I think the universe leads me around the planet, and I happen upon certain things- pieces of music, people, events- at appointed times. Well, maybe not appointed, like "on March 1, 2013 at 10:15 am, while walking his dog Padfoot, he will hear a song on his Hawk and a Handsaw station on Pandora that will inspire him to write a scene between Jaypes and Norn as a hot dog vendor ala Ignatius from Confederacy of Dunces", but more like there are all these secret doorways to insight and spiritual tranquility that have are set all around the universe, and if I want to follow a certain path, achieve some sort of destiny, I need to find those doorways, those hidden Easter Eggs on the DVD of me. Maybe life is like whatever algorithm Pandora uses to figure out what music we would like, and the choices we make lead us to logical places. I read a book when I'm in fourth grade that turns me on to Norse mythology, which leads me to read other books on myths and fate, and over the years I accumulate all this seemingly useless knowledge, trivia really- until one day I write a play with Hela in it, which leads to another play with Hel and Raven in it, which leads to yet another play with the three Norns smashed into one character in it.

I really don't know, and I suppose in the grand scheme of things, and in the not so grand as well, it doesn't really matter. As Popeye, famous one-eyed sailor and lover of spinach would proclaim, I am what I am, whether by choice or fate, and all I can do it live my life as well as I can, try to find some sort of moral compass- be it part of natural law or of human construct.

Which is a long winded way of saying I am feeling connected to the world at this particular moment in time. I feel as if I am doing what I should be doing with myself in order to live the life I want to live. And a huge part of that is because I am happy with my latest play. At the same time, there is a loneliness when writing something- a feeling like no one else can see this brave new world coming to life in your brain, or alternate universe, or where ever it is that stories live.  Still, it's quite euphoric being me right now. And this feeling of well being urges me further- not only to work on the new show (working title: Don't Get Too Comfy, Pal), but to finally finish post-production of Strong Tea, get to work on a screenplay idea I have that mashes up the story of Edgar Cayce with all those reality/paranormal shows on cable these days, clean up Rose Red- which is having another production this June in Boulder and possibly more in Ohio and California- and on and on. Nothing inspires like inspiration.

Right now, I'm rewriting and rewriting and then rewriting Don't Get Too Comfy, Pal. At the same time, the first draft is being read and judged by the good people at the Fine Arts Center in Colorado Springs as an entrant in their Rough Writers event. So I want all of you to face Colorado Springs from wherever you are, and send a telepathic command to whomever is reading the play, telling them to put it in the festival.

I am fairly certain I am hoping to become, or already am, a mystic.

So now that we’re in, what’s the plan?
Grab the pinball machine Dickhead gave her, throw it out the window, and escape into the night!


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