Moontans … an excerpt from “Libertytown”

Having been informed by my physician that I’ve a vitamin D deficiency, I have been trying to take more sun. But, it’s the night I love. Tonight, the lightning bugs are painting glorious blasts and bursts of light in the backyard, it’s quite magic. I was sitting, watching, and came to mind my old life and a section of “Libertytown”, my un-published novel, inspired by my love of the energies of the night sky, and what one man in my life made of that love, did with that love, how he ruined me by knowing what it was I loved and how to use it against me. So, here, from “Libertytown”, some Moontan.

LIBERTYTOWN (an excerpt)

After the EVITA load-out, I’d, in essence, lost him. We’d talked on the phone just those four times but never had we discussed my touch, his explosion, as if none of it had ever happened, as if he hadn’t spent the summer coming on to me, as if none of the time or the sexual tension between us had been at all. During those calls he told me about his girlfriends and his drinking, but not in detail and always he had to go in a hurry.

When, three summers later, Vincent produced PIPPIN, despite my lack of dance ability and my enslavement to a full-time job at an insurance company that was draining the life out of me, he talked me into doing my Ben Vereen imitation as The Leading Player; which was, rather, something less African American and Fosse-esque than it was, say, the love-child of Liza Minnelli and Dick Van Dyke. There was no PIPPIN. I suggested Vincent call Tom. Vincent, ever eager to encourage a messy, trashy unrequited love affair, suggested I call Tom for him. And ask. I did. He said yes. This time we were both stars. We touched each other. A lot. We went for drinks. Even more. I watched him fix his car, that blue third generation model Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am with the black leather interior and the custom ordered gear shift he loved so much in which he‘d take me who he did not love so much for drives, too fast, and often drunk, but he would never let me be anything but passenger.

“No one’s ever touched my baby’s steering wheel and no one ever will Goddammit.”

I was drunk too. On the blue of the car and his eyes and that drink – Bloody Smurf Jizz with its Curacao and grenadine – he’d forced on me against my wishes our first night out together after his return, and there were nasty, leering remarks about its lurid name leading to nasty imprecatory threats about if I wanted jizz later I would drink this now and other, even fouler, crueler, indications that his feelings for me were warped into painful shapes of hate and love over which he had no control, over which he wanted control, about which lack of control he was furious and for which he blamed and wanted to punish me.

He played mix tapes he’d made and told me he was in love with Continue reading

Here I am . . . as one needs must . . . not going . . .

I’ve just come in from taking the morning sun.

I apologize for the lack of posts, I’m preoccupied with transitioning my mother from one senior living facility to another. The need to move her came rather unexpectedly; we’d thought she was set and secure where she was, but, alas, things change, people change, and one needs must do what one must.

(Pardon that last sentence; I’m deeply in love with Kate Atkinson’s “Life After Life”, which I have been reading in waiting rooms and every spare moment during the past few days. It is lovely, brilliant, magical, and a staggering feat of technique and literary acumen and imagination. Too, she often uses the construction “needs must” and so I’ve been jamming it into every exchange I possibly can.)

In addition to parent issues, I’ve my own adventures with the medical profession to which I’ve been attending. Yesterday was the long-awaited follow-up appointment at which was to be discussed the results of the blood tests that have left my left arm still a large bruise.

I arrived at 10:00 a.m. for my 10:15 appointment. At precisely 10:15 a young lady in unfortunate Sears-y looking nurse attire bellowed, “Smith,” to which I jumped in response. After having led me to an exam room, weighed, temperatured, and blood pressured me (all quite good) she asked, “Why are you here today?”

It seems to me she ought to have known the answer to that. However, I Continue reading

Just saying . . . SPRING AWAKENING

sa3 sue greeneToday is the anniversary of the opening of the production of “Spring Awakening ” I directed. Long/short: we were the first – THE VERY FIRST – people given permission to do the show post-Broadway. Yes, I was the FIRST person to direct/stage/interpret “Spring Awakening” once the original had closed.

Me. Charlie Smith. In celebration of my dear, departed Steve.stephen a bomango

I had given up directing. Given up theatre. But was lured from that giving up to do the show, and only because it was to raise funds for the scholarship in Steve’s name.

Steve died more than a decade ago. He died two days after another dear one had died, about whose death Steve had to tell me. Six months later, my aunt, Sissie, died. My beautiful dog, Jordan, died.

I wish I’d died. Actually, I pretty much did.

sa5 sue greeneSissie used to say, “I know it seems like the awful people win a lot of the time, but our reward will come in heaven.”

I wish I believed in heaven. But, I don’t.

And the awful people just keep on winning. And winning. And winning some more. And so, once again, about to be homeless. And so, once again, my poor Mom, getting screwed over by life. And so, once again, people pretending this shit isn’t happening or doesn’t matter. And so, once again . . .

And this is why I am on a social media break.

So. Done. With. Losing.SpringAwakening_FINAL_V2