SANCTUARY

my land is bare of chattering folk;

the clouds are low along the ridges,

and sweet's the air with curly smoke

from all my burning bridges.

                                                       dorothy parker~1931                                                                                     

dorothy parker...redux

about 6 years or so ago, i started working on a play about the genius of dorothy parker...i'll cut to the chase and say, lest anyone thinks i don't get it, 'dorothy parker was one of the greatest, most versatile writers of the 20th century'

and guess what?

she never graduated junior high school or whatever society has decided to name that period in our young lives when we felt fairly good about ourselves -- that gentle feeling that transmuted into hate due to the onset of puberty...and brainwashing

thanks to everyone who came out last week to see me perform in my, well, what some may call irreverent, (read truthful),view of mrs. parker

and, while i'm ranting -- it is not disrepectful to generously use the words fuck and shit in my piece as those were two of parker's favorite words--

she was who she was because she, that's who she was--for god's sake just look at the woman...she was a partier to beat all

if you want to see someone all dolled-up in 1920's garb and put on some sanctimonious bullshit about mrs. parker, be my guest -- only remember to tell the audience that what you're doing is saving them and yourself from the truth...

fuck! i feel so relieved~