Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Chris Edwards Presents A Poem

I've started the write something everyday program, so don't be surprised if you see me finishing old projects (sexpo, the ditch) but i'll probably also post a poem or haiku every once and awhile.

Things Change

My Great Grandfather, Allen was not white
but his clothes were white, his job was white, his skin was white
But his eyes were brown like mine
At Marshall Fields he controlled the elevators
he would laugh with the men and wink at the girls
where he broke bread with the rich in their privileged world
but at the company picnic
when everyone else was pulling out their family pics
ghosts, pale as ghosts they looked when he pulled out his
dark black skin, lovely thick brown hair, full lips
the manager broke the silence
Allen threw himself into a rage. Don't you know he screamed his face turning red
That I, who you said was your friend; am black
We'll shit... said the manager
We never would have Hired you If we had known that.

My Mother was not white
her school was white, she spoke white and yes her skin was white
But her eyes were brown like mine
she was trained to be the perfect secretary
Could do everything for every need
she worked there for five years and then she wanted more
she said promote me and see what i can do
her bosses who loved her so would do no such thing
they loved her as a secretary saw her as nothing else
My mother exploded
I will not, she said
spend my life working under you
making up your papers when there are things that i would like to do
when i took this job, I was told that i could advance
and now that I'm ready you won't even give me a chance.
her bosses looked puzzeled after my mothers loud attack
Well Shit...they said
we never would have hired you if we had known that

I am not white
I don't rap or dance or dress like blacks are supposed to dress
but my skin is plenty dark
I work at my school, toiling behind a desk
My boss will once and awhile pop in and during one of our chats
he says:
Look at you and the way that you talk
Look at how you dress and the way that you walk
You act far to white to be a black man too
Hell even I must be blacker than you

The anger that I feel as my face turns red.
This will not stand i scream
You will not steal my race No not today.
I've spent too much time for it to be taken away
I won't tolerate a white man telling me I'm not black
We'll shit...said my boss

We never would have hired you if we had known that.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

In Dedication of Sally's Cast pHacts

There have always been heroes and legends. As far as there have been people we have been telling stories of others greatness or achievement. Then warriors or kings, now singers and actors. The norse myth has transformed itself into american celebrity, a notion which is; relative to some other forms of celebrity (The Bible) quite young and new. We have not seen the many paths and forms this new form of legend making will take. AND furthermore with our broader reach and control of the world. With all information only a click away from our bed, this is the first time; ever that a generation has knowledge of previous legends life achievements and paths. The first time a generation has had the chance to see the effect they are having on the world WHILE they are doing it. Watching how the world reacts to their influence. Something no other generation could do, they could not feel or see the influence they were having on the world. EVEN sensations such as the beatles or even N'Sync were only in the incubator phases of what we have now. A world that reacts in real time. And with enough hindsight and knowledge and (balls) that us in this generation can actually start to predict or know the possiblity of their own success.
A aspiring musician, now with myspace can literally watch his fanbase grow on a fan by fan basis. He can contribute to his fans and effictively increase his own success and how he is viewed by those fans.
With this comes something new that maybe no other generation has had to deal with before. The knowledge of our own possible success and the choice to stand up and take it or let it pass.
Now our generation of hero can see how the world will view him before he saves the day, and thus make the decision maybe to not save the day. Or (and i find this to be much more common) have an anxiety over what it would mean to save the day. And thus fail to save the day.
We can experience an anxiety over our ability to succeed and thus scare ourselves from succeeding. Many friends and improv companies I know, suffer from this very affliction of anxiety.
But what to do. I believe if you see that path, following it should not cause anxiety only an excitement. An excitement in history making, how does Barack Obama feel knowing that for the rest of America's History, He will be one of the most important figures of our country. Right up there with George Washington and Abe Lincoln. Now all he has to do is not screw it up.
What happens when an improv company has the chance to be the next iO or Second City. When people have the chance to be the next Del Close or Bill Murray. What happens when you get the chance to make history.
I say take it.
Always Take it.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

