Introduction

I don't imagine many thespians will stumble upon this soon-to-be amalgam of phantasmagorical nonsense but let it be known that, for all intents and purposes, this is a theatre blog. I'm putting on a show and the overture has finally petered out, vomiting its last few pockmarked notes into the crowded loneliness of an unknowing audience. The squeal of rusting pulleys. Velvet anticipation. Faces in the wary dust. We were always taught to honor melody and disdain cacophony. Fledglings sing but who are we to tell them which are songbirds? Me? I am a set piece, a vestibule of Grecian lechery, an optimist [fool]. I never told Janus what a two faced bitch he was and I used to think that I could escape losing a part of myself in becoming whole. When someone passes me on the sidewalk I can't help but feel inadequate and, in the silence of everyone I have ever come across: "shakespeare, sondheim and sedaris did it before you, and better than you." The scrim evaporates. I don't suppose I will make it far past the mambo, but the aria I think I can manage. Sissone, arabesque.... a five, six, seven, eight!