Saturday, May 30, 2015

Strength To September

  Saturday. May had drawn to its close. The Sun had returned to its fierce self. And The Van Man was dead broke. That evening was opening night of Othello at Zombie Joe's. Van Man played Iago. The show was fairy-dusted with glitter, glam-rock and a splash of Rocky Horror. LA Theatre at its best.
  Van Man had burnt the candle at both ends. Three plays in three months. A never-ending cycle of rehearsal and performance. His creativity lagged at times and his bank account dried. By that final opening, he found himself on the edge of destitution. Pretty fuckin' bad, he thought. The situation was no joke, but he could not help the smile that made its way across his face. Van Man had found the Atlantis of Starving Artists. The blackest deep of sacrifice. Van Man lived in a van he could not afford. He had nothing. And it was all for acting.
  The people with their money walked in and out of the coffee shop. They spent freely. Van Man enjoyed each and every drop of his own cup. One last splurge before the unknown of pennilessness. You better believe that coffee tasted better than it ever had before. He knew he had to make it to September for AC/DC. And The Van Man noticed the ink was nearly out on his pen.

Friday, May 15, 2015

All the Ships Are Sank

Rain.
His ocean is filled and insecure with splashes
On the roof.
Thoughts are soaked. Heart is drenched, weighted
Down to the bottom
Of his sea,
Of his ocean,
All the ships are sank and a rowboat remains,
Resting at the embankment.
The river is good.
It is alive and pulsating
With a chance.
And the river is filling up because
The rain
Does not stop. It continues, forever.
He runs to the boat.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

June Gloom In May

  The clouds were thick and selfish. The Shakespeare had taken its toll. The Van Man was in the midst of his third straight production in as many many months and felt the confusion set in. Money was low. His mind was worn. A soggy, paper bag of possibilities. He was happy to act. Unhappy to be nothing. It seemed a spiral into a bright pitch blackness. For the first time in a very long time, Van Man thought seriously about using. The Powder and Sid seemed like good choices. But Boy called. He had never tried Boy, but the thought was heavy on his mind. A creep up his arm and a swarm onto his brain.
  Then Van Man sipped his coffee and landed on his feet. He lived in a van and there was only so much of a cliché he could stand to be. Where's the fucking Sun?, thought Van Man. LA was no fun without The Sun. There seemed no point to it.

Monday, May 4, 2015

Rocky Agreement

  Rocky Parker. Dead. The Van Man looked at the date of death. It had been over a year before. On a whim, Van Man had looked her up to see what she had been working on or who she had been managing. Rocky was his first taste of the "magic" of Hollywood. As he looked at the death date, Van Man felt his own dream's mortality.
  It had been eight years before and Van Man had the freshest of faces and widest of eyes. He knew it was only a matter of time before Hollywood discovered him. Then he stepped onto an elevator and she was there.
"You're gorgeous", said Rocky. 
"Thank you", replied Van Man as he giggled. He loved shit like that.
"No, I'm serious, you're gorgeous. Are you an actor?"
Van Man acknowledged he was. She gave him her card and demanded that he call her to set up something. She was in her sixties by what he could tell, but she seemed younger. 
  Van Man did his research and found she had previously been married to a famous actor that was over twenty years her junior. She had been his manager, at the time of their marriage. And of all the actors that Van Man had been told he had a resemblance, Rocky's former husband was the most cited. Did she want a new husband? A bone, here and there? Was she for real? Van Man could get down with older women, but sixty year olds were out of his fuck range. And Van Man did not expect himself to have to sleep his way to the top.
  Rocky and Van Man met numerous times and she asked to be his manager. They shook on it. Done deal. The weeks went by and Van Man grew tired of the partnership. He did not care for the weekly drives to Marina Del Rey just to sit at her dog hair-infused home and not do much. Nothing seemed to gel in their meetings and Van Man was green. He wanted to act, not sit around. Little did he know that would be the best lesson he could have learned.
  The meetings stopped. He had lost faith in her and she had seen his kind too many times before. The years passed. Van Man did some no-lows and a few plays. And then she was dead. A sad moment for Van Man. After all, Rocky was the first "Hollywood" person to see something in the gangly kid from Alabama. And she was still the only one. The Van Man sipped his coffee as Sinatra sang "Anything Goes" and thought about that handshake. The deal was over.