Uncategorized – Page 6

Broken Bird: Part Two

December 12, 2013December 12, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Me: I made eggs, are you hungry?

Him: Okay, I guess. Wait, no. I’m fine. I’m getting fat.

Me: You’re never going to be fat.

Him: Where’s Karl?

Me: He left a few hours ago. He had to get to work.

Him: Work… I know I’ve heard that word before. Work….

Me: I know, I’ve read about it, too. Who can say for sure, what this ‘work’ is? I understand everyone is always looking for it, and they dislike it when they have it?

Him: No, I think you’re thinking of ‘love.’

Me: I stand corrected.

(pause)

Me: So, I need to say this: My feelings were hurt last night.

Him: What? Why? Oh…

Me: Right. Karl and I were on our second date.

Him: I didn’t know that!

Me: I think I mentioned it, yesterday. I was excited about this one.

(pause)

Him: How did it go?

Me: Well, I dunno. It was going well. I guess I shouldn’t have…

Him: You know, I really like him!

Me: Yes. You two really seem to like one another.

(pause)

Him: Let’s just have this out. What are you upset about?

Me: Well, I kind of thought that Karl and I were on a date. I wanted you to meet us at Sugarland, because you’re living with me, and I consider you a good friend, by now.

Him: I am your friend.

Me: Right, and I feel like saying this, then – I don’t think it was very kind, or considerate of you to sleep with him in my bed, on our second date.

Him: I don’t think he thinks you two were on a date.

Me: At this point, no, neither do I. I don’t date people that fuck my friends during the first phase of the relationship. You have to wait a year or two, before you start fucking my roommate.

Him: It could have been the three of us…

Me: Yes. I know that. I felt that energy, but it’s hard for me to participate in that energy when I’m managing extreme hurt feelings.

Him: I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

Me: Right, well, I mentioned it was a date.

Him: I didn’t hear you.

(pause)

Him: You talk a lot.

(pause)

Me: I also cook and clean a lot.

(pause)

Him: I have to leave. I’ve got things to do today.

Me: I want you to know one more thing.

Him: Jesus, what now, grandpa?

Me: Just that I forgive you.

(pause)

Me: I forgive you both, and I am letting the anger for this go. My friendship with you is more important than a second date, and Karl is handsome, but not really my type.

Him: Seriously?

Me: I think so. I processed it, here, in the kitchen last night while you guys were soiling my sheets.

Him: I felt guilty when I saw you asleep on the couch.

Me: Well, you should check my blog. I blogged about it, last night, while you two were having sex.

Him: WHAT?

Me: Sorry. I had to get it out. I had to let it go. That’s part of what PIEFOLK is – it’s a place for me to put things I find awkward, sad, frustrating, or when people I care about do things I don’t quite understand.

Him: Michael, I’m sorry. Just tell me next time, or don’t invite me. You know what I’m like –

Me: When you’re drinking. Yes. And it’s hard to ask an actor, much less a drunk actor, to be anything less than the marvelous attention hound he was born to be. However, I’m a comic and a writer, and I want you to know – fair’s fair – this IS becoming material.

Him: Thanks for asking me. Looks like it already has become material.

Me: Uh, if you want to get on a high horse start paying rent.

(pause)

Him: I love you, big brother.

Me: Then give me a hug. I forgive you. I’m sorry.

Him: Me too.

Tuesdate: Flashback to 2011 – Broken Bird, Part One

December 10, 2013December 12, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him: Thanks for answering the phone.

Me: My god, of course, Bobby. Of course. What the hell happened? Do you want some tea, or… I have some braised pork in the fridge? I’m going to make some food.

Him: I know it’s way before five, but do you have anything stronger than tea?

(pause)

Me: Yes. Yes I do. I guess bourbon is okay?

Him: That’s fine. Have one with me?

Me: No. I have to teach later, but you can have my shot. I’ll pour a double.

(long pause, sets cutlery, boils water, makes food and drink)

Him: I guess you’re wondering what happened?

Me: James Blackheart happened?

Him: Yep.

Me: Who hit you? You look like you got into a fight with an elephant.

(pause)

Me: Do you need a hug?

(they embrace for a long tme, Bobby shakes, trembling)

Me: Okay, let’s sit back down. I don’t like this side of you. You’re too good looking to walk around with cuts and bruises on your face.

Him: He stopped taking his meds.

Me: And then what?

Him: He came home late at night and started throwing my things into the hallway. He was with another boy, and started screaming about how I didn’t live there anymore.

Me: Wait, what? He came home with another guy? Did you two break up?

