I’m winding down. I used to be out of the house by now. I studied the landscape...flat coast, a string of Small towns and cites between the Manasquan River and Sandy Hook. I was a bit player in many productions over five decades up and down that bit of coast. 

      It was not my show to get on the road. I was, as I said, just a bit player. I played Bromden opposite my father’s MacMurphy, until I got the lead. Nicholson grew up there, between Asbury Park and Manasquan, the south end of what I knew far better than he, eventually. 

       I’m not much for name dropping...I never met Jack, just covered the same turf for a lot longer. I’m sure that I was a fan of his RPM long before I knew he was from home. 

        The place was enigmatic, and brutal. Jack got out as soon as he could, and I would have done the same, but I was, as I noted, playing Bromden...Or my version of Bromden, until I unknowingly inherited the lead after the son of James died.

         The producers? There were two few too count. I met them all in costume, but never knew them as an adult. The counter at Frank’s might still be the place to cast a show...American Hustle like, but in real time. The bad guys never lost for good, ever. I’m not talking, I’m writing history. 

         As 2020 races at us, and just us has escaped with Yossarian in his rubber raft for hills unknown, alive nonetheless, with those same sounds, but a different plot.  Will those tickets sell?  What’s Vegas saying? 

         I’m not independently anything. Who is? I don’t even speak Cantonese. The show? The show is really, really big. No animals were harmed during the pecking of this bit player, who...is not driving.

           

Views: 63

Comment by J.P. Hart on December 15, 2018 at 10:36am

By the grace of genetics Vincent Van Gogh was not color blind. They rolled the stone, rumble fire, ascendance. If all the cures have a Latin syntax ~ why does the base remain hypnotized in the proverbial Roman chariot race ~ quid per quo ~ I singed a tick (such a wasting asset!) pour the pelt of my dead polar bear. That Death Shall Have No Dominion Dylan Thomas video now naught but an illustration of the camera's eye, aqua hue:

Branch drop shadow crow
No GPS detail shown
Umbilical home

Comment by J.P. Hart on December 15, 2018 at 11:13am

Puncture Film
Days of Rage
Dawn of Zoom
Possible
To escape
The room
Now Ngram
Optimism
Stasis is doom

Warmest regards,
JPH

Comment by Tom Cordle on December 15, 2018 at 11:15am

A man can say a lot when he says nothing just right

Comment by Ron Powell on December 15, 2018 at 1:17pm

It's easier to say nothing with a great many words than it is to say something of consequence in just a few words....

There's something to be said for having something to be said, if we'd just come out and say it. And, when we've finally said our something to be said, we hope that our words don't betray it.

Comment by Robert B. James on December 15, 2018 at 4:12pm

Nothing is everything, and some. I made meatballs for the kids at the station, though not Sandy Hook or Manasquan. The show goes on. 

Thank you, my brothers, for reading and commenting. The show goes on. Rolls out of the oven, cut and split. 

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