Mickey is taking a look at the hood of Hope's truck.
MICKEY: Um, yeah. You're gonna need a new engine. Yours got metal in it. How long you been driving like this? HOPE: What....I got the truck on Craig's List two weeks ago. The guy said it was tip top shape! MICKEY: Yeah, it's... not. Sorry. HOPE: Fuck! The guy said... oh what the hell, it was cheap. I should have known. My bad. Hope turns to address the ice cream truck: HOPE: It was short lived, but I want you to know little lady, that it was my pleasure ending your days with you! You shall be missed. And maybe you can survive a tiny bit longer so I can get out of this heat? Pretty please? Beat. Mickey looks at Hope in awe. MICKEY: How do you do that? HOPE: Do what? MICKEY: Switch up like that? Change your mood....like instantly. HOPE: I don't know, I just...do. MICKEY: Not me. I hold on to things too much...like if I wake up on the wrong side...I stay wrong ALL DAY. HOPE: CBD. MICKEY: Say what? HOPE: CBD can help with that. MICKEY: I don't do drugs. Just alcohol. It's my vice. HOPE: CBD is harmless. It's pure. It's natural. MICKEY: So is alcohol. HOPE: Yeah that's not true. MICKEY: Tequila is from a plant. Wine is from grapes. Beer is a barley. Whiskey is a grain. HOPE: I meant harmless. Alcohol is NOT harmless. Like, not one bit. MICKEY: Okay, whatever. HOPE: Look, I'm just saying... MICKEY: Got it! You're just saying 'alcohol is bad for you, take years off of your life, eats up your liver, blah blah blah' I heard it all before... HOPE: It's fine, we all have vices. MICKEY: Yeah? Well my vice is alcohol and I'm not giving it up! Beat. HOPE: Did I push a button? Sorry, it wasn't my intention. MICKEY: It's fine! Nothing was pushed! I'm "just saying" alcohol is natural too. Correcting you on that. Treating women equally. So if you make a mistake, I say it. Like fighting for justice, for alcohol's sake. HOPE: Fighting for justice. In the sake of equality and...alcohol? MICKEY: That's right. HOPE: Okay. I appreciate your FEMINIST agenda and thank you for mansplaining what alcohol is. I had NO idea what it was until you elevated my brain cells with all that useful information! MICKEY: Hey, what are you getting all mad about!? HOPE: NOTHING!! MICKEY: (To the audience) And there it was. Our first fight. It came a little faster than expected. But my old man always said you gotta see how someone fights with you when you meet them. Like, it's a test. If they're game to fight with you, then they're game to talk to you. Like, truthfully. It's an extreme method, and doesn't always work, but here....in this moment...with this angel I couldn't figure out, it felt right. Mickey goes back to a STARING MATCH with Hope. MICKEY: You sure LOOK mad. HOPE: Am NOT. MICKEY: Am TOO. HOPE: I SAID I'M NOT! MICKEY: WELL I AM! HOPE: (To the audience) And then, maybe it was the blasting heat or the adrenaline from the fire, or the fear that he would kill me. Or maybe it was the sweat on his chest. But I had to, just had to... hold on. Better show than tell: MICKEY: WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? HOPE: FOR YOU DUMMY! MICKEY: WHO YOU CALLING DUMMY? THE WORD's DYSLEXIC. HOPE: OH THANKS FOR CLARIFYING! MICKEY: YOU'RE WELCOME! HOPE: YEAH? MICKEY: FUCK YEAH! And in unison, Hope and Mickey leap on to each other for a passionate as-hot-as-it-gets type of a KISS. To Be Continued...
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Last night in my dream.... I had a visitor.
