I just realized that

Even Hotel Paradiso

was considered Vaudville in its day.

My whole life is Vaudville

so lets give you a show

you won't ever forget

Look for the Fourth

Act Three Scene Two

 I cried today

I've not cried in a long long long time.



I could go off the deep end,
I can kill all my best friends.



I've been on edge, you know, for a while. You can probably tell. The show's been floundering, I've been losing my lines...

I can follow those stylish trends.
God knows I can make amends. 
And then this

I just

thank you, Schrodinger. Thank you.


But I've got an angry heart filled with cancer and puppy hearts.
If this is how you folks make art, its fucking depressing.


And then the Messenger had the courage to share himself Right at this time. Like he was waiting to strike which even I know is stupid.


And its sad to know that we are not alone and its sad to know there's no honest way out. 


So here, I'll try. I have to at least try.

The world's been like a carnival but not a good carnival like the kind you find in a mall parking lot filled with deathtraps and broken men and ears of corn from the regan era used to make dollar popcorn with the grease from the engines

I remember a young Maurice, not quite so young on stage. He was always the most alive on that stage. It was in high school sometime. Yes, the play was the Hotel Paradiso a comedy of errors from France.

The young Maurice played Mousieur Boniface the man attempting to conduct an extramarital affair with the wife of his best friend and neighbor, Marcelle, played by Rachael. His friend, Henri, is a building inspector sent to check out a hotel for the night. Henri was played by brian. However, all three end up at the same hotel. Boniface and Marcelle attempt to build an ever bigger web of lies in order to keep Henri fooled and Boniface's wife unknowing.

We were born for our roles.

Except the young Maurice should have been Henri.



I'm rambling forgive me.

But the young Maurice glided and sang across the stage and brian was meant to be there they were perfect foils the two of them the best possible counterparts. Maurice owed everything to Brian and Brian owed his success all to Maurice.



But Rachael could only love one, and both had loved her since they were little boys.

I remember the day a younger, much younger Maurice and a similarly aged Brian stared at each other across their tent as they both confessed their love. Brian and Maurice, smiled, touched each others hands, shook

and then they kissed once

it still burns my lips to this day when I'm off guard.

Question Responses and returning questions

I figured this would be the best way to do this as a whole.


I will go in order.

-Lucas asked: "How was your weekend?"

Terrible. It never stopped raining, and the pressure's been getting worse. Like an ache of worry at the back of my spine.

My question for you is this. What do you think the happiest moment of your life has been? Please describe it.

-Aimee asked: "If you had to place it, what genre would you say your story is?"

If I had to, I would place it as a Black Comedy, or a classical tragedy. Greek Era.

My question is: What draws you to our blogs, when you don't have one yourself?

TMV: I can't I just can't I'm so sorry. In return I won't ask you a question. Please forgive me.









Overmatter:  He's alive.


What do you believe is the saddest thing in the world?










Where was I.

Killjay asked: "What do you think of Shakespeare? Specifically Romeo and Juliet."

I think Romeo and Juliet is a very interestingly constructed play. I was more of a fan of Mercurtio and Tybalt than Romeo and Juliet, though.  Shakespeare was a genius, but my preferred play is "a comedy of errors", if I had to pick.

My question for you is "Why? Why are you here?"

Typer, aka "." asked : "What is the worst thing that can happen to a man?"

My answer is this.

To be trapped, knowing your doom is looming, and be unable to do anything. To have to wait for the crash for the arm of irrefutable truth, unflinching "justice" to fall. And to know you are powerless.


My question for you is this. What do you want most?


Ryuu, what happened to me is that the world came crashing down and I was the only one who stood among the steam and steel.

Ryuu, Why do you linger here?

Messenger: In the city. Find the bar, and ask about Maurice.

What is your greatest fear?


Nick: I last felt alive when I was in High School. A long time ago. I've been dying ever since. Slowly, Slowly slowly.


Why do you hate me?

I must go now I havetogo

Act Three Scene 1

Heyyy folks.

Some of you have been wondering about what you should do with your old pal Maurice.

Lets get one thing straight- i mean you no harm. I mean that. Should you trust me? Probably not, quite honestly. It's not smart. But hell its not smart to trust anyone here.

But we are victims too. We also have our stories to tell.

If you are going to deride us, deride us.

But listen, please before the curtain falls on all of us. Please listen.

We have our own stories to tell.

 So...

I'm feeling generous and needy today. A Question for a Question!

I will answer any question you have, but be prepared to answer a question in return.

I need to talk

Its been a bad weekend.

Did I ever tell you about my uncle?

