Serendipity Is Thy Mistress

Dream of Skunk Island
trapped on embankment overlooking bay.
Slits in the powdery crags...
presumably to emit the surge of Mephitis.
There are crowds stampeding below,
stormtroopers herding prisoners to imminent doom?

My compatriot is none other than Ricky Schroeder,
not Silver Spoons Ricky.
No this is all action NYPD Blue & 24 model--
he barks encouragement & scrambles down incline.
The stormtroopers have not spotted us &
Schroeder's assured he can reach water's edge
& escape before the onslaught of white-striped stink.

I retreat in opposite direction,
further up.
I pull myself up onto grassy plateau...
suddenly I'm in mock-suburbia.
A few ranch-style homes & driveways.
I enter one such house & surprise a family of 3.
They're seated @ dinner table--
granny, & 50something couple.
I wave a gun about & tell them to be quiet.
I need car keys & their automobile.
Has Schroeder returned to assist?
Anyway, I'm confident enough to leave couple behind
as I enter bathroom w/ granny.
Electric shavers & blow-driers & pillboxes,
the sink is a buffet table of toiletries.
Granny's stalling me, searching absently for keys
amid the toothbrushes & face powder.
I see a digital clock w/ a re-charging cel phone.
Granny's hand hovers near it.
Uh-uh-uh I caution.

That's about it.
Dreams of persecution. Being chased,
wanted by some obtuse law
Big Catholic Guilt.
Am I a sociopath at heart?
Endless nights on the lam,
flashing red lights & sirens in the distance.
I wake up winded.
Always guilty.
Will this be how it ends?
A snap of will & a final finger fuck?
A shotgun joyride into oblivion?
Do I hate society that much or
am I secretly rebelling?
Always against the grain
but feeling the ultimate displeasure of it.
Leave those thoughts on that side of the pillow,
damp dreams of running feet & prisons.

*****************************************

Went to Open House for Actors Shakespeare Project
@ BU last night.
Fought the urge to no-show.
Too tired, beat after the play this weekend.
But I'm trying to adhere to written code--
if I put it in writing on calendar...it's a done deal.
Besides, I have ulterior motive to attend.
Better career-planning than flinging business cards
@ Boston Film Night.

I drive to Commonwealth straight from work,
takes a few tries but I actually find non-arena
parking.
And it's after 6PM so I don't have to fret the meter.
I bring my props--
notebook & Faulkner's The Fable.
Need to look erudite & knowledgeable.
I look for a table to kill time @ adjunct Starbucks...
but the students have returned full-force &
there's nary a nook.
Besides, I could swear Jonathan Kuntz sits in corner,
fingers folded before his face looking creepy.
Is he killing time too before the big event?

I drink beer @ Mex restaurant up the street.
Jot down to do's & possible script pitches for Corrente
this Saturday.
Soon I'm fashionably late & make my way to 855 Comm...
my old Finance Office stomping grounds back in 2002.
The genesis of "AERO", truth be told.
In the student lounge March of that year.
The initial written contract with myself to do the film
whatever the cost.
Oh boy, if I had known.
But like the calendar...once it's in scrawl it's law.

There are absolutely no signs or arrows in lobby.
Plenty of student this & that...
but ASP Open House?
I have Studio 102 as destination but remember
only that theatre dept is 4th floor.
So that's where I go.
Jammed into elevator w/ gorgeous twenty-year olds...
pigtails & heroin chic.
And me so old & bald.
The girls get off on 3rd floor. I exit 4th.
I'm immediately befuddled...floor is mostly office-space.
A cautious janitor asks my business & I tell him,
flashing my postcard, proving I'm legit.
Not like I'm stalking pretty young things...
guilty already about my elevator thoughts.
He directs me down to 1st floor.
And as I re-board elevator, who should appear by my side,
hair lightened, bicycle helmet hog-tied to notebooks--
Paula.

We chat en route down. How's this? How's that?
We enter Studio 102 together & I make my way into
assembly.
The room's ceilings are splotched the color of Britanica--
reds & royal blues.
Columnades extend twenty feet up.
I feel like I'm in Rome & about to witness a stabbing.
I stay for an hour & watch a few enacted scenes from
all-female MacBeth...
Kuntz makes his appearance in King John.
And handsome young couples enact courtships from
Henry V & The Tempest.
It's purely theatre.
Shakespeare & elevated emotions & just the written text.
The bard is to theatre
what Lynch or Herzog are to cinema.
Fully embracing of the form.
I am drawn to the extremes.