No, it wasn't a person from my past, or from the present. It wasn't a celebrity cameo though that humorously does tend to happen in my dreams. And it wasn't 'myself' from the outside. (Or was it...?) My visitor came as a demonic creature....it didn't have any shape whatsoever but had a particular sound. Raspy scary sounding whispers like in a horror film (not the most original, I know) and the notion that it was dark, shadowy energy approaching me from my back, and getting a hold of me. It was very much like a vivid dream, so I was aware that I was dreaming, but it all felt incredibly real. When the creature - or whatever that demonic energy was - got a hold of me ,it took over my body and I wasn't able to move or utter a sound. When I finally woke up - as I was eager to wake from this nightmarish encounter - I felt like I was breathing again after being choked. I laid awake in my dark bedroom, immediately making a sound as if to confirm that I was able to. A moan, a shriek, a heavy sigh. Any sound that could relieve my fears without waking my boyfriend up. I looked at the wall across from me, trying to hold on to reality, but the wall was rather frightening as well: The plant in the corner of the room seemed much bigger - granted it was dark, but it was as if it had additional leaves than the usual 4 giant leaves it has. And the eerie feeling I had in the dream followed me here in a way I couldn't explain. It was 3:23 am. I know because I peaked at my phone on my bedside table. (Bad habit, I know) I stayed awake for a few more minutes, dreading going back to sleep as the encounter was so freighting, but exhausted and undoubtedly sleepy... I fell back asleep. Fortunately, I didn't encounter that demon again and when I woke up, knowing it was all a dream, I had the eerie feeling that this dream was.... different than other dreams I've had. As a lover of dream analysis that I am... I turned to my good ole' buddy Google to ponder on what that dream was all about. And lo and behold...I realized it wasn't a demon I encountered. In fact, it wasn't even a dream. Well, sort if....: It was SLEEP PARALYSIS that I experienced. I have just completed a two hour research (I mean can we call google searches 'research'!?) obsession on this unusual state, and the Wiki page here and other sources online confirmed my realization. Being it my first time (and I hope my last as I wouldn't call it pleasant in any way) I feel devirginized and like I'm about to face the world in a whole new way: As a person who experienced Sleep Paralysis, and lived to tell it. Have you ever experienced this strange phenomena?? What was your experience like? Slow down...
Hurry up.... My life flows between these two mindsets. Sometimes I am impatiently dwelling on the future's hopes and dreams (or dread and worries as this past year has shown), and sometimes I am a prisoner of my past, be it by being sentimental and introspective, or unforgiving and filled with grudge. Which brings me to the most timely (no pun intended) mantra I have in my vessel of mantras: Be. Here. Now. The NOW is all that there is and all that matters. If it matters at all.... (That's for another philosophical discussion). Meditation is my 'Be here now' daily practice, but I also find this mantra to be an awesome reminder throughout the day, to shake off any hold-ups that arise. So, waiting in line at the grocery store and antsy to get it done with? "Be. Here. Now." In an argument with your loved one and he or she just gets on your nerves...? "Be. Here. Now." Your boss shames you about a past mistake...? "Be. Here. Now." I wonder if us humans like watching movies and live performances so much because they take us to the NOW with no effort at all.... but even WITH effort, sensing the NOW if only for a moment - can give us a much needed relief. So take a breath....relax your face and your body, and...Be. Here. Now. Dear Disappointment,
We don't often get together, you and I. But when we do? It's fireworks. Steamy, fiery and swift... right down to the abyss. Our encounter is like a portal entry into a chaos of emotions that make me well aware of how much Expectation plays a role in my life. You, and little miss expectation, are intertwined. Sometimes you let her go off and fulfill her destiny the way I envision it. Other times? You lead her just enough to completely overtake me with her fantasy and illusion, and then you show up with your 'Told ya so' attitude and punch me in the face. And you hurt, Disappointment. Like, you really hurt. Can't you please show up a little kinder and earlier...? Like, 'um sorry, please, you may want to think this through girl, it may not go as you planned....' Or like 'Hey, don't keep your hopes up, hint hint!' But no, you show up like 'GOTCHA! Now fall with me to the darkness you pathetic little dreamer!' Can't you be a little KINDER Disappointment? A tiny bit? A teeny weeny little kindness when you rob my grandiose world of fantasy?!?!? No answer. You have won again and crawled back to your hiding spot, gloating that you 'got me' once again. Owned me like I was a fly on your big wild web. Sigh... I must learn to let you go. But if it means I have to let my favorite little Miss Expectation go.... then no wonder it's a tough task for me. Genuinely hoping never to meet you again, Your bitch. P.S. FUCK YOU! (yes, I said it... I should probably write a letter to Anger now...oops.) At the entry of her truck, Hope holds her phone out of view from Mickey and tries to make a phone call, but....