He played accordion really well. My family was stranded in Vermont, even though we were once wealthy train moguls because grandpa had moved a castle from England to Maine with the Train money, and the depression blew the rest of it.

I never saw the trains, because the money was gone before I was born the castles still up there somewhere falling apart in a state park or it was I havent looked at in years wait no I mean new hampshire I guess maybe not vermont though

Dad worked his whole life to keep me in school. He was never pleased I wanted to be an actor, but Uncle Vernon always approved.

Vernon played the accordion on the side. He was so good, he could have done it for a living I swear. But other things made him put that aside. He worked in the slaughterhouse. He'd sing in the mother tounge while cut cowsslaughtered sheeppricked pigs

He patted me on the head one day, and told me to be what I wanted to be

he died when i was very yuoung.

 He was as independent as a hog on ice

thats not what i wanted to talk about the show must go on fuck what was it

Im trying Im sorry Im trying Im trying

I was called out on using Mr. Wait's 9th and Hennepin.

But the place I used it to mask is real. It's the stage, as it were. You'll find it in the City if you look hard enough.

But like my name. It's as real as the rest of me, a careful mosaic over a face that barely obscurs, but still leaves unrecognizable. 

It's a quiet night. The mic stand is quiet, closed up for the evening. Friday night's are not for the open mic, those are on tuesdays, except for the off months, on which they are wendsdays.

The bar is mostly empty because he's in, tonight.



The one's on His side of the board, the one's who really need this place can't stand it when he's in here.

At the bar is a man with the most outrageous hat, a beer belly the size of at least a twenty four pack, two bottles of wine, and maybe a pitcher or two in there somewheres.

He calls himself Hellsing sometimes.

We're the only ones in the bar tonight. Doc's off the bar.

"There are those who call me the dark sword of torment. When I see evil, I destroy it with my terrible vengeance! I am known for my impossible skill, able to deflect a bullet with my skull. Totally did that. Doctor's said it glanced right off, I was back to hunting that target the next day! Yeah! I'm the best there is at what I do, and what I do is proxy hunting! Ever heard of proxies, son?"

The Man pushed up his rediculous hat with the mouth of his bottle and then took another plug, the rain dripping off his large body like it was fleeing from him, trying to escape his body. I couldn't blame them.

The worst part is every week I tell him I work for the other team and every week he throws a fit and tries to start a fight, and then runs away. He does this Every Week. I guess he's just lonely.

"They're evil man, totally evil. They're bitches of a faceless guy in a suit. Their minds are weak, but they are cunning. They're fond of riddles and codes, and they're not bad in a scrap.  BUT THE DARK SWORD OF TORMENT CANNOT BE STOPPED BY SUCH BUTTFUCKERY! Is that a word? It better be a word. It's totally a word. Yeah! I've hunted about five so far. Only one has escaped. The other two sort of got arrested, or I got arrested and they admitted they just couldn't handle me, and of them...I think he was a proxy. He talked about mudkips a lot, so I assumed preemptively that he was from Something Awful where this thing first showed up. Mudkips are a Something Awful thing you know. Anyways, I decked him, and told him never to follow me again. Then I took his glasses and stomped on them. He cried for mommy, but I didn't care. No proxy is fooling me"

I turned to The Girl and motioned for a Blue Moon. Ideally, there would also be an orange, but Doc's too cheap for fruit. Not in his establishment.

"You're looking at me awfully funny. What are you laughing at?! Proxies are real man! Maybe it was mudkips last time. Next time, they'll be talking about "Epic Fail" and their "memes". But make no mistake, they're after me. They know I know their secret. They know I can follow in the footsteps of our great leader, Zero, and crush them where they hide."

He took off his hat and the sack of shit actually had tears in his eyes. Goddam.

" And once they're gone, the faceless guy is NOTHING. I'll totally kill him with my bare fucking MANLY HANDS."

He lifted his sausage fingers and sweaty hands into the air like a toddler. An angry toddler.

"Do you question. The power. Of. My. BARE. FUCKING. MANLY. HANDS?!"

"Goddam, crazy keep it to yourself" The Girl says. She's not as used to this as the rest of us are, rest her soul.

"INSANE?! I'm fucking amazing! I am the dark sword of torment! I am HELLSING, who takes power from the souls of every man he slays! But not women. That'd just be fucked up. In any case, proxies can't be women, I think, which is pretty nice."

She rolls her eyes, and spits into his bottle expertly as he turns to face me again, still rambling. I've finally had enough, though.

"Jesus Dickless, fuck off. You know who I am! I'm the same fucking guy you do this too every week! The Phantom Proxy of Broadway! The Actor Agent!"

The Girl sighed heavily and began rumaging under the bar. 

