PROLOGUE to Boy’dega: How I Met YR @Muvah
“MICK’S DRINK OF CHOICE WAS A COCKTAIL CREATED IN A ONCE THRIVING, NOW CLOSED BAR, CALLED “THE PHOENIX”. IT WAS NAMED “THE SHADE” INVENTED BY THREE PEOPLE ONE OF WHICH REMAINS NAMELESS THE OTHER TWO: JARELL JOHNSON AND RYAN MITCHELL.”
The cover to “Clockwork Orange” the novel not the movie was used as a reference image like Catholic saints’ cards. An image where so much concentration, adoration, and metaphysical energy that it produces the following story. It was held in the hands, fallen asleep with and burned in a fire. A digital mockup was made to embody both its actual existence and the ideas it would conjure for its on-looker. Godparents showed up to assist with the cleaning, they’re the pair of gentlemen that now hold custody of Mick’s son.
MICK LOAN is the SOLUTION to MALE PREGNANCY, the Standup Comedian constantly seeking ways to sit down.
Boy’d’s paternal figure was only a consummate professional and that delusion only rung true to himself. In addition to maintaining his professional appearance, he was extremely late for his own arena debut. He was there as an opening act for the period’s biggest comedian, Faith Cotem. Faith’s televised special was being recorded to be broadcast in a few weeks “Stand Oops in the Weather”. A drizzling sky caused by some pissing monkey that had scaled a sky scraper, never meant shit to Eddie Murphy. She had taken her feminist approach and thrown it out the window in order to delve into rough pedantic frat humor. Jokes about balls and sniffing them would always get her the strongest laughs.
HANDS IN THE AIR Y’ALL
This is the I that isn’t we.
An unrelenting round of applause is generated by raw hands, hands that had performed labor in order to make cash to buy tickets to this very show. Hands that were being forced to clap until told otherwise.
“And in the amble towards the stage I SHAKE (the fear) SHAKE (the world) SHAKE (the shoulders) SHAKE (the hands).” – comment directed towards documentary filmmakers via Mick Loan
White clothing and bleached white teeth would keep me pure while engaging in such a profane profession. Tactically, I decided to wear all white on stage without underwear. The outfit’s thirst was immediately quenched once I reached the stage, taking the water bottle, addressing the audience, and dousing myself in it (a juvenile vulgar spring break contest.) The thin linen exposed everything (YOU MUST SEE TV) the routine had begun, and the cameras were setup to watch one man ping-pong across a stage to catch the fading momentum throughout the night. I was only equipped with language as weaponry so I took to the props of this profession as a second language, a language more direct than mine ever could be.
MATERIALS: water bottle, a stool, a persona
An omitted img., your favorite sexed up tumblr fantasy, takes the water bottle off their desk, stares into your eyes and pours it all over themselves. The gif. ends. You receive a winking emoticon. That eventually ejaculates. And you still thirst for a hurst, your death drive kicks in and you want it to be a real feel, a real heal. And you scroll back up and re live for a moment a small traumatic event with a reduction in gratification. Impotence and inadequacy settles in as a natural phenomena and her counteragent shows up, a little blue pill.
At some point I began to talk in an approximation of a real language, some humorous hybrid, Spanglish or Frenglish.
(A round of punchlines were delivered and created fractured reactions amongst the audience.) Watching faces freeze in their position of Approval, LAUGHTER, ANGER, and DISGUST. With the data acquired tonight could a model regarding their lack of comprehension in the vicinity of an occupied stage be a gateway to humor? This for me, is somehow linked with the idea of demolishing superiority and a complete democratization comes to mind.
PROFANITY, thrown panties, and roses were cast in the air. Profanity e.g. [ U can’t tell a FUCKING JOKE. You’re a FUCKING joke. Get that fucking water bottle out of here. He’s drowning. The ONLY STOOL HE NEEDS IS HIS OWN SHIT. What he really needs is a damn JOKE] He thought about a scene he had watched a few nights before where two cops ambulate in a kitchen which had reportedly been the scene of a rape and shooting. In this amble they only utilize the word fuck and utterances to add dialogue to the scene. EuFREAKa, a few jokes begin to bubble to the surface.
I take my time,
“I love being an only child. Doesn’t it make you mad when people? Did you see on the news yesterday? Yo mama is so…”
At some point I was them the we that I wasn’t at the beginning. All the while, wondering what the hell I was doing. What was I losing?
A heckler stands up to chastises the set and because of that, a weapon is fashioned from the stool on the stage and is thrown into the audience. It pierces his foot causing little damage or at least not to the level Mick had hoped. A gun is pulled from his soaking wet clothing. The audience scatters and throws the entertainment terrorist into the center of the room leaving him there defenseless, while they occupy the perimeter. Aim is set directly at his jaw, his unfunny bone, where the gun is then fired and shatters the socket connecting the upper jaw and the lower mandible. It is sad that execution style had to be employed, but this is for the greater good.
MASK the sweat with the water. Douse the self again.