HOPE: (To the audience) Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Shit! Motherfucker! Pardon my language, but my phone has no service in this shit dump of a place and I am gonna fucking lose it! At this point I'm like ninety nine point nine percent sure this guy is planning to eradicate me from this planet. I mean the way he looks at me is like a tiger drooling over his prey. So I gotta just GO. Yeah, to hell with yoga, and the mere chance that he may be telling the truth and is actually a random dude who is not out to get me in any way. To hell with it all. In fact, I'm not even gonna say goodbye. Hope walks defiantly back to the truck, turns it on....but it doesn't move. She tries again. Some nondescript curses are heard from within. Then, in shame Hope exits the truck. MICKEY: I was wondering why you left the music on for so long. It eats up your gas y'know. HOPE: It does? MICKEY: (To the audience) I am coming on too strong, I can feel it. I never been good at hiding my feelings. Those people with poker face on? Not me. I am what you call...transparent. My emotions are all drawn out on my face. She must have noticed me imagining her with a wedding gown on looking like the most stunning angel in the universe... and got freaked out. Man! I gotta be cool. Gotta play it cool, like 'I don't care'. I'm COOL. Like, like...Elvis. Mickey turns to Hope acting all 'cool'. MICKEY: It's all right if you wanna leave. I'll get by. Always do. HOPE: No...that was... It was part of my yoga routine. Turning on the engine gets me centered and ready...to relax. Sometimes I just turn it on and drive in circles. Chanting. And...stuff. MICKEY: Oh. Your yoga moves sound angry. HOPE: I mean, the thing about monks being all chill, walking slow and talking really quiet? it's not true. Even monks curse. Everybody knows that. MICKEY: Well I don't know too much 'bout yoga, or monks. Know a thing or two about cars though. I worked in a car shop practically since I was a kid. With my dad. D'you want.... d'you want me to take a look at it for you? HOPE: Um... MICKEY: Hey, I got nothing else to do... HOPE: (To the audience) What if I'm wrong about him? Say I leave him here. Then, I go off live my life, NOT being killed by a random vicious serial killer out in the desert, but then I watch the news from some diner or something, about how 'a shirtless man was found deceased on a side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Evidence shows someone came to rescue him and tend to his burning car, but alas that mystery person left him to DIE and should burn in hell for it!' Or, come back deformed or something. I haven't decided yet on my after life. Or.... if I give him a ride out of here.... assuming he can fix my car.... he could shred me to pieces and I'll be eaten by his dog or something. Ew. Or... or he's perfectly normal and we go on and live happily ever after. I mean, he gets his life back, and I get mine. MICKEY: Least I can do for saving my life, is help you get out of here so you can live yours. Hope contemplates, and then heads to her truck and lifts the hood of the truck up. MICKEY: All right, let's get all greasy and shredded! HOPE: (To the audience) Did he just say....shredded?!? To be continued... I never invited you,
Sameness, To grace me with your presence. To hover above with your shadow. To bore me with your predictable rhythm. I never intended, To cook the same meal. To fight the same fight. To say the same words. To wake up on the same side. To scratch myself at the same spot. To chew in the same sequence. To walk the same block, in circles. Day after day. Moment after moment. I never invited you, Sameness, Into my life. With your global pandemic. And your political games. And your fears, and pain, and boredom. ....Yet here you are. Reminding me to be grateful, For every walk - that is the same. For every meal - that is the same. For every day - that is the same. For every limb in its place. For every gentle embrace. For every challenge I face. For all that I have. For all that I am. For I am here. For I am. For I am. Today in my daily meditation practice (Who have I become?!? Clearly I've been living in California for a while),
I focused in on the Ancient Hawaiian healing method of 'Correcting a wrong'. AKA: Ho'oponopono. Wait....what? You may ask. Well, if you are not familiar with it, Ho'oponopono is a practice in forgiveness. The practice - or mantra as I like to think of it - is fairly simple and consists of four key phrases: 1. I love you. 2. I am sorry. 3. Please forgive me. 4. Thank you. While I find it very simple to say those words... it is by no means EASY. The wikipedia page here has more information about this ancient practice, and there are plenty of other resources online. Search away if you'd like to know more... There are some difference of thought about the sequence of the phrases, but the meaning is more important than the order. You can begin by saying these words to yourself instead of attaching them to another person or situation. What is essential is letting go of the ego and entering a deeper path of vulnerability. So close you eyes, relax, and connect deeply to the mantra of Ho'oponopono... Ever wondered...