"MY NAME IS RICHARD! I... I...I'll crush you! But I need to get my mighty sword, in the style of Zero's, from my car. I'll be back in five! Count them! Five minutes!"

He flees the  bar and runs back into the rain. Another Dog lost in the night, his scent being washed away by the rain. No one will know where he came from and where he went into the night.

I hope he's here next time in spite of myself.

Tonight I go to see Doc.

All the donuts have names that sound like prostitutes
And the moon's teeth marks are on the sky
Like a tarp thrown all over this
And the broken umbrellas are like dead birds
And the steam comes out of the grill
Like the whole town is ready to blow
And the bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos
And everyone is behaving like dogs

And the horses are coming down Violin Road
And Doc looks dead on his feet

I nod at him and he just stares away into the distance, his back hunched, still playing chess with a man in a felt hat and woolen coat just as old as he.

Both are coughing int he rain. 


the downtown trains are full with
all those Brooklyn girls
they try so hard to break out of their little worlds
unaware of what's on the other side

they scatter scatter like crows

they have nothing that will ever capture your heart. Plaiun, ordinary.
theyr'e just thorns without the rose

The bar is quiet as it always is
this place is special, a place for us

And no one brings anything small into the bar
They all started out with bad directions
And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear
One for every year He's gone she said
Such a crumbling beauty
Ehhhh, there's nothing wrong with her a hundred dollars won't fix
She has that razor sadness that only gets worse
I ask about her and about Doc and she responds
They have been here as long as I have though
we watch the others come and go
And all the rooms they smell like diesel

She asks if I want a room tonight


you take on the dreams of the ones who have slept there
And I'm lost in the window
And I hide in the stairway
And I hang in the curtain
And I sleep in your hat

With the clang and the thunder of the Southern Atlantic going by
And the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet
Till you're full of rag water and bitters and blue ruin
And you spill out over the side to anyone who'll listen

And I've seen it all
I've seen it all through the yellow windows of the evening train

Your choice. Doc the Man or the Girl.

Act Two Scene Four

You ever seen a grown man naked?

....

Anybody?

Showing my age.

 Anyways.

I've been watching, in between rehersals. I got a role in a major theater production somewhere in the city. Look for Maurice! We'll be big!


 In the meantime, I'm trying to get a preliminary story idea for a Slender Man Play into the right hands. It's a little hard convincing people of the merits of an internet fad, but in the age of spiderman the musical things seem to be possible.

How many views does Marble Hornets have these days?



There's a market, for sure.


I keep watching you people. Climb, fall, climb, fall, climb, fall, reappear, shout a challenge, climb fall, organize, fall enmasse



Heh, when I was a little boy, I loved to act. Brian and I would always act out our little stories, whatever we had read or heard or watched, and Rachael and Sarah and our parents would watch and laugh and clap when we were done.

We were all three of us, best friends our whole lives.

I'll never forget the day we finally got Rachael out of the audience, and onto our little stage with us.

She sang like an angel.




But she acted like shit.

SO I went around the city today spary painting Operator Symbols on random things. This serves two three purposes. The first, It will infect hopefully people who don't know about Him, thus taking the heat off a bit. Second, It'll freak out any get any runners off balance in the area. 
 third its a warning forgive me forgive me forgive me

So, I've been feeling pretty good lately. Lots of genre blind protagonists running amok as usual. I hear an acting role might be due for me soon. I'll be more busy if that does happen.

Acting and the insurance money covers my bills and expenses pretty easily. But I do like to act, and it also helps me do my Job.



please please I have a story to tell I have a story to tell I have a story to tell I ave a story to tell I have a story to tell about

Act Two Scene Three

Today I woke up early, got on my gardening gloves, and went out to the community garden.

My neighboorhood has a lot set aside where people grow veggies and stuff as a way to eat well on the cheap. However as people have jobs and shit people garden in shifts and the more work you put in the more you get out of it when the veggies come up. But I just work for free because I like to give back, and between acting gigs I literally don't have anything to do and insurance will be paying out for a long time, long enough to cover rent.

So I weeded out the lettuce and watered it (If its not watered early it'll start to welt, to late in the day and it'll start to burn due to the water) and then got in my car and drove out to Woodlawn

It was a pretty decent drive, but I got out there before to late and then it was a brief trip to the liquor store and a hop skip and a jump to the proper McDonalds. I guessed because it seemed like the most likely option.


I mumbled a few words in the parkinglot. I didn't really know what to say so I quickly proceeded to the next step.

I lifted the first of the champagne bottles I brought, Shouted "Minori!"Again and again as I threw the bottles at the Macdonalds. The bottles broke a window, shattered against the door, on the roof. Champagne went everywhere.

