A Quick Word About ”Flow-Through Bags"

You’re a flow-through bag.

#SickBurn

WELCOME TO THE BRAINWASH AND BOOK TOUR...and blog...

(Lights up, center spot, on a small, empty stage. No set, no scenery, just a simple desk with an open laptop on it. The Performance Blogger sits behind the computer and addresses the audience directly. That’s right, directly.)

Hey everybody and welcome. I hope you’re comfortable. Though, let’s face it, comfort may not be what we should be concerned about these days. Am I right?

(A small “whoop” from in the back.)

There you go. Somebody gets it. So, welcome to the Ol’ Timey Brainwash and Book Tour and...Blog...and show? You know, as I sit here, staring into the darkness that I know is both the void and your unquenchable need for distracta-validation, I think about how’d I’d rather be doing this as a show - a show show. I mean...it is a show. It’s a blog - but it’s a show. And I think about how I’d much rather have you, the audience, here with me, a big roomful of living bodies, sitting right in front of me, in the dark, suspended in the moment, together, with me, us, sharing the space, breathing each other’s air-

(A cough from the back row over on the right.)

 The same planetary air we all share -

 (Another cough.)

 Breathing in each other -

(The coughs explode into a full on fit, an endless spasm of wet, hacking cough. Everybody starts thinking about blood stains on handkerchiefs and all those pictographs showing how airborne droplets move around small spaces. No one’s into the show anymore. Or the blog. The Performance Blogger addresses The Cougher in The Dark.)

Hey, Sir Coughs-A-Lot, you wanna take it outside? I’m runnin’ a blog show here, not a triage tent in the Wal Mart parking lot.

 SIR COUGHS-A-LOT: I’m fine (cough). I’ll be fine (hack). I’m good. (Hack!) Just need a little water.

 (Coughs-A-Lot sips some water and immediately hack-sprays it out over the entire right side of the audience. The Audience goes berserk.)

AM#1: That spit take’s going viral! It’s a viral spit take!

AM#2: They gots the Deltas!

AM#3: It’s Covid Connie! Look everybody, it’s Covid Connie!

COUGHS-A-LOT: I am not Covid Connie! Stop calling me that! (Hack!) I’m not-

(HAAACK! And this time a small piece of green gravy flies across the room and kersplat! hits the Performance Blogger right in the eye.)

 AM#4: Superspreader event!

 (The crowd stampedes. It’s like Woodstock II up in there but without all the ecstasy and Limp Bizkits.)

AUDIENCE – Outta my way! / My concern for others has evaporated! / Fauci was right about Wu Tang! / When y’all said live experimental live blog-theater nobody said nothin’ bout me bein’ a guinea pig for your disease stockpile! I ain’t no petri dish! (Etc.)

(In a flash, The Audience has disappeared and once again, The Performance Blogger is alone. An opportunity to heal, to come together, to laugh and maybe make a few bucks is gone. The Performance Blogger addresses the now empty MindSpace Theater. At $350 a night, may as well enjoy the air conditioning.)

Well, shoot.

(Sigh)

Maybe I’m glad it’s a blog and not a show. I mean, it is a show but...I’m not sure I’m ready for the close up and breathing experience again. Apparently you’re not. Running out of here like that. Look, somebody left their purse.

 (Sigh)

I thought it would be the usual crowd. Two friends, two acquaintances, and one lost soul who misread the description and thought it was a revival meeting or something. I try to be explicit in the explanations but…
I guess I’m just not ready for more than five people at a time. (Begins going through the purse.) Damnit, no cash? And who carries Lifesavers anymore? Anyway, welcome to it. The show, I mean. The Blog. The show blog. The show that’s a blog. The – this thing.
Whatever.
Welcome to it.

BLACKOUT!

#ViralSpittakeIsMyNewFunkMetalDanceBand #ShredForHire #NoHashtagsForTheBlogGag

Next up...Crazy Visual Word Salad >>>

The Great Blog Impossibility Act

    Part of the trade off in using technology is giving up some vision. What you wanted to do gets watered down into what you're allowed to do, a sort of techno-authoritarianism. If plain ol' authoritarian -ism is "My way or the broken jaw way," techno-authoritarianism is "My way or the no way." Or "My way or maybe your columns don't line up and you get text overwriting text and now it's impossible to read. This is what you get for leaving me out of clubs in grade school."

    More on this later!
    

LAUNCH! (or the entry from JULY 4, 2021)

("...Instead of going to a cookout, he stayed home...We'll I don't like it either, Dedra! He just stays up there in the room all day...he says he's blogging....I don't know what it means, Dedra! That's why I'm calling you!...Okay, look, I can't do this right now. I'm on in five minutes and I have to make sure they wipe down the pole...because it's got sweat all over it, Dedra! You know how it is!")

-Overheard backstage at Shooters III. That was your mom talking. Your mom. The stripper.

* * * * * *

    Oh my god! America is 243 years old today. You think your grandpa has trouble understanding how to order dementia meds on a smart phone, imagine a 243 year old understanding voter suppression. Forget it!
    Today, I declare my independence from not having a blog. Am I 30 years too late? Possibly. Should I care? Maybe. Will I eventually invite you to go fu*k yourself if you have an issue with it? Allow me to extend that invitation riiiiiiight now. (RUDE! How dare me! Who do I think I am? Also: Where do I get off / What makes me so smart / That attitude of mine is really gonna get me in trouble blah blah blah, etc.)
    Now, I’m not 243 years old, nor was I established with the institution of slavery at the core of my very soul, so I don’t have much to complain about. I'll have to think of some stuff. You know, things that affect me.
    Is the bar that low? Apparently. And to put a point on it, I live in a small town in the South East so my bar is so low I can’t even hum it! And while that joke may not exactly make “sense,” it does stand as a nice example of what I’m shooting for here: 100 word minimums, a fuck ton of sass, and proof that I am, in fact, far too big for my britches. I mean, seriously, who do I think I am? And where do I get off?
    For starters, I’m gonna get off right here.