How odd it is that we all just 'check out' at night, let our bodies and minds rest, and go down the rabbit hole of the mysteries of our subconscious? Or the mysteries of.... consciousness? Ever wondered... What secrets, treasures and surprises hide in our dreams? What fears, terror and pain are tucked deep in our nightmares? I'm a dreamer. In the day AND at night. In the day - I like to manifest my dreams into action. Use my imagination towards storytelling and creativity and in that way, for a dreamer such as myself - stay somewhat rooted in the ground. As an actor - I like to disappear into a role and a story with the mantra 'Treat this like a dream' and it gives me a sense of freedom and exploration. And as a writer - well, I get to craft my imagination in a particular form that hopefully takes the reader on a journey with me. As if I would invite someone into my head. Into my 'dream mind.' At night - my dreams are epic, vivid, wild and grandiose. I enjoy them deeply, even when they are nightmareish, because there seems to be no limit to my imagination in the land of dreams. No stops. No boundaries. No right and wrong. Flying? Sure thing. Places turning into other places on a whim? All the time. Animals singing? Yeah, definitely... and so many more creative shenanigans. When I wake up from an epic night of dreams, I have the intense feeling of being taken on a ride, a ride I couldn't control whatsoever nor did I want to. Dreams have in them the key to feeling a true sense of surrender, of freedom. And we all just go to sleep every night... as a regular thing, not thinking of it much. Like it's 'no big deal.' Never are we in awe of the journey into freedom that we are about to enter.... but it's wild. Oh, SO wild. It's a gateway to the self, the deeper inner secret self. It's a sneak peak into the movie of our lives. It's letting go and embracing the rare feeling of freedom of the mind. Sweet dreams... We all know the power hungry villains in stories, history or in some countries' governing positions (heloooooo The United States Of America). They are always depicted as Machiavellian and cruel, as narcissistic and without empathy, as sadistic at times and greedy often. These figures start off as children - mostly innocent to the dark side of their egos - but whether it was success in society, having a troubled past, or any other psychological reasons: They grow to feed off of power and their ego skyrockets into being - in lack of better words - the ASSHOLES that they are.
Of course, I have met several power hungry folks in my life. Working in the entertainment industry is a pretty sure bet you'd run into these types. But almost every industry that involves hierarchy or prestige often brings along the temptation to 'power trip'. Like that manager of a restaurant that once was a waiter like everyone else, but when he got promoted he could no longer sit for lunch with his employees. After all - the one in power must stay on the throne, not with the peasants. Or the CEO who reached her top level by stepping down on any competitor, believing she had to shut her heart and be tough to get ahead. Until one day she could no longer find that heart at all. Or the ambitious director who believed they must tear down the actor's process and any sense of self, in order to build them anew. Megalomaniac much? YES, indeed. But here I am - conveniently placing the 'blame' of power trippers on 'others'. Don't we all have the little power within us that could tempt us to see ourselves as superior to others? What self worth and love to others must we have, in order to challenge that power hungry ego that tickles us at times. How centered and strong-willed must we be in order to quiet that temptation, to remember that it is all invented, and to NOT let our ego run our inner show. Ironically, staying NOT power hungry - is a truly empowering act. It requires the sensitivity to see ourselves as 'part of', and the strength to stand firm when our little egomaniacal voices erupt within us. THAT is the real work of kings and queens. Once there was a gentleman.