And then I drove home.

I hope Minori'dve liked that.

Act Two scene Two

I want you to close your eyes

NOT NOW YOU DUNCE LATER JESUS YOU NEED YOUR EYES TO READ.

But I want you to close your eyes and imagine the place you feel safest.

I came from a town in the forest, you know? I lived in a tiny town in Connecticut when I was young. B
ut there was this lake.

A big ol' Reservoir that was flooded over the old town and a young Maurice and Brian and Rachael used to drive down to the Resevoir and sit on the hood of his truck and laugh and talk and later a young Maurice would lead Rachael into the water, and then into the woods...

But before those days, we swam through the resevoir, fished into it, climbed the trees around it, and on one occasion, a young young Maurice and Brian smoked a cigar between the two of them, the first tobacco either of us had ever smoked. As the sun set. We were eleven.

I went out there, yesterday on a lark and threw a whole box of cigars into the resevoir as far as I could, one by one. I like to think they sank down to the flooded town.

What do you imagine?

Well, I do apologize for the lack of updates. I was working at the soup kitchen last night.

I work in a little soup kitchen in Hoboken. I make simple lunches and serve them to the homeless of the area. I chose this one because the NYC ones are a little too crowded and theres more chance I'd actually have to do my real job, you know?

But I serve food to these people. I like doing it. It's a good way to give back to the community.

But it also works as a good way to see any new proxies or Runners in the area.

After a while, any runner or untended proxie will end up in a Soup Kitchen. Like me, they tend to avoid the bigger ones in NYC because those lines are atrocious.

It wasn't the reason I started working there, but down the line it became my secondary objective there.

I can't do anything productive anymore, without it being drawn in to this other thing.

But you get what you pay for. Hyuck Hyuck Hyuck.


 Anyways, things have been quiet lately. Quiet is good. I like quiet.

 Though I do prefer the noise and bustle. That's why I love the city, love the stage.

All the worlds a Stage and we are but players!

Did I say that already?

Act Two Scene one:Stage Directions

Nobody knows everything
We know this to be true
Everything is difficult
Except what's in front of you
But it's complicated even under your nose
Bullshit math equations
And your highs and your lows
And your manic depression
It comes and it goes
Your parasympathetic nervous system reacts
And you're in fight-or-flight mode
How's the world so small when the world is so large?
And what made the world, could I please speak to who's in charge?
Everything is real but it's also just as fake
From your daughter's birthday party to your grandmother's wake
And your bi-polar illness, it comes and it goes
You parasympathetic nervous system reacts
And you're in fight or flight
You're in fight or flight
You're in fight or flight mode

I've tried to know which words to sing so many times
And I've tried to know which chords to play
And I've tried to make it rhyme
And I've tried to find the key that all good songs are in
And I've tried to find the notes to make that great resounding din

 
But there's a BAD MAN IN EVERYONE
No matter who we are
There's a rapist and a Nazi living in our tiny hearts
Child pornographers and cannibals, and politicians too
There's someone in your head waiting to fucking strangle you

So here's to you, Mrs. Robinson
People love you more, oh nevermind, oh nevermind
In fucking fact, Mrs. Robinson
The world won't care whether you live or die, live or die
In fucking fact, Mrs. Robinson,
They probably hate to see your stupid face, your stupid face
So here's to you, Mrs. Robinson,
You live in an unforgiveng place.




----

I have a story to tell.

Enacte

Well helooooo Dahlings!

I've returned once more. Some fresh mountain air in my lungs, got away from the city for a while. Got in touch with myself, you know? Pet some dogs.

Things are looking up! The weather is warm, I've got a new job, and I just wanna....

SIIIIIIING!

Theres a stage somewhere. A brick wall behind a barely elevated stage. One spotlight, a stool, a guy with a guitar. Our handsome narrator.




You've been writing songs for all the wrong reasons.
For reasons you're not at liberty to say.
It wasn't to get rich or famous or get laid.
Mainly you wrote those fucking songs to drive him away.

And when you go to bed at night you're a skeleton.
With visions in your head too big to see.
And the insides of your mouth inflate and try to suffocate you.
It's hard, it's hard, it's hard to fall asleep.

And you've been looking for an honest way out for too long,
Because suicide is not the key.
And you hate the taste of alcohol and medicine.
Well the answer, the answer, the answer is plain to see.

So come along, lets get murdered!
Lets go to sleep and never wake up!
Lets find a loop-hole out of this!

He stops playing, throws the guitar in disgust. It shatters against the wall.

And everyone fucking claps.

-------