Him: We were talking about it, but he’s constantly talking about that sort of thing. He’s not stable when he doesn’t take his meds.

Me: Or even when he does…

Him: He works very hard and makes a lot of money.

Me: So did Kim Jong Il.

Him: He’s a good provider, Michael. You don’t see that side of him, or when he’s sweet for days or weeks on end. He’s a good man.

Me: Good men don’t beat their boyfriends.

Him: It was complicated. We were shouting at each other, he was destroying things – throwing my things out of the apartment. He screamed about how he’d always paid the rent and he was evicting me. He asked the boy to stay and he did for a while, but then it got so ugly – the boy left. The neighbors came over, threatening to call the police. We argued with them. They called the cops.

Me: How did you get those cuts and bruises?

Him: James hit me. That had happened before.

Me: Wait, how often does he hit you?

(long pause)

Him: It had happened before. Not often, but often enough to make me afraid of setting him off. He’s got chemical imbalances.

Me: Bullshit. He’s a dick. He’s an evil man. That’s not a chemical imbalance – that’s a character flaw.

Him: People go through phases, Michael. People aren’t always kind.

Me: But kindness is always an option. There are folk who won’t treat you like that. There are nice, rich guys that would pamper you and spoil you, and not keep you on high terror lockdown.

(pause)

Him: But I love James.

Me: Did your father hit you?

(long pause)

Him: We were terrified of him, growing up. He wasn’t a nice man.

Me: Okay, so you’re now in a cycle of the same pattern with your boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend.

Him: Can I stay here for a while?

Me: Obviously. You’re moving in today.

Him: Thank you. I knew you’d help me.

Me: We don’t know each other that well, but I can’t have you walking around like an abused housewife. You’re talented. Have you been singing?

Him: Not really.

Me: You’re joining the band, for a while. You need to get back to what brings you joy.

Him: I can sleep in your bed with you, and we can –

Me: I think that phase of our relationship is over. You can take the couch, or if you have a date that goes particularly well, I’ll take the couch. We’ll split the chores, and for the first few weeks I’ll buy all the food. If you need to stay more than a month, we can talk about rent, etc. – is that okay?

Him: That’s more than… Thank you!

Me: How did you get that gash?

Him: He smashed a wine glass on my head, right before the police showed up.

Me: This relationship is over.

Him: We both stayed the night in jail. Different holding cells.

Me: Good lord.

Him: He’d wanted me to get a job, and the funny thing is I’d gotten a retail job, but it wasn’t good enough, or the money wasn’t coming fast enough. I’d only been working there for 10 days. It’s not enough time to develop a clientele, or anything. Plus he was jealous I was ‘flirting with old men in Chelsea’ for a living.

Me: Flirting with old men is your favorite pass time!

Him: Preach. Anyway, I think it’s over. I hope he hasn’t destroyed my things.

Me: We’ll get you new things, or if need be, we can go over there with a bunch of people so he can’t hurt you. Here’s an extra set of keys.

Him: Thanks mister. Do you have an enema? I need to get ready to go out tonight.

Me: Oh Jesus, this is gonna be trouble.

Him: I can behave, too.

Me: No. Just no hard drugs in the apartment, please, and don’t bring over anyone who looks like a junkie or a thief? And no singing after 1am. I have a coke-head neighbor who’s pushy and demanding about his quiet time. Every time I go over there he’s watching porn on multiple screens and cracked out of his skull.

Him: Is he cute?

Me: He’s like… if you smashed Chris Farley together with Golem. Is that your thing?

Him: No, but I like porn.

Me: Look. Here’s the enema. Please don’t leave it out.

Him: Don’t worry, I will!

(pause)

Me: I know, baby.

(pause)

I know you will…

(pause)

You’re safe now.

Letters

December 7, 2013December 7, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Dear Piefolk,

My name is Michelle. I am a brunette 29 year old French-American woman living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. My boyfriend, let’s call him Jeremy, is one year older than me. He just told me that he’s leaving me for a very wealthy 48 year old South American man.

Jeremy, a redhead with sad brown eyes and perfect skin has never claimed to be gay, acted gay, or even had a lot of close male friends. He broke it to me last Friday over a lovely Italian dinner that we couldn’t afford, saying literally “This charming man has the funds to take care of me. One day, maybe he will take care of us. In the meantime, I’m leaving you to live in Buenos Aires”. I chuckled and sipped my Chianti until I saw the look in his eye and then I welled up with tears. I KNEW something was coming. But FUCK. Why this?