One with poise and manners, suited for his time and meticulous with his movements. He spoke with a slightly nasal yet sharp voice that would echo in elevators as he would take his top hat down with a polite 'How do you do?' His left hand would always tilt to the left pocket of his most favorite navy blazer. His right hand was free to roam, but his left would always stay just above the pocket, hovering ever so affectionately. Lucy was a tenacious child of about four years of age. Freckled face, pigtails and a bit of an oversized chin for a child her age. As oversized as her chin was - so was her curiosity. She would watch the gentleman every day in their New York condo building's elevator. She lived in the fifth floor, and he lived in the top floor - the eighteenth one. They seemed to frequent a similar schedule, and Lucy's curiosity grew bigger every passing day. She would squeeze her mother's hand as they entered the elevator seeing the gentleman there. He would take off his top hat with the outmost grace Lucy has ever seen, asking his usual 'How do you do?' Her mother would reply with a 'Why, very well. Much thanks' while Lucy's eyes would magnetically get pulled to the gentleman's left pocket. She watched daily as he caressed, as he touched, as he tucked his left hand in the left pocket of his favorite navy blazer. One day, Lucy's curiosity grew into courage. It was her day of birth and she felt like a grown woman, one that could converse with strangers in elevators. And so upon entering the building's elevator and finding the gentleman there as in nearly every single day, Lucy turned to the man with her wide-open eyes and bluntly asked 'What do you have there, in your pocket, sir?' Her mother frowned, profusely apologizing for her daughter's nosiness. But the gentleman exposed his rarely seen teeth-filled smile, saying 'It's quite all right ma'am. It's quite all right.' Then, he lowered his top hat, and kneeled down to the child. He was a tall man even without his top hat, and his slightly arched back revealed a bodily disposition that was not in the best of health so this was no easy task, and by no means was it meaningless. 'So, you wish to know what is in my left pocket, young lady?' Lucy nodded repeatedly, while her mother shook her head in embarrassment. 'Some loves one must hold dear, even in their pocket.' The gentleman confessed. Then, he reached to his pocket and pulled out a small black and white picture. It was frayed in the edges and faded in its color. But Lucy could see the faint image of a man in there. It was a man much like the gentleman, with the same set of brown eyes, and the same high cheekbones, and the same scrawny figure. But this man in the photo was no gentleman. He was wild and unapologetic, wearing a torn shirt and expressing rage and rebellion. The kind of rebellion that belongs almost exclusively to the youth. 'This young man was I.' The man proceeded to confess, giving Lucy the distinct feeling that he has longed to confess this for quite some time. 'Back then, anger ran through me. I knew no kindness, so I gave no kindness. Manners, law and mutual respect were foreign unimaginable concepts to me. I lived as if I had no tomorrow, and my tomorrow was bleak indeed. I had a disease. It was The Fury. But the more I resisted my fury - the more it took hold of my life. I was a different man then. An unkind man. Since then, I have learned to love my fury and hold it dear. I keep my fury close to me so I will always remember to love it. You see, resistance doesn't relinquish suffering, but it is rather LOVE - that does.' He noticed Lucy's slightly confused expression, and continued: 'This all may be a lot for you to comprehend, young lady, and here we are at the ground floor now. You will go your way and I will continue to mine, but I hope you shall remember me and my fury. One doesn't receive a lesson every day. Thank you for reminding me of mine. In return, I hope this shall be one day a lesson to you as well.' And with that, the gentleman tucked the photo of his old self - his fury - back in his pocket, and rose to his feet, saying the words 'After you, ladies' to the freckled curious child and her mother. Lucy never forgot the gentleman and his fury. As she grew older, she kept a photo of her old five year old self on her nightstand, to remember to love her curiosity, and to never let it go. |
AuthorIn April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling. Categories
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Header Art: Daniel Landerman |