The Ditch: Part 1

hE kept still.
Holding his breath for a minute and then letting it slowly creep out for the next two. The breeze blew over him and the grass swayed back and forth under its power crashing into him like waves. He was completely frozen, unmovable. The dirt on his face crinkled and cracked like a hard mask. He kept his eyes closed making his complex blue eyes invisible, along with the world which disappeared into his darkness. His ears perked up. Besides the breeze there was little noise to distract from the happenings of the world around him; the sound of the birds in the trees as they called to each other, the buzzing of the flies and nats that flew around and landed on his head so still it could have been mistaken as a rock or dead animal. He listened for the sound of cars to whiz by on the nearby highway, he dreaded hearing the sound of a car decelerating. Of the engine clicking off and the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. But not only had he not heard these but he hadn't heard the sound of a car for nearly 4 hours. Warrenville was a small town and after 11 the streets and businesses went dead. So much so that it had become a local town saying that anyone out in Warrenville after 10 had nothing but mischief on his mind. The guilelessness of the saying was overshadowed only by its truth.
For he was up to no good.
Slowly his hands pressed down on the Earth as he pushed himself up. Revealing his features slowly to the moonlight. First his shortly cut black hair, then his sharp shark fin nose. His thin neck which branched out to a small frame supported by wiry legs. As an alpha male he was unimpressive but when he finally opened his eyes, it was as if someone had just turned on a lamp. His surroundings became lighter, the darkness of the wilderness lost some of its mystery as things came into a soft focus.
His eyes fell immediately on his goal. Ahead of him by a football field he could barely make it out but he knew it was there. Six by Ten feet long 13 feet deep, he had been there before. He knew the land around it perfectly down the gopher hole he had fallen into on his first visit twisting his ankle in the process. Now the land was as familiar to him as his dreams and like his dreams he ventured here at will and without fear or reluctance.
He lifted his feet and began the march. He steps sunk into the ground and he left imprints of his feet in the soil. He knew that by tomorrow men in suits with badges and dogs would be examining these prints. Following his actions now in the future wondering what was going through his head. They would be surprised to learn he wasn't thinking about his family or friends, but their work and how futile their efforts would prove.
His march picked up speed, he was losing patience for the show and wanted the act done and over with. He was tired of thinking about it and simply wanted it. His feet clomping down hard with each step, hard steps; tomorrow they will think someone (or thing) was chasing him. And perhaps they would be right. Perhaps he was running from what his life had been. From the hour to hour day to day routine of life and from the obligations he no longer wished to have. From the pressures and pains of the past that had cut him so deeply that he could never seem to be far enough away from them. From the insecurities of himself that were constantly holding him back from his true potential. There was no question about it, he was certainly running. And if everything went to plan nothing would ever catch him and he would be free forever.
Sweat poured down his face and turned brown from collecting the dirt that had caked on his face. He was scared. Tonight would be the end of a life he dispised. Tonight would be the last time anyone looked at him and called him Fred Turner.
Tonight Fred Turner was going to die.
And he couldn't wait.

Friday, October 17, 2008

My Mom Can Get Real


My mom sent this to me in an email that read. This used to be our Resume.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Yeah I said that Shit

I feel like there is a war coming.

Years ago, this nation was torn on an issue. Back then that issue was "state's rights" to be more specific it was about State's rights to own slaves. This argument which now is an ethical and moral argument at the time was simply an economic issue. The issue being that the South's economy was based on the bedrock of free labor. Well you don't have to be a historian to know how this argument was ended. With war.

I feel like now as a country have found ourselves at another ideological argument. That argument being something that might even be more important than the one that took place 200 years ago. This is an ideological argument about the future of our country. It is an argument that has been brought up and kept in the air by this upcoming election.

Among all of the mud that has been flung back and forth during this campaign season, we can really see that McCain actually hates Obama. I constantly get a feeling that McCain looks over at Obama and you can literally feel the hate shooting out of his eyes. It's like he looks over at Obama and in his head he's saying "What the fuck is going on. I'm an old white man I shouldn't have to fight this hard to become President."

