Fake Pork Chop Sonata

by Brendan deVallance

Little Theater
107 Norfolk Street
New York, New York
September 26, 2005


Stage set

The Script


I’m fine, really. Not lost, not unkempt for the dreaming. I am static and standing—still. Or is it still standing—wait that makes no sense: Still standing. Because I am not so still. Got left in the ashes you see. Some kind of trade in deal where by all the good art gets hit in the gullet and all the bad art takes its place. Like right here it is my face this time that you can’t stop looking at. The cheesy flames and burning frames and the good luck next time Mr. deVallance. Well it isn’t as bad as all of that now is it? At least I have this and I have you. And you will remain like a good friend to me right? All of you admit to being my friend incase I may need one? In need and indeed and all of that? I once was lost and now I am scrunched. And my leg hurts and my watch is broken and It was really hard to park around here tonight.

Excuse me, I must sit down now. Won’t someone please give me your seat. Consider me as the pregnant lady on the subway or a man with one leg and a crutch. {sign} Please, I beg of you. You sit there all mocking me with your disbelief at me. And me up here all better than you with my elevated stage and fancy costumes trying to rattle the cages. I can’t even annoy the neighbors. Stages may fall and cages may crumble. My last fear is to die among the ruins of this {sign} . Or be killed by my own junk falling on me. It is sad that I am me sometimes especially when I can’t get what I want. And if you want your needs to be met you must first let them be known:
1. I want to be well liked
2. I want the respect of my peers
3. I want good gas mileage

I Hate umbrellas for gods sake! Am I the only one?— sorry for venting. It’s like giving free quarters to everyone with a hole in there pocket.

{sign} =

The Puppet

Stand — don't make me

Scream it at the top of my lungs and stop time with a wrist watch. It is all easy. Stop the train! Stop this train. I am the Medieval MacArthur versus the magic Rommel. I live like a dream and stop on a scream and shovel the snow with aplomb. A true ordinary genius with near blue eyes and greatness as my moments pass until next time. Next time will be great. I have always said that and my jacket, though threadbare, will be fixed by then as well. “Oh well”, I thought . . . “Oh well.” The last time I found myself here, well that was then and this is now, I sort of lost my way. But this time I have a road map, and the road map is you. I am like a mirror, a broken mirror anyway, complete with bad luck. I hate to hate but somethings seem worth it. Umbrellas, yes, but also cell phones. I also hate cell phones {sign} But I like people and people are often talking to me on the other end. And without people we are all just coffin fodder with very slim margins. Yes in the end I am glad I am me. In the beginning I just wanted to play with toys . . . Not so different now I guess. Standing in line with the stranglers, hoping and praying that the fights will be fought without me. Benchwarmers united and I sit this one out.

Good times and fun are now on the back burner. Life an how to change it: I will follow my own dream right down the pipes to the sea. What’s that flushing sound I keep hearing? What’s not understood is the common good and not so common sense and nights that I live in the earth imposed darkness and my heart that bleeds out for free booze. Or free people, or free Willie. I will not belong to any handmade freedom, wait, no I will ONLY belong to handmade freedom. Send in the clouds and bring down the lights, the gloom will be left in the breeze.

My motto is try anything once, just don’t start with suicide.

Toaster Shelf

Photo: Billy Miller

Pork Chop Guitar

(it would not work)

Photo: Billy Miller

Jeff Jones introduces . . .

Rob Erickson at work. He performed just before me: an amazing musical voice piece with all kinds of cool stomp boxes.

And hey, that's Mike Taylor setting up some kind of tech in front of the stage.