by Brendan deVallance
Little Theatre
Dixon Place
161 Chrystie Street
New York, New York
May 14th, 2012
We are people. That is what we are and I am confident that anyone
hearing this is also people.
We, I’m in it with you, the struggle. The lack luster finish to the day
gone by. The atmosphere of the space you occupy is not only in
your mind it is actually in the atmosphere. This space is filled with
black paint and bright lights. And to some degree probably glue.
Rooms filled with things that people need, like floors. And all of
these people. I really don't know why any of you are here, I did not
invite you. Well I did invite some of you personally. And I'd like to
thank you for coming. I don't want anyone to be afraid of
supporting this. This is where it is at. This is the mind set, the cable
box of futures past. My gas pump heart box replicator. Science will
fix all of this some day. That is where the cure is, in numbers and
dreams that I will make. Like plain paper we must come up with
the worth. What is bang. Where will it take us. Hopefully not out of
the room, or into the next life.
I’m not made of dirt, oh wait, I could be made of dirt. It is very
likely in fact. My sad tales of grime gone bad. Tales of history and
gloom as we look to the future. The future that is made of left and
right turns. Stories of my misspelt youth align with the stories of
the day. The more things change, the more things change into
something else. Another day and another outfit. I was once left off
my own list, on purpose.