He says he still loves me but now I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that doesn’t go away. I know deep down this is somehow my fault. I have headaches every day. I don’t eat. I don’t understand.

Jeremy grew up in London with a very, very rich father and was surrounded by all the super luxury anyone could imagine. He went to the most expensive prep schools, vacationed in Switzerland, and even had an enormous stock portfolio when we first met… He’s been estranged from his mother since he was 8 or 9. I guess she was diagnosed with a mental illness at some point and left London to go live with relatives in England somewhere. He doesn’t know or doesn’t say where. He says he doesn’t care.

I don’t know why it matters. I don’t know why I’m asking. I found this site online. I want to know about the gay thing. Tell me. Could this be possible? We’ve been together on and off for 5 years and have had amazing sex until a few months ago. He constantly complains about finances and the recent lack of opportunity for tried and true westerners in NY.

He thinks he needs this man and his money but maybe he just wants to try something new or leave town. To leave the crumbling US of A. I love NY and he knows I don’t want to leave. Could this one person really be offering him everything? I know I can’t. I went to a prestigeous college and then modeled for a famous designer but now I work at an organic nutrition clinic. I can pay my bills but that’s about all. I do love Jeremy but I will never get his stock portfolio back.

I guess maybe Juan Carlos will. Or maybe Jeremy will come back. Should I wait for him? My arms are numb and my hands are cold and I know the winter is just barely upon us.

Thanks for reading and don’t worry if you have no answers.

Michelle

Dear Michelle,

Wow. This is a tough letter to answer.

First of all, let me tell you – my name is not PIEFOLK, it’s Michael.

Secondly, I want to make sure you understand this: what’s happened is not your fault – not in any sense of the word. You don’t get to blame yourself for this one, Michelle. There’s no telling what people will do for money, and if your straight boyfriend wants to prostitute himself for money (no matter how much money) you have no agency over his character, ethics, morals or actions. Nobody is expecting you to make sense of this, either.

How can you make sense of this? You can’t. You can only lock the door to your soft, beautiful heart, and don’t answer if he comes knocking again, even with baubles from Paris, or a Tiffany engagement ring. He doesn’t really love you. He loves money. I hate to say it, but it doesn’t matter how well appointed he is, how nicely tailored his Armani suit might be, or if he owns a yacht someday. He’s never going to win you back. He’s abandoned you, and any real love he might have forged with you – all for the thrill of chasing the money dragon.

You will never see him again. Put yourself in the position of the ‘wealthy 48 year-old South American man.’ If this guy is pulling the purse strings, do you think he’s going to have any sort of interest in splitting the affections of a beautiful man with (gasp!) a woman? No.

Your long term boyfriend has left the bohemian freedom of NYC (and your arms) to live as a pretty red bird in a gilded cage. On the other hand, if you can put this behind you, you have the freedom to fly. I hope you fly, and sing, and migrate, and someday I hope you find someone with flaws, who’s sort of pretty, who can be the caretaker of your tender, mysterious heart. Until then, you are your own husband.

It’s not that difficult to be your own husband. Take yourself on dates. Buy yourself flowers. Kiss strangers when it feels safe.

Once, I loved a perfect Taiwanese man. He had inky black hair and perfect skin. His posture was flawless and he was well suited to work in the art world. He was gorgeous and he had such poise. However, he was only beautiful on the outside. He had no idea the meaning of kindness, of compromise, of mutual understanding. It was always his way or the highway. He didn’t care about my stress level, about my complicated labyrinthine heart, about my unique philosophy about openness and family.

Love is staying together. Love is growing together, and apart, and reconvening after a long day to share the triumphs and tragedies of daily life. Love is staying. Love is a choice. He’s choosing not to love you. In some sense, he never loved you in the first place. He tricked you. He lied.

Someday you might run into him at a party, or an event, or some such drudgery one must attend to stay visible in the world of fashion. If it were me, I’d take a short walk with him and forgive him. It’s a selfish act, forgiveness. We do it so we can be free of the pain caused by others. Then, I would walk away and never look back.

Some say ‘forgive and forget.’ I have an impeccable memory. I say, just forgive.

Remember yourself.

Love,

Michael

p.s. The US of A is not crumbling. We are experiencing the aftershock of globalization. It was the Clintons that wanted to globalize America in order to even out the wealth in the world. We still have resources and creative verve. You can head back to Europe if you like, but as for me, I’m staying right here.

Letters

October 26, 2013October 26, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Dear Michael,

Okay, so you married a woman. I want to hiss at you, you rotten so-and-so… You community betrayer. You no good fucking breeder…

Just kidding. I imagine the reactions were something similar to that though – with sprinklings of misogyny (“vaginas are yucky,” that sort of thing). Men! Am I right?