    (Exits bus right in front of Shooters III, pulls out a stack of single dollar bills.)

    I guess I'm about to finance your allowance, son. 'Cause your mom's a stripper!

    #SickBurn
    #ShootersIII
    #ThirdInASeries

    (This entry is over!)

    BLACKOUT!

*u

Managing to Survive

    Here we go.

    Alright, for the past decade or so, I've sold my time to survive in the rental property induhstry. Yes, that's right. I'm a professional on-site manager. I'm the one you call when you get confused by your light bulbs and can't figure out where the smell is coming from (hint: It's you. It's your place. It's how you live.) So much of this job is baby sitting, keeping old people from falling into the pool, picking up dog poop in the hallway, explaining the same things to the same people over and over and over.

    

    No, your desk lamp light bulb is not part of maintenance.

    No, the pool's been there the whole time.

    No, we really do need you to take your dog outside the building to poop. Outside your apartment isn't outside enough. 
 

    I sit on an unnatural perch and have unnatural insight into how people live (unnaturally). How people organize their lives (or don't), manage the space in which they live (or don't) and conduct themselves in a small, forced community is endlessly fascinating and ultimately exhausting.

    Also: Cars are ultimately more trouble than they are worth. We should trade the cars for more trains and walking. 

    If I had to come up with one word (words!) for this job, it would be DON'T. But "free" rent is pretty attractive, isn't it? And no evicting the manager during the pandemic...right?

    A better word, or at least the word I try to use as much as possible, is the word REASONABLE. Most of the time if people could just be reasonable, the problems would evaporate or never materialize in the first place.

    I think this is a valuable topic to explore, this business of selling temporary space to people who need housing. It's weird. It's upsetting. A lot of the the renters' and owners' day-to-day issues are manufactured (or at least avoidable). And a lot of it is completely unreasonable.

    And what's really unreasonable is the pilot I've been writing (and re-writing) for ten+ years (Managing to Survive) is still not a global hit. I mean, I'm supposed to translate this life-altering chaos job into an easy to follow narrative with relatable (but not boring) characters, hilarious (but believable) situations, with deep (but not preachy) insight into the human condition AND it's all gotta happen in under 32 pages AND, let me get this straight, it's suppsed to be funny? 

    Now that's unreasonable.


    (But I'll always take a meeting! Also, Draft #5 is done!)

Brainwashing II: Return of the Washed Brains

    Now you may be saying (out loud - do it - say it out loud!) Goodly, I happen to prefer the flavor -enhanced, taste-impacted, hand-crafted artesianal cheeses from Global Cheesers' Signature Select line of deli-style serving cheeses. You need to understand, this cheese is taste-impacted!

    And that's a great point. And who can argue with a line of cheeses that has the company president's signature right there on the label. I mean, that's pretty much a legally binding guarantee of quailty. I also understand that seeing is believing is seeing etc. So, if you haven't taken a moment for yourself lately, side step this little bit of bloggy nonsense right here and read about the man whose been making your breakfast your whole life. I present to you the King of Eggs and Bacon, Edward Bernays.

    He's called "The Father of Spin" but he should really be called "The Almighty God of Propaganda." 

    Read up, cupcake. And if you aren't terrified when you're done, then you, my friend, are part of the problem.

    #OhSnap!

Brainwashing

    Okay, so, we all know that the brainwash is active, ongoing, aimed directly at us and working. In fact, I think it's pretty obvious that the modern methods of brainwashing are more effective than ever. And the advances are not only technological but cultural. I mean, do you think of advertising as brainwashing? Do you consider political lies a form of psy-ops? What about the mythologies you chose to believe? What's coming through the various feeds you ingest on the daily? And when do the stories you tell yourself about yourself stop being just stories and start becoming dominant thoughts? Character traits? Behaiviors? 

    But wait, Goodly! (You’re saying) I’m in full control of my brains. I’m modern. I know the difference between ad copy and news, fact and fiction, truth and lie. I know why I think what I think about what I think. How could I possibly be brainwashed?

    Great question. I know it’s great because I wrote it and then put it in your head.
    And that’s the answer. It’s happening now. PICKLES! You weren’t thinking about PICKLES but you are now. Because you’re consuming the words I’m writing and I’ve decided you need PICKLES in your brain right now. Your brain is recording these words. All of them. PICKLES! And whether or not you accept the premise of the content of the words (words!) you’re consuming (that premise being I am brainwashing you right now) it doesn’t matter because at the end of this entry one thing is for sure: You’re gonna be thinking PICKLES! because I wrote PICKLES! enough for that word (PICKLES!) to stick in your head. I’ve done it to you. I put a hook in your brain. A hook named PICKLES!


    Coming to NETFLIX this fall:
    (Cue soft music)
    Of all the prosthetic arms in the hospital, this one had a dream: To be part of the egg juggling act in the local clown circus. Don’t miss A HOOK NAMED PICKLES. It will crack your shell and make you cry (or at least run all yolky all over the place).

    NETFLIX: Get friendly with someone who pays for it!

    P.S: Pickles!

            P.P.S: I done watched Tiger Town twelve times!

            P.P.P.S: I've just been informed it's not called "Tiger Town." The actual title is "Tiger King." And I did watched it twelve times. But it's not my fault! It was pandemic couch time!