How Do Thee Scare Me


I spent Tuesday editing new pieces for Noir & the Damned. As I blogged in My Dark Side I spewed up a batch of semi-digested rough drafts. How rough you might ask? Here’s the very first take of the start of one of them: ‘we had been wandering the wilderness/ with only popcron and jombo colas/ from the canfections concessions/ to give us sustenace and strentgh/ day two of trek through the mutiplex’ Some of them are even rougher – typos are my best friends.

solo singer
solo singer

A basic clean up results in: ‘we had been wandering the wilderness/ with only popcorn and jumbo colas/ from the confections concessions/ to give us sustenance and strength/ on day two of our trek through the multiplex.’ No spoilers as I’m still working on it. The next level of edit is for sequence of events, then shaving or adding the right words, then reading it aloud a few times for pacing, then it might be ready for an audience.


Some of the fresh pieces don’t have titles or endings so as I do the typo edits I look for some sort of repeated image, phrase, than might be worked into a suitable conclusion. Working my dark materials means I don’t have to rely on logic, but also want to resist the obvious twists too. The example will probably end up called ‘Movie Night.’ How does it end? You’ll have to get out to Noir and the Damned because I don’t know which one I’ll perform it at.
samples This not one of the new pieces but is still a little something to get you in the mood for Halloween:

How Do Thee Scare Me

love is like hearing my name whispered in an empty room


it’s more like hearing my name in the middle of night

while I’m asleep alone

in an empty house

love is like a voice I don’t recognize

on the phone talking to me

about things we did together yesterday

when I was shopping by myself

or like

getting an envelope in the mail

containing pictures of the two of us

framed by the car window they were taken from

with me wearing clothing that I never owned

my hair a slightly different colour

but that could be just the lens

do I really look that old

that can’t be me

love is like finding my high-school year book

the year I was class president

every picture of me has been mutilated

the eyes crossed out with black marker

or the arms cut off

and it’s a high-school I never went to

loving you is exactly like that

San Francisco
San Francisco

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