Funny story – a co-worker was into astrology and all that jazz. When she did a reading of the stars I was born under she said the spiritual side was so strong I would pretty much become gay Jesus. As an unabashed hedonist, I was rather disappointed.

Luckily she noted that the same house that determined religiosity also determined addictions – or something to that effect – so it could be that I’m just going to become the world’s greatest alcoholic. Let us pray… May my liver put the fattiest of fois-gras to shame. Martyrdom is for fucking chumps – no disagreement here.

People always regurgitate the same shit like “it gets better” – as if they are magical incantations that put broken things right again. When I was 16 and broke under the stress of being different in a small, religious, backwater agricultural town, I wound up deeply suicidal and stuck in a psychiatric ward for a few months.

No friends or relatives came to visit. Nobody asked me how I was doing. A month in I remember my dad yelling at the head psychiatrist “fucking fix him – how long until he’s fixed?” Once I was released back into the wild, good friends were wary and distant. Adults looked at me with reserved suspicion. Word had clearly gotten out about my failed attempt to hang myself from the gym rafters.

I’m young and stupid, but I also feel old and pessimistic. The old man inside knows that people don’t want to emphasize with unpleasantness, and they don’t give a flying fuck about the problem. They just want it fixed, and removed from sight.

So I would love to give you a pep talk about how everything is going to fix itself, but I’m not sure how to do that without feeling like a no-good shyster. For a while I was focused on becoming an activist. I couldn’t change what happened to me, but I could help stop it from being inflicted on others. Ha!

Even as I type this I’m laughing at myself.

I moved to the city, baby-faced and free of my bonds, and got to work – majoring in social work and volunteering with various LGBT advocacy groups. They gay community was wonderful. After drinking too much at a party, three gay men raped me and I remember drunkenly slurring out pleas for help but nobody answered them. People in our incredibly accepting and noble little “community” called me a liar and a slut, and shut me out much the same as the straight one back home.

Make of it what you will.

I don’t think the community turned its back on you, so much as the “gay community” never existed in the first place. It’s just a variety mix of superficial bonds and assholes, and uncaring people inconvenienced by the suffering of others. I think you should stop giving a damn about things that make you unhappy, get a bunch of baby parrots like we agreed, and sail into the sunset with your fiancé.

Congratulations on your marriage,

GP,

I totally agree…

There was a powerful politician that tried to harm me once, and a sweet couple – they offered me food and delivered brutality.

Nobody remembers that. It isn’t fun, but it’s true.

Don’t stop telling your story. Don’t ever quit.

And don’t forget you’re one of the good ones.

If you quit telling your story, the evil people win. They’ll keep talking. You keep on too.

It all balances out.

Always remember: You don’t have to be a great man. Just do your part.

Always,

Michael

P.S. Jen says ‘hi’ and wants you to know we’ll cook dinner for you in Pasadena.

Dan Paul Roberts

October 16, 2013October 16, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

http://www.flickr.com/photos/105324876@N08/

(Follow the link for photos: Genifer Michael Studios)

“I write music and draw because it’s my creative impulse. I’m almost always making something. If one art form feels too big or stuck in limbo, I’ll try something else out. Different mediums are like different voices of the psyche. Often, my musical urge is the more somber, sentimental side of my expression, while drawing can bring out the sillier, more exaggerated voices within me.

For me, making work is a joyful experience inherently. Even writing a sad song involves some kind of catharsis that, in time, makes me feel better and strengthens me. In that same vein, I do process pain through my art (mostly songwriting). Singing can give a voice to pain and allow it to transform. You can see the beauty in that poignant moment and thus see past your problems. Being a singer/songwriter terrifies me. I think that’s why I do it. Whenever I have a really strong impulse to do something–like serious desire–there’s typically a high level of fear that accompanies it. Why else would it be worth doing if there weren’t a risk involved. So I’ve devoted my life to it, because it makes me feel the most.

Injustice usually pushes my buttons. I don’t like people being taken advantage of.

Nothing is wrong with the world, only our perception of it.

One time, in early high school, I peed in my pants driving home from the video store in Wichita Falls, Texas. I was renting rated R movies to jerk off to and had deliberated too long in making my selection. I thought I could make it home, but I was wrong.”

Btw my album is called The Make Up and it comes out Oct 1st “

http://iTunes.com/danpaul http://www.facebook.com/singingmyheartout

Also http://danpaul.tumblr.com

You’re Not Okay

September 25, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

tri vo studio http://www.trivostudio.com

Me: Oh wow! Sorry. I was in a hurry to get on the elevator.

