I HAVE LEARNED HOW
TO BREAK THE LOGJAM
Seven a.m. and the matinee blues have started
already. I have to go on at one. Nothing ready and
can't read my lines, let alone know them. Drunk like a
fig for four days already - I swear I never wanted this.
Much rather be in Albuquerque doing an Arthur Miller.
Here though, this slathered stage-door is covered in
debris and markings, and someone else has left a
puddle of piss in the entry. Nothing but filth lives
here when I'm away - that's the dark side, and the
one I never see. By contrast, they bow down to me.
I don't know why, and I've weathered a lot of storms.
The limos pull up, and some hoodlum gets out instead,
demanding money and a free pass for his 'friend'. All I
can do is groan. 'I don't do tickets, sorry', would
probably just get me killed. Listen, don't be me.
Though I have learned, yes, how to break the
logjam, it brings me nothing good at all.