortable.

Lying on the forest floor I see myself walking towards me, I’m also wearing a penguin suit but mine is a Shawl Lapel Penguin Suit, and my other self’s is a Peak Lapel one. I’m a classy guy, except for the rainboots, I’m also wearing them. As I walk down the steep side of a hill covered in middle-aged trees, expired foliage, and animal detritus, I decide to meet myself halfway and forget all about the leaves in my boots.

“Look”! I exclaim to my selves crouching on a branch some ten feet away high atop a nearby tree. Me and me as well are staring at me and not at where I’m pointing at. But I have rainboots on my hands and arms, so I can understand my and my self’s confusion. They’re full of dead leaves. Luckily I’m wearing a Double Breasted and I exude authority. I am still staring at me, but me as well is looking around his feet at the ground. I get my message and start to look around my feet as well, wow I look authoritative wearing a Double Breasted PinguSuit.

All three me-amigos start walking to where my boot had pointed at and we end up standing around an old stone well and staring at two quarreling arthropods. There is something there much older than me, myself and me as well. I wish to understand it; I know it is beyond mine understanding. As we pay close attention and let the sounds of the forest take over mine minds I’s begin to understand their conversation, the Grasshopper’s and the Queen Ant’s conversation I mean.

“Wait-t, you mean to tell me-e you are not-tot going to give me-e any of your aphids?” said the hungry Grasshopper.

“I can’t, I shan’t, I just don’t want” replied the Queen Ant.

“But it’s getting-ting colder-older every day, and I’ve been a’singing song-songs for your troops all summer long-long! You can Ant, you shall Ant, you will Ant” countered the hungrier Shopper of Gras.

“Your chant was but a rant, food I will not grant. Food I will not for you want, reward for your idleness I will not grant…” voiced the Ant.

Grasshopper guy stood there dumbfounded for a moment looking around for answers not really noticing any of me. My mouth dropped enthralled by the developing drama, I gulped dry air waiting for the conclusion of their thwarted argument, my hands were sweating with excitement. Maybe it was all those leaves in my boots.

Ant Queen she-dude didn’t even see it coming; tarsus and claw straight to the head. One clean sweep and her head was off. Exoskeleton shmeleton. All three of I and Her entire colony drew in a collective breath of surprise.

A few yards away exactly in our direction, a small gust of air hit me in the face as I lay on the floor daydreaming of Aesop.

The Universe Remains despite my best efforts

TUDAWR7

TUDAWR

Play

Characters: me, metal box, her, the universe

Setting: metal box

This one is much shinier than most of them.

Diiiing.

I poked at it, and it opened its mouth slowly. Enter, be digested.

It was all metal on the inside; the floor was corrugated tin, the railing lambasted aluminum, and the four walls including his mouth were polished stainless steel. This one is a he, I can tell by its smell. All six sides of the death-cube were wallpapered with human bacteria.

Metaloid Bacteria, the next step in accelerated human computer interaction? Or a Finnish deathmetal band.

The air inside was dank. It covered me all over, like a wet towel, like that time I threw a wet towel from my bus and made that biker fall over. I could tell by the way he fell that he was a very talented biker. Breathing inside the metal box became like drinking hot coco in a mid summer day; the air tasted like licking batteries and chewing tin foil, or like a wet towel to the face when your riding a bicycle.

Ten feet wide, 10 feet long, 13 feet tall. 13000 cubes. *Note to self: look-up actual di-men-sion.s.

Did I mention the dye?

Plural of dice, luck hating death-cubes.

I went in and tried to shift smellmories, I tried remembering how nice it smelled that time there was a fire at the TacoBell.Fire at the disco. Fire in the gates of Hell!

Diiing.

I was nervous, anxious, unsure, doubtful, shift + F7. Synonyms were flooding my thoughts again and I tried to put them in order, but all I could think about was how if you make the word "semantics" and the name "Samantha" mate, their child would be a Spraying Mantis. Think about it for a second, if Nym spoke Spanish he would be very confused. Sy, No, Nym; which one is it then!?

The box slowly closes its mouth, there is no turning back now. It's me against the walls, me against an army of virus and bacteria.

I put on Beethoven's 6th of course, take out my laser guns, one on each index-thumb's elle. I take one last look at my adversaries before the battle begins and I know Karajan is on my side.