Rogaine was placed in his bag this morning as a PR suggestion to improve his career. He only thought about in the here and now because he was on the verge of losing his audience. The deterioration of his body in front of an arena of people, is also the deterioration of their bodies.
Online sources have even trained them to finish his jokes. If exposing oneself to the same television show and it could be funny in spite of rewinds, reruns, and replays so too can this stand up. When people buy this DVD and the tour is still running, their senseless re-watchings won’t destroy the material.
“ENCORE IN THE AFTERLIFE”
In the arena where three people break off into space, they discover their place of belligerence. One such instance occurs near the bathroom where a man has waited in line for a long time during the set. He goes in and discovers a note left on the floor which has carelessly fallen from someone’s pockets “Strong vibes, but highly unsure.” The man’s lunch had produced a bowel movement of the competitive nature, constipated yet still fuming. His brow was sweaty, tense and putting in work.This fight to release himself of his past, not only the sandwich he had eaten early this morning but to self examine by doing the poop test. He stood over the bowl inspected his feces, he had failed to produce the S shape it was a W. And in the next stool an L was left there steaming, rotten, and rudely. A flush pushes this quarrel out of the memory, and leaves him there embarrassed before the demise of his opponent.
Slightly bumped by the constipated gentleman rushing to leave, a kindred spirit stood over the sink in the men’s room. While the line for stall vacancy remains around the hall, this man stares in the mirror and starts scratching his head unearthing all the dead skin, flakes of white dandruff line a unsanitized sink. He pulls a small bottle of shampoo from his pocket to wash his hair, the bathroom had taken a turn for the worse and this ridiculous compulsion took everything over the edge. Clogged sinks were a picture in picture of a dressing room and this room to see both a box of Rogaine and both eye contacts had fallen into the sink forming a sphere, holding shallow pools of water and freshly scratched dandruff. The bathroom was becoming over populated and in a desperate need for room, the third restroom, the transgender room was implemented into society a few years prior. Every establishment provide one, but non- transgendered men and women were taking advantage of it because of their entitlement. But to eliminate negotiations some bathrooms became CO-ED. That room too was at capacity and had a line down the hall.
The mirror mirror on the wall, registered a humming, a thing he too could call beautiful. But a confrontation takes place igniting a screaming match. “You don’t need a voice to lip sync.” The M to F was confronted by a man whose teeth had a gap that welcomed ridicule. The mirror, mirror was accusatory and called both of the fighting audience members racial and sexist pejoratives. The mirror behaved like a hologram exchanging Celia in both states of her existence. One would depict the male face of yesteryear, but one would project an ideal female of the future. Instead of fighting each other they creatively generate slurs for a mirror and its whole race. They broke the mirror into tiny pieces that only prayer or magic could reconstitute, it was a violent spectacle. The M to F ,Celia, use to be a background singer for a local soul act. She assumed that the gentlemen was implying that she was a terrible singer. Her throat problems as of late, were only a minor issue.
Back in the auditorium the body of the heckler had been taken by some of the audience members and propped up like a puppet so that his body could still speak on their behalf if they collectively had any disapproval. In the audience there were small formations of sects that had become apathetic, critical, enthralled, and suspicious. The space had a n amplified sense of tensions and possibility. A stand up could only wish to keep the audience on their toes in such a way. A way that gave them permission to live out its instincts.
EARLIER in the NIGHT
In the car on the way there he fashions a dressing room for himself trying to put on concealer to disguise his age.
There was a storm, one that had a peculiar feature, one that slightly deviated from typical precipitation. It was acid rain. It had eroded parts of the exteriors of buildings. Public institutions appeared as the ruins that they were attempting to emulate. The cars became fluid Hans Arp sculptures on wheels. Nissans, Volkswagens, and Mini Coopers were all small saharan animals that were in a state of liquified metal. The encore was happening, but no one knew that the building was under attack. No one knew that they would be returning to a life where potholes had been filled with acid, water, and the tops of buildings a motion blur. Mick walks Debra to her car.
A bubble seems to be keeping the water levels from leaving a designated force field around the arena. Everyone will drown.
CURTAINS fall from a rod in the sky, held there by telepathy. All of the people wanted the destruction to end, a collective consciousness wanted to save Mick and Debra. This was done to ensure they made it to a bed, and applause (the need of hands) was so important for folding back sheets, for engaging orifices for uploading data. Tangled fingers in a yellow and orange wig, helped to select our candidate. Debra would have to go back to her construction job in the city before being hired by Larkin…
PATERNITY TEST GROUPS ARE AS FOLLOWS:
David Foster Wallace
Frank Leon Roberts
THE CLAP<THE APPLAUSE
Sperm swam, a decathlon to creation and instead of honoring an individual through natural selection and avoiding the dignity of the few, they formed a network, betraying all that nature had done. To coalesce into a colony of sperm holding hands waiting to penetrate the membrane of an egg at the same time, a democratized version of conception. So groups A, B, C, D, and E each selected a representative they all jump into the unknown.