This statement this sense of entitlement is something that has held back America for years. Women, Different Races, Gays, there is a whole country of people who believe that at the end of the day this country does not have their back. And the truth is that at the end of the day, it doesn't. We are a country so good at discrimination that many Americans still have the audacity that say that it is no longer an issue. Many times I have heard people say that the very fact that Obama has gotten this far is a testament to the progress that this country has made. And I agree completely. However, Many times I have been told during this election that America simply isn't ready for a black president, despite the fact that he is a man who is more intelligent and more thoughtful than a President that as a country we voted for TWICE.
Right now America is at a stand still. Because though it has been working slowly the system of thought that "you can achieve whatever you want in America if you work hard" is finally working. The walls that were built all over the social and political map of America have been torn down enough that this is something we can actually think about and now those with the power are scrambling to stop it from happening. Over these past months we have seen every dirty trick possible played to try and stop the Speeding train of Obama. Anything that could have been said or done to stop him from succeeding has been done. Because if he wins, that means they lose. If he wins, it means that finally the country is in the hands of Americans instead of being in the hands of big business. We have for years lived the lie of believing that this was a country where we could effectively change the way we live our day to day lives making it so that the poor on the street were more important than the rich in the castle.
For years in France the rich let the poor pick food off the streets while they enjoyed every luxury. Eventually the people revolted. I'm not calling for a Revolution but I think that it is already here. And we are all involved, we just don't know it yet.

We finally have a chance to make this country everything it should be. We finally have a chance to shut down a history of lies and repeatedly being ignored by those in office.

I don't know what my point is. It isn't a call to action. But it is an exasperated sigh. I am sick of lies. I am sick of watching women suffer under a system that favors men. Of watching an unintelligent woman be turned into a political pin up girl for people who tell us that masturbation is wrong. I'm tired of the racial, sexual and social ignorance of America.
McCain said it over and over again in the debates he said the American people are angry. And we are. I am. I'm pissed. It's why the average American doesn't want to talk about politics at parties, we're all pissed. But I think we'd be much less pissed if we just took the time to take chains off and live, all of us as free Americans.

The truth is...that I have no fear that Obama won't win. But I do fear that this country will forever have this big issue of fearing intelligence of celebrating the average and of taking a nihilistic stance in a country that demands for the involvement of everyone. We don't have to be slaves to the system. The tools are there.

I'm just sick of being disappointed.

Christopher Edwards

Come on!


So I was talking to my dad about this. Kevin Smith is catching shit because of the title of his movie. Apparently people can't over the fact that the word "porno" is in his title.
"According to CNN, Fox Sports decided to drop a series of ads which were scheduled to run during Los Angeles Dodgers games. Apparently the spots were dropped at the team’s request when viewers complained. A child-development expert filed a complaint in Boston. The city of Philadelphia refused bus stop advertising, deeming the word porno “highly sexually suggestive and not suitable for general audiences.”"


Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Chicago Sexpo 08 Part 2

The four girls handed us white bags to hold whatever items we might want to take with us throughout our night. One look around the place was all that was needed to let me know that these bags were not being used by anyone and they were promptly thrown out. The girls whose smiles were as soft and beautiful as rose petals also had a short attention span as their attention never lingered on any man for too long. We made our way around the club. Music, provided by a fat light skinned rapper who would have as much trouble getting attention from any lady as anyone else, filled the club. The few women that were present that weren't working, danced in the center of the dance floor. The men stood shoulder to shoulder on the outside of the dance floor, watching, drinking, nodding their heads along with the beat.

It was a sausage fest there was no doubt about that.

The dance floor went up 3 floors. The second and third floors not so much full spaces, as they were a gated off walkway that ran along the perimeter of the floor. These gates would sometimes protrude outwards allowing for a small platform where people could stand out and look down on the party while they danced above it. The few women who could not make their way to the dance floor would stay at these platforms for the whole night. Hanging off of one of these platforms was a large sign which had the American flag painted on it. Over the picture of the flag in big black letters it read: "SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL SEX WORKERS". God Bless America

A fog machine which expelled far too much manufactured fog every 20 minutes or so, solidified our decision to leave the dance floor and check out the rest of the party.

The Rest of the party as it turned out, was a sit down bar. Where couples and groups sat together and conversed in conversation at such a low volume that the room although completely full, always seemed to be extremely empty.

