Oh, My Oblivion

by Brendan deVallance

Little Theatre
Dixon Place
161 Chrystie Street
New York, New York
May 14th, 2012


This show was currated by Rob Erickson.


The Script

Additional music by Modern English,
Tom Waits.


  Shoe Ears Spiel
Ice will melt, ice will follow you, Sounds will fade into the distance as the marching band marches on. March on, march on The good dreams are set to flame and the heat resonates across A stark forecast. But I am out side it all, I am up here. I am alone. I am watching it all unfold. The car crash, the slip into oblivion. I am not made of wood . . . . any . . . . . more. I see the car crash in slow motion as you do. Oh, but that is just how they chose to shoot that scene. A good time? Describe that to me please. Fun is always a memory held for the next day. Fun is not performed in real time. I will gladly pay the price now for the fun I had last night [stole car]. A good dream is worth its weight in gold. I am living proof of that. It is, shall we say, imaginary. Not as real as it could be. If I had an extra 20 minutes I would shake each and every one of your hands [yes, both hands]. And I'd like to do away with that formal term that gets hung on you for attending this: The Audience. Audience? Really? I prefer On-Lookers. Can we all agree to use that term from now on? Or should on-lookers be standing, walking away? That might not work in here. Perhaps I should cause more car crashes. On-lookers seem to be all over the car crash scene. Those that stand and look. Well I fell like those are my peeps, my tribe. Over the shoulder perhaps. The search thru rains of sand, taken with a grain of salt. Whole grain bread. Your search had no results, My browser told me that the other day. It's my new motto, or epitaph. Browsers? Hmm . . . No, I'm sticking with Onlookers. File not found, I've always loved the sound of that. File not found. Say it with me "File not found".

Signs during spiel:


I asked for a volunteer from the audience to read the Toaster Hand Man introduction.
The letter H was broken on my keyboard, so I had to use the letter K for H.

Mr. Toaster Kand Man
From tke deptks of depravity, to tke skoulders
of kumanity.
Toaster Kand Man is tkere to save you, kelp you,
regale you.

Born witk a toaster for a rigkt kand, Toaster kand man is not immune to tke poisonous barbs of a cruel world. But ke is kere for you. For us. For all of kumanity, despite kis less tkan kuman qualities.

Do not underestimate tke power of toast!

  Honor thine burnt toast
Despair oh, despair drive me to the store. Buy me milk and peanut butter. Take me to the words that are not spoken I will fix them when broken Let me not destroy, let me not Stirring the pot with no plot, The grind. Stand next to me as I rocket thru the turnstiles. Stand against, fluttering, on one broken wing.Look what I unfound.It is hard to see the sun at night. That quiet sound you hear from behind me, that silence? I brought that with me. Like a razor blade brings an edge. "Of all the killed things—I like you the best" (said to road kill). (TOAST) Scrapping burnt toast to redeem it. I think this is how government works right? If you see a slice of bread in the first act, it's bound to be burnt by the third. This I know for sure. Mostly because I am doing it. Not much knowledge worth knowing can be learned any other way. So i'll stop wasting your time by telling you things. I will show you. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, but not a digital clock.

Photos courtesy of Jeremy Darty


Here is the studio version of the song I sang at the end of the piece.

Axe Me Anything