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Do you know a means of addressing betrayal? I’ve known people that lived in bubbles. Go to Google and type “creeks” in to the little bubble… …It’ll be the best Google Search you’ll do in your whole life.

But has he thought it through? Or is he going with the feeling in his gut since it’s a gut feeling when a man decides to touch his dream? He’s capable of better. And I don’t know about finding love that way in the dark, either.

Just enough light to be called dark. Just enough to know it’s out there, brilliant, somewhere – not here. Here its absence reminds me of how unavailable it is. I saw him in there and I heard him saying, “I want it so bad.”

He’s lost his mind. His eyes are shot, they’re shut. Blame yourself, don’t blame life. I do blame myself. that is the truth, and a waste, in the furthest outer reaches of his so called mind

empty, sorry_missing, skip skip WAIT. sorry_missing, nothing not something – skip. no, something maybe? NO ok NO, skip skip. open, stay… you could stay open to her and open her if you wanted to stay open and open her…think think think think think think think think think think think think think – think the whole idea

only a tortured child would follow what you just said Seriously I want to go now, but something keeps stopping me. Mr Trusted is here writing away this ongoing experience of waiting, but nobody said never ending. it’s something that isn’t happening but feels like it’s happening and if it feels like it’s happening why isn’t it then?…it’s dark outside and I don’t want it to be, for example but it is

me – leaning forward, listening hard, ready to be moved  like being in love no it’s like a second class movie, right? as in b follows a? we spectators will watch a scene, for example, the rescuing of delicate women from danger and the more they struggle, the more fun we have watching them…Here I’m a slave to nothingness invisible to myself and everyone else.

Saying “I wish to die” instead of a simple “good night” is no way to kill yourself. In saying so I’m quite certain you mean the exact opposite. That you wish to live and just don’t know how.

it’s too God damn magical

I’m sorry about your drawer……… and your divorce.

forget it – just stick the ax in to me, set me free, I wish to die/

Derek Spaldo in “Sand.” Photo by Theresa Ortolani

I thought just deal with silent voices, you’re better off than with ones that talk back/ I had some great sex with strangers.

listening to the wind peter out across the dunes and I said to myself…you talk about it like you think you can dominate it only fools believe they stand a chance at that! you want to make sculpture, structure, architecture – something tangible, from life or from performance? describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, I don’t owe you architecture.

Champagne from 5-7, homicide from 5-7, champagne from 5-7, genocide performance at 8,  compassion reception following performance. when I did it I did anything_something – I did performance and I don’t owe you something_anything else you owe me love and I’m trying to deal that that will not be getting paid,

it’s not happening

describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it, describe it

people don’t know what they want, they only know they’re not getting it.

don’t mess

you’ll never wake up on this planet. you’ll be tired, you’ll be too dizzy again, did I mention that it’s dark? yes yes that sleep was delicious…how much time is there until you have to do what you’re supposed to? 24 means nothing here. how much time you have to do what you decided to  what was supposed to happen anyway? you’ll be frightened, nothing you’ve done will matter, you’ll be forgotten

sometimes the things that are killing you are the best things for you, I always say….i’m not doing this for frivolous reasons

the timeless catastrophe always arrives, on time every time…we no longer have anything of these hours in common
make a little poem, and then be dead

shhhh… It’s quiet now, everything’s still. Our foot steps are all over the hills out there  He is remarkably hurtable

Shit on toast… amazing.

Stick the axe in me.

Take off the baby please Absolutely not. I’m not taking off the baby.

in the desert we have a saying – don’t use the testicles of the fish you’re trying to catch as bait!

say it simply – what happened to you?

nobody understands what you’re talking about – learn to speak.

my job is to protect you and save you from your madness becoming a reality a madness I couldn’t prevent I can feed you  but I didn’t give you your words maybe some random pattern you saw in the sand today… how do I say this? life is too God damn magical and it is never enough for people like you. what does your world look like anyway? one magical night that never ends until the walls are covered with your guts? keep dreaming that, and one day I guarantee you, you will cover the walls with your guts and that can be my legacy to you until then all the tricks have to stop, every word of yours wants to do tricks

How do I say this?

peel back the veneer and look around

you see that?

No, that’s not why you don’t want to know why, you don’t want to know why because you’re suffering worse than I am and yet that doesn’t help us at all

Simple people say it simple.

Too much has been written down, who has energy for all that reading?

not to mention the eyeballs


*all words taken, completely out of context, from Peter Jacobs’ Sand, which the Performance Club saw Saturday evening at the Chocolate Factory

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