Next to the sit down bar was the artists room. Where you could buy art from tattoo artists or enter a raffle to get a free tattoo right there on the spot. This quickly became my goal for the night.

Next to the artists room was the EXPO floor. Which was actually the same room as the front room where we were met by the four lovely girls. The room was filled with (besides the girls) two tables. That's right. One table was the "sex table" which was filled with mostly vibrators; including, "The Challenge" AKA the worlds largest usable vibrator. Which was roughly the size of those gigantic crayon banks that parents give their children. It was a dark purple and was being eyed and weighed by a portly bald man in dark clothes and round glasses. He looked exactly like the guy you would picture alone at the SEXPO holding and admiring the worlds largest usable Vibrator. The rest of the table was filled with whips and anal-beads. The table was being run by two women both of whom were wide set and wearing blue button up polo's. A dangerous blond wearing a leather get up which lead your eyes to her Ass walked around the outside of this table trying to get people to subscribe to Hustler. As she walked men would stop and talk with her. They would get their friends to take pictures with her while they pointed at her breasts or cheered. Some men would wrap their hands around her waist so she couldn't keep moving. Skillfully she would slink into their arms and twirl her hair while they pretended to live the life where she was a woman they could go home with. But by the end of the conversation (if you can call it that) they were all signing their names and becoming members of HUSTLER VIDEO and then she would send them on their way.*

Across from the sex table was the smoking table. A whole table filled with nothing but pieces, bongs, bowls, one hitters, and pipes. All glass all beautiful all expensive. This quickly becomes my favorite table and also leads me to think I should cut back on smoking when I'm at the Sexpo but the idea of getting high is what has gotten me excited. The two men running are dressed in suits to look professional, but are so stoned that it has about the same effect as someone driving a Ferrari with a booster seat. Apparently these two guys are college drop out best friends who decided to open a smoke shop in the suburbs and have been doing pretty well for themselves ever since.* The men were so stoned that I considered pocketing one of the pieces while they stared off into the secrets of the universe but decided it went against the basic code of things.

Next to the bar was a table for Lovers Lane which was watched over by five ladies in nighties and that table was placed right next to another table called NORML which you can check out here All they gave out were bumper stickers and chains. I did have to question whether or not 4 tables justified an EXPO. But after 3 rum and cokes the question quickly left my mind.

We searched upstairs to see the whip and chain section. A section which was roped off and not ventured in once by me or my company. Watched over by three women who can best be described as the witches from Macbeth dressed in leather tied up willing victims and whipped and punished them to their hearts content. One woman, whose face I never saw was bound up almost completely with leather and electrical tape. She hung in the air spinning slowly all of her body bunched and contorted, looking more like a corpse in the movie seven than someone having a good time at a club. She wouldn't be untied until the end of the Expo 4 hours from when I first laid eyes on her.

Making our way downstairs we found ourselves back at the dance floor where someone had set up stripper poles. Three of the four women who greeted us at the door were dancing and spinning around the poles while men circled round and snapped pictures. Seedy cheers rang up while the girls spun around the poles, having fun and pretending that no one was there. One girl tried to do a particularly hard move. Spinning around the pole with no feet on the ground, sending her feet to be parallel to the ground. But the makeshift stripper pole wasn't made for such a talent. The pole slipped and fell sending gasps through the crowd as she spun and barely saved herself from falling over her extremely large heels. This lead to them climbing on the ceiling which is when i took the picture that I described earlier.

Not much later, Gus the man that ran the whole show got up on stage and along with a air horn announced that the party had started which was news to me since I had been there for two hours. It was time for the raffle, we all had tickets in the audience and had the chance to win, free clothes purchases from lovers lane or my coveted free tattoo. However after calling a ticket which no one responded too, Gus decided it would be best if the hottest girls in the building came up and shook their asses for the prizes. Now I want you to think about this...

The hottest girls in the building, at the sexpo. All of them are working. So the girls who were handing out bags get on stage and start shaking their asses. In effect they win every prize leaving the other 1000 people with tickets shit out of luck. Apparently spike and I are the only ones who realize this or care.

PART 3 or What Happens when Midwest turns to West Coast.

Monday, October 6, 2008

Dear Diary Blog

Who knew it was so easy to be replaced.