The last normal person on Earth

lives in Urbandale, IA; he is always thirty four years old and goes to Supercuts to get a side parted trim every six weeks.  HIs girlfriend comes over three times a week and they eat pasta and a plate of cheese while discussing what they each did at work and then watch Two Weeks Notice  or some reasonable imitation. Neither knows what a macaroon is though will not admit it to the other; everything else, other than the macaroon, is normal.

I lived in Urbandale, IA for a year out of the two I lived in Des Moines. This was right after two years of grad school followed by a nervous breakdown, the worst two years of my life outside of ninth grade. Des Moines was very brown and beige; if a pair of Diehard pleated khakis went to school for architecture this is the city it would create.  The airport and the buildings were coated in every shade of brown rejected by autumn;   the two years in Des Moines got me back into theater and saved me from a self-apolcalyptic implosion of a plastic life built over a supernova.   Ferreting out tiny invisible fractures in the soul is hard when you have a life of subtle infractions; a palm reader once told me I was exhausted by the age of two and she really had nothing else to sell me so her motives were pure;  it rang true;  and the invisible fracture finally broke through like renegade  quarks in Iowa. I also lost my virginity in Iowa; virginity proper, proper Christian wholesome definition; this whole piece of my life is going on stage; it just popped in my noggin and I’ve been in my apartment all weekend recovering from an intestinal cleanse, a sexy romp with the bathroom and I am depleted this evening. I can’t hear colors. If I can’t hear colors, I’m out of it.

I did see Hugo this evening and my favorite parts were clips of ingenuity from the French filmmaker on whose works the film revolves. What a genius and what excitement that his wife was and actress and his muse and they went into business together and bought a glass house that became their studio.  When I have more energy I’m sure I’ll have latent gushings of longing and love for a life like that; I am a romantic; I am a realist; I am a filmmaker with a vision of creating a similar life; it reminds me that every project, for me, must be large and sense-engulfing and viscerally intelligent; I have begun my first novel, titled Point of Venus and I have picked it up and put it down which I’m finding very challenging with this medium because I forget what details have been revealed and I don’t want to repeat to contradict myself. I wish to honor my characters, especially Lona, the main ‘protagonist’ if you’re into storytelling jargon. I may start posting bits of it here.

Good night.  My left eye is already closing.

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