Piu piuu, piuu; they are everywhere, swarms of them, endless swarms of streptococus, an entire legion of rhinovirus, an entire phalanx of bartonellas and brucellas; there is an armoured division of Myxococcus xanthus. Oh Ludwig give me strength!

I drop to the floor and roll, piu to the right, piuu to the left. They're all over my overcoat, I shouldn't have rolled over the Rickettsia trachomae. I'm cornered, battered and bruised; I'm quickly running out of ammo. There is little hope left now, but I will fight to the bitter end. I knew it would end this way, but I had to fight, I HAD TO, we all "plural dice" some day.

Diing

Like finding an extra roll of toilet paper when the first one quits on you, a miracle happened. The beast's mouth slowly opened;the hair on my neck stood on end. How sweet it was to be alive, Van B reminded me of it, oh how sweet it is to have a second chance. I jumped out with all that was left of my energy, my left index hurt after all the shooting, I had lost my other gun in the heat of battle. "Piu-piu" echoed the last shots on the metal walls as I lay on the ground. I lay still staring outside-in into that shinny evil, evil box. And for a moment time stood still like it so often does when you least expect it. Wait, something isn't right.Panic!

My overcoat!

Nooooooo! They will not defeat me, not after all that's happened. I tore it off my back and with one quick continuous movement threw it into the death-box's mouth. Before it had closed completely, I saw my overcoat wrapping itself around that weird fat lady that had started crying half way through the Bacillus thuringiensis assault. I didn't particularly understand why she had to cry, I don't like it when they cry. I think it was her shaking that made me drop my right piu-piu gun. Too bad I couldn't saver her. Maybe she will one day meet the towel biker and exchange stories of what my linens smell like.

LVB never fails.

The Universe remains.

TUDAWR 6

Play

Setting: walking down an alley

Characters: me, him, raven, the universe

It's raining. Eye am under the sky. They rain is, or at least should be on, above, and below me. But it is falling around me. It isn't sure it wants to get me wet. I think it prefers the dirty asphalt than my dirty. As I was walking through the alley I saw a small dark figure approaching from the opposite end.

Grraaaw, crowed the black raven next to me grom atop a ledge nearby. He puffed and ruffled his soaked feathers. He moved his head from side to side in that silly way birds do when they don't understand me.

The small figure of that man was slowly getting closer to us.

The raveNous aveNger will veNgefully eNtice Nothingness.

Raaa-haaa-heeiiivenn

Say it, try it.

Raaaahaaaheeiivenn.

"I don't understand it either", I told the wet raven. I am dry and you are all wet. Rain never has liked me, never will.

GRAWR!

Go, run, away, raven! I shushed at raven. I couldn't reach him. He just rested on top of his reign reminiscing of the time he out rhymed a wren in Reims.

French Raven.

Grawr!

Animalia chordata aves passeriformes corvidae corvus.

"Well, nice to meet you too Monsieur Raven"...I would've introduced moiself but I had run out of time time. I had seen the man's face and I knew exactly what was about to happen. What had to happen.

The man was not even 5 feet tall. He was old and defeated. His head was down, his eyes tired, his stride a mere 30 steps per minute. His once full dark hair had been reduced to thin grayish straws, like an old toothbrush. He smelled of hard work and broken dreams, of misdirected efforts and empty good intentions. Always polite, always on time, all ways humble, addicted to the status quo. Quoth. He was soaking wet. His life had never known an umbrella. Maybe, I couldn't really tell in the dark and the heavy rain.

You know this man, you have seen him before, it could be you.

I loathe him. I'd prefer to fight a sabertooth on a roof.

Miau.

I reached into my back pocket and took my spare chocolate donut out. I intentionally smeared some of the chocolate cream on the small of my back as I pulled it out. The large of my back is gonna be so jealous.

The little ruined man had almost reached the part of the alley where a dry shirtless man in cowboy boots was jumping up and down. This man was yelling unintelligible tells at a bird sitting on The Edge of a ledge. This man is me! Is it you? Is it you on the edge? Or is it U2?

I was dry and ready. My conversation with the raven had gone on long enough to distract the little man from what was about to happen to his world. I read the signs right, raven time! This. is. war.

I turned around abrubtly and lunged at him in anger and absolute craze. He looked at me and stood petrified. Mouth open, eyes wild fixed on his. Arms outstretched, chocolate donut in hand, armed and ready.

