Holy Motha Freakin Gosh

some call it luck some call it circumstance some call it fate some call it chance some call it blind ... some call it chaos some call it beauty some call it boss some call it foolish some call it karma some call it dogma some call it darhma some call it up in the air some call it grounded some call it quiet some yell it Loud Lid some call it ocean some call it wind some call it others fellows the good within some call it i'm fucked some call it their luck some don't call it maybe they're the ones that got it some call it love some don't call it anything

It's here.... Sophie Treadwell's Machinal directed by Barbara Schofield produced by Kevin McCorkle starring  Charlotte Chanler, Kiley Eberhardt, Elizabeth Greer, Dylan Maddelena, George Hale, Arthur Hanket, Bill Jackson, John LeMay, Daniel May, Kevin McCorkle, Marilyn McIntyre, Rebecca Rosenak Phelps, Andrew Schlessinger, Chris Smith, Katy Tyszkiewicz Get your tickets!!!  http://www.openfist.org/ Join our Facebook Event Page  http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=207677135966908

What a monster a self serving, Desperate, Vacuum of what a person used to be. Just stay away... there's nothing to see here. The plug has been pulled, his breaths will deepen because they know they must savor their last few minutes with the air. In... out... In... ...out I'm sorry that I am weak. I'm sorry that some of you may never know how much this monster loves you. Hidden inside this industrial cage is a space where life used to churn. Thick. Layered. Wild. Now only a space. Abandoned by the ones who know how to predict the weather of a monster; the monster moves in as often as the clouds consume a bay. A chill, Almost in a beautiful way. Be smart! Beauty is fooling.  There is nothing beautiful about a monster, he is a storm. He is a force. Ugly & tragic. Turn, Walk toward the sun, never looking back. If no one is looking at the monster who thrives on the thoughts behind those looks then thrive he will not. The claws at yo...

The Night Watchman stands alone, But doesn't shiver from the cold. This zero below has become a friend. Brothers bonded by bitterness, Veterans exhausted of the battle between belief & sin. The Night Watchman listens intently to the cry, Of that tune only silence and boredemn can contrive. It sings of aimless wonder and cartoon mountains unclimbed. Driven by as much rhythmn as found in a single sighhh. Is that why, Night Watchman,  you stand- still? No beating drum to tame you, No composure full left of you to fill. No melody to return to. No harmony to explore. The discovery of simply moving,  Foreigned frozen to a bore. Lost the pages that end with light slivering like icicles melting on the floor. Daniel May

*Mom & Dad on a boat in the middle of the sea :)