Storyteller Story #4: Red Is My Power Color

If you want something you’ve got to get it yourself. Just take it. You can’t sit around waiting on someone to give it to you. I keep telling Jenny: “Stop waiting on Bob. He’s a selfish asshole. A loser.” I keep telling her he’s not worth her time, but she won’t listen. Not my problem. I’ve got my own problems to deal with. Plus I’m busy. Work. Gym. More work. Repeat. Work. Gym. More work. Repeat. Then I’m always having to clean up someone else’s mess. I learned how to take care of myself early. That’s the problem with most people they don’t take responsibility. They make stupid mistakes and want other people to clean it up. You’ve got to take control of the situation or you’ll drown. I tell Jenny all of the time: “Bob will drag you down. He’s dead weight.” But she won’t let go. She just won’t let go.

Storyteller Story #1 - Do You Hear The Drums?

The most important component of my most recent show Storyteller was the stories that accompanied each piece. Some are long, some are short. Some are more like poems others monologues. Each, though, says a little about the person that I imagine would wear each piece.

People at the showing told me how much they enjoyed reading the stories that accompanied the work.  I thought it would be a shame if the only place people really read them was at the show so I decided to post them again here. I will post one a week here until they are all up.

Story One: Can You Hear the Drums? 

Can You Hear the Drums?

Boom Ba. Boom de boom bop bop! Thump. Thump. Thump…I can feel it in my chest. In my heart. That whole rhythm is in my body. My mama said I came out dancing! Popin’ and lockin’. Break Dancin’. Tap. Jazz. Modern. Even a little ballet. I don’t discriminate. Definitely a little African. Positively Brazilian. I threw a little capoeira in there. Do that sweet side flip that drives the girls wild and stops those boys in their tracks. Only men here. They don’ know who they messin’ with! They don’t know in the battle it’s not with me they fightin’. It’s the beat. It’s the rhythm. It’s the drums. It’s the bass. It’s the passion. It’s the color. It’s the light. It’s the heart. It’s the music. It’s the love. And everybody knows you can’t fight the love.