I sprang feet-first onto his chest, knocking him down to the floor. He had no time to struggle, I shoved the donut in his mouth. Picture it clearly, try it, do it. The cold wet asphalt gnawing at his back. Do you feel it? The mushy chocolate dough forced into his gastrointestinal tract. You with me?

This was his life's umbrella.

"Feel it! The universe has conspired against you!", I yelled and spat as close to his face as I could. His hands were flailing back and forth scratching like kitty claws at my face and forearms. Mine were inside his mouth forcing-in the small ring-shaped cake made of rich dough, deep fried in fat. His black beady eyes never stopped staring at me.

We were in the center of a city where the majority of the populace had moved to the outer rims. Downtown was almost deserted, a large urban hole in the middle of a dark and forgotten town. No one but us would see this glorious moment in time. The french raven saw it.

Also called Olicook.

The enzymes in your esophagus are already digesting, don't struggle, embrace it. Love it!

He was exhausted and stupid. He looked beautiful with his eyes all red with fear and tears; his face full of chocolate, blood, and rain.

I loved him.

Desperation was gone from him, exhaustion had taken over. He stopped struggling.

It stopped raining and the raven flew off, with chocolate on its beak.

After three hours of the best conversation he had in years, he walked away at a 50 steps per minute pace.

The universe remains.

TUDAWR5

TUDAWR

Play.

Characters: me, her, the universe

Setting: office

Her stomach was excessively active. I could hear it from my desk. It was moving and shaking and gurgghghghgling and fighting and churning to keep the filth and gases inside. I really enjoyed it when it was just the two of us.

Tap tap tap tap, said my mouse.

Gguru ghl grop puhds shjj, said her stomach.

Tap tiri tap tap TAP, chimed in my "Enter".

TIiiiii tuuuuurrrghhhhh tiiiiii tuuuuu pppprrrrr, interrupted the modem coughing.

What mode is mode "M" anyway?

Whales were singing, empty drum-barrels rolling, trumpets were trumping. Uuuuuuuhh whheeee it's gonna be a good one!

She shifted uncomfortable in her seat. One side. Then the other. And then again back to One side.

Juan said what?

She could've gone to the outhouse but she chose to brave the storm.

Lightning! (2:17) ....from a poooor familyyyy

Her eye lids opened up wider. Juan of her eyebrows goes up and the other John stays down. Her shoulder pads elevate slightly. She clenches her fists, her knuckles go white!

One, two, three, four.

How long before I smell the thunder? Thyme equals this stance over speed

300,000km/s

Crrraaaack and Buuuummmm!! Let it rip. Torn and Hamilton.

She didn't even look back, she just sat there staring down at her lightning knuckles.

Self high-five it is then.

Slap.

Naturally, I took off my shoes and shirt. I was extra careful not to wrinkle my pants and bow tie.

TUDAWR 4

TUDAWR

Play.

Characters: Me, her, the Universe

Setting: Underground DC

That piece of skin was back on my three-finger.

I'd had eggs with salmon for breakfast but toothpaste in the morning gives me a stomach ache. Stomach aig. Stomach egg, what a visual! I never brush in the mornings.

Stoma means mouth in Greek. Ch.

I thought I'd eaten it off yesterday, but it was back right where cuticle sinks into nail entrails. Snail entrails trails in my nails.

I'm gnawing at my three-finger with numbers two and four half way in my mouth. I'm using my incisor teeth because I want to cut off skin and incisor rhymes with scissor, if you are toneless. I am.

If you were to say "you'all bowl and scowl", you would really confuse me, because bowling is fun. Bowel syndrome.

"Shiiitake mushroom!" I said, just in time to catch my feet and not keel over and fall on top of her. I had been leaning over her shoulder so I could read the newspaper she was holding.

The skin on my finger still refused to become incised.

She turned around and looked back at me over her shoulder, and without really knowing why, she thought of a farm and of the ocean. She'd never been to either.

She was found in thought staring directly at my chest.

The farm with oceanfront disappeared from her mind and her eyes looked up at me as I continued to incise my three.

She jumped back and made a Shitake Mushroom face. I laughed with half my hand in my stoma. Laughing snapped that piece of skin off.

Elephant incisors are tusks.

