copyright © 2002 Cory Capron

"Fish Boy's Dreams"

A poetic sleep deprived rant written and performed by Cory Capron on October 
11th 2002

I've been dreaming under a Californian Tiger striped sky of the cities of samurai mosquito convict businessmen with their green tea and Karate Kid DVDs. The body building foliage and skunk cologne their apartments express powerfully while at battle with the citrus air fresheners hanging like Christmas ornaments in a squirrel's winter lodge. Their muscular cars of old, now as empty of fire as dead soldiers on the loser's side of the pool table - with shaved tires and black lung, staggering schizophrenically down subdivisions in search of soccer moms and senile pockets to lighten of their loads. They Guarantee nirvana in thirty days or your common sense back with full pearly denture grins. Cities that I've read about in books of wit, evil to the eyes of Nosferatu wives under the tables of Easter Island faced politicians who with origami mastery, turned Moïse's words of freedom into bricks of control. Books written by cats who were villains only to themselves and their heather woven imperfections. Their towers of black and white with boys and girls of unbalanced humors playing with guns and roses in the bathroom stalls, seduced like morphine addicts into thinking that they'll be lucky. Going door to door for a little more, the salesmen look into carnival mirrors and sell 3D glasses to ants. These worlds digest in my cranium with scenes of the sitcom lives around me, trying to keep up with more flavors of the Joneses then fruit candies that strangle attention, simmering into paintings of kaleidoscope fractals reaching out to the edge of inevitability's plateau of critical mass. Niggard and used to the point of pawning, the salesmen drive right off the roads into the florescent orange lawn ornaments rebelling from the materialism that has fed them all their lives, only to collapse inward at the realization the they are simply selling to themselves god complexes that they can't afford even through monthly payments. So they return to the bathrooms in hopes of finding broken vessels with the same predicament of self-conciseness. Befriending one another with pop-cultural rubbish pulled out of their dolts and annals of childhood radiation-zombafacation treatment. Scribbling their phone numbers onto the walls. Falling to ill kept beds like bone bags void of chi. Taking their last ounce of strength to spit in the face of the useless singing- dancing cute robot toy ball of annoyance on the nightstand.

I wrote this originally for a writing class Todd Ristau taught at Live Art's 2002 Summer Theater Institute. The assignment was to write something that had to include a series of words (I can't remember the process in which we acquired these words anymore though). So that night I stayed up to obscene hours that put me into an odd state of mind. I think I turned this into him but I'm not sure.
A few months later I was getting ready to go see the best of No Shame and I stumbled onto it on the hard drive. I performed it in it's rough draft form without any editing except for cutting out a short closing paragraph that I felt was too weak and written under exhaustion. I was also running on three hours sleep when I read it, which seemed at the time like a good idea in keeping with the way it was written. All I can say in explanation for it is that it's just a captured glimpse at that semi-insane philosophical zone you can get into at very late hours of the night. The rest it can say for itself as it pleases.

"Fish Boy's Dreams" debuted October 11, 2002, performed by Cory Capron.

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