Him: It’s my dog.

Me: He scared me. Looks like he needs to pee pretty bad.

Him: He’s okay.

Me: Yes, of course. He lunged at me. A dog bit me once when-

Him: He’s okay. You’re not okay.

(Pause)

Me: What did you say to me?

(Pause. He shrugs)

Me: You don’t know me. Control your dogs, and furthermore there are some very aggressive squirrels in the courtyard. I hope you’re aware.

Him: This is the time of year squirrels get aggressive.

Me: Yes. They squirrels things like nuts away for the winter.

Him: That’s enough.

Me: Listen. I’m from the South and-

Him: Oh, are you proud of that?

Me: Yes, actually, I am.

(Pause)

Me: As I was saying. I’m from the South and we have to keep an eye on aggressive wild animals like squirrels.

Him: Oh is that so?

Me: Yes it is so. They carry rabies.

Him: What are you going to do about those squirrels?

Me: Keep an eye on them and maybe buy a BB gun.

Him: You don’t need a gun.

Me: You’re right. I need polite neighbors who know how say “hello, goodbye, please, thank you.”

Him: The world isn’t like that anymore.

Me: Maybe it never was. But I was raised like that.

Him: Be careful on the elevator.

Me: Train your dog. Thanks! Bye now.

(He spits on the ground. I chuckle. I fart. He finally laughs. Tough crowd.)

Him: Where are you from?

Me: A French village in the South of France.

Him: Where, exactly?

Me: Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense

Him: And what does that mean?

Me: It means Have A Nice Day, in French.

(Long pause. Then we laugh and laugh and laugh and his dog pees in the lobby)

I Walked Over A Bridge

August 22, 2013November 7, 2014 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

My Dear Michael,

So that we can remember the day we met:

I walked along and I saw Mickey Mouse tee-shirt. I’d just gotten a glass of water and said mucho danke shane but had too much sweat on my face to pull it off. The man looked at me with sternness? Soft sternness of a young man who is just excited to be old so that he can just give up.

Give up.

And then I saw you. And then, we walked. We talked. Talking and walking. Excited for life. Looking only into each others’ right eyes. Excitement. A good pace. Sweat. Safety in friendship. Even friendship with The Stranger.

A strange friend.

Amazing poetry was spat and mine was crass and the way it should land in society. I was moving on up.

You asked me how i was going to be famous.

You knew what would make me feel better and better and better –

an intuition so brave.

And a little while later or earlier all the time piles and dances around like pebbles near a beach near a beach, i said. They know you’ll probably just go to the beach.

Not to look at them or touch them. A Scottish beach, near Inverness.

You cried just a few tears. Like a giggle, the opposite of that.

You don’t even know what you have anymore.

But you’ve got a little bit of me. Over the bridge and dumpling craving and the songs we sung by Stevie Wonder. You told me you’d been yelling. you told me about the power of a friendship bracelet. You told me that you liked my hat. You liked the asian, but when he turned back he looked like he was going for war.

You carried it. You carried us. You liked it that way. i had the energy to do that for someone at night.

A girl not as fun. A girl not as fun as me. Not as lose as me. Not as defined as me.

How i felt next to the girl. Are we still in grade school in school in heirarchy of life and heads that are bigger and better than all of the rest? And we will puff it up, like puff daddy russel simmons and cordial wine on the back porch you wanted to dien. I used to be better I used to be better at letting go. Now the stream is clear and comes straight from the mouth of the source. Love. Up-end and up-turn my words and I’ll wave at you like a Queen.

You will know what to do about the date. Amanda Love is the righteous song.

You tried to edit my poem. Said that it shouldn’t have ended with ‘idot.’

But you see, Michael, I am not afraid of being an idiot. And, neither are you. I won’t let you.

Best,

Emily

We will see each other again, my darling. You can always write me and I’ll do my damnedest to reply. Why wouldn’t I? I had the best date ever. You’re a good kid. I can’t exactly say I love you but I do love.

Please keep in touch over the years. You’re going to be very famous. I’ll see to that. I wasn’t carrying you, Em. You were carrying me. Peace Be With You.

AmenYou too.Love.

Michael

Tuesdays With Woody, Episode 2

July 30, 2013July 30, 2013 by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Hey folks. Here’s another episode of Tuesdays With Woody. In this episode, Shaun ‘raw dogs’ a stripper from Detroit. Woody and Michael tease mercilessly. Have a look!