"Dentes incisivi!", I said happy that my three was back to perfect.

Huh?

I took my hand out of my mouth still laughing. " I said, I incised" I explained to her, she didn't know latin. Weird. Linguamne Latinam loquitur?

The train doors opened. I yanked my newspaper off her hands and got out.

The Universe remains.

TUDAWR3

Play.

Characters: Me, her, a cat, the Universe

Setting: Catamaran deck

I do what I do, I teethed happily at the cat.

I can't do what I can't do, barked back the cat at her.

Wheeeere arrr weeee goooing?? She goo-huispered loudly from atop the mast. My face got wet. It wasn't raining.

Kat-man-do, I told her ennunciating each syllable whimsically.

Katmando.

C.

She carefully climbed down the mast and I realized I had never seen her as radiant as she was today. That shouldn't have surprised me, I had never seen her before.

Wow.

Wow! barked the cat.

She sat very close to me.

"The wind blew away me wig", she said to me.

"Whistle me wig back, won't you pleeease?"

I could feel the rolls of naked under her gown rubbing against my side. She was talking a lot about her wig, and other replacement wigs she had lost to the winds in the past. All very interesting things she assured me.

Oh me wig this, oh me wig that. Was there no end to her wigging whinning?

"Does a hoarse horse whinnie whiningly whence winning a race, with wine?" She said not looking at me but ever so enthusiastically in an incredibly annoying voice that made her wrinkled acne-scarred horse face wilt.

Did I tell you she was a spitter?

She was so close to me, I couldn't take it anymore, my heart hurt. She kept talking unaware of my escalating condition.

So I took her hand in mine and held it against my face. I rubbed her fat wet hand up and down against my cheek with all my strength.

She kept talking.

The cat jumped overboard crashlanding on the dock.

TUDAWR 2

TUDAWR

Play.

Characters: Me, Her, the Universe.

Setting: underground metro station in Virginia.

I spit into a ditch between the wall and a railing I'm leaning on. I'm wearing a suit and tie and workingboots, like the ones workers use at construction sites. Cranes are cool. I'm also wearing a nasty cold and snot invades my larynx, esophagus, nasal cavity and nasal orifices.

Orificii.

She sees me spit and says with a tone that reminds me of chalk dissolving in dychloric acid: "don't spit on the walls, don't you have no manners?..."

She is about to chalk something else but I politely interrupt:...Double negative. Give me your shoes!

What?

Geive maaeyy yaauw shuuuuus; I say again with a smile and the best worst southern drawl I can fashion. I extend the "u" in "shuuuus" like a howling monkey would to attract a female howling she-monkey or if another howling monkey was trying to steal his mango.

Note to audience: howling monkeys like mangoes just as much as they like she-monkeys.

I made that up.

Where does man go?

Confusion and fear is an interesting look. Panic is creeping in.

She walks away in short fast steps like a skipping bunny rabbit afraid her chocolate eggs are melting.

The Universe remains.

TUDAWR

TUDAWR

Play.

Characters: Me, her, a dog, the Universe

Setting: a park innnnn... Chicago!.

I found a rubber band the other day.

She is slurping a two-scoop mint and chocolate ice cream. There is the distinctive red of dilated capillaries around her eyes, she's been crying. Brat. The sun on her face makes her itchy eyes itch even more. Scratch. Tch. Tch. She shuts them tight.

Batrat. Ruminant superhero. Bbbbrat.

She hasn't seen me, or maybe she has, I don't think she cares. Her eyes are still shut. Her tongue is working on the chocomint flavored frozen spheres of processed cow-breeding cow liquid. Coward cows.
I place one end of my rubber band on my pinky finger. I close my fist. I wrap the hanging end of the rubber band around my thumb and tighten it on my extended index finger. Gun.

Smaaack. I hit her right in the face. Gravity is evil, the two scoops fall splat on the grass. A calf in a far away field sheds a tear and bellows hungrily for her mother's udder's misplaced rudders. Milk doesn't rhyme with mother and udder. Rudder.

Coward cows.

Her tongue is still moving, there is no ice cream to lick anymore. The pain of my rubber ammo hitting her face is just about to register, it registers. She opens her eyes tongue still moving. She can't cry, her tear ducts are dry and the sun is blinding her eye.S.

A dog.

I want to get my rubber band back. I lost a rubberband =()TODAY.