Oyster Theater.

There was a theatre. Before you say anything, considering the people, the location, the methods and the pay, thank god there WAS a theatre. In any case, there was a theater. Askinfor Trou- Bell was a worker. Don't ask me what she was doing there or how she got there, as the best answer I can provide is bad fate, and even that only applies if you're a believer in fortune, but there was a theater and Askinfor was working in it. "It is a funny irony how my biggest dream is to be instead of the people I am forced to watch do what I want to do most"... So she would tell herself often. "Shut your mouth, Askinfor!" Don Co- Rely- on-eh yelled from across the hall. "Shut your mouth, we must begin now!" Askinfor heard the command and obeyed- Collar pulled up to her nose, zipper zipped shut, and there, she is ready to do her thing.
"The only way to get somewhere is by understanding you can never get very far."


"Is your mouth shut properly?" A tall smoking boss looked down at her. "Hum hmm"- she answered- "Yes sir", she unzipped herself to reply and re- shut herself immediately.
Done Corelyone. A gigantic two person- person with one head where your head would normally be, another head where your OTHER head would in SOME cases be (Yes... that head) and two arms that could do nothing for either one of them heads, yet as you are soon to discover were particularly efficient at strangling their employees. If the many servants would leave them alone to feed themselves, brush their own hair and wipe their own noses, Don Corelyone wouldn't last a week. If any of the servants had ANY brains, they would do just that. The only brainful worker who wouldn't was Asky, because it is her literature duty to be there.


Still holding the broom in her hand she took a minute to enjoy the sights of the stage and all that was happening on it. The Ebony darkness around had little chance against that blue hallow that came pouring out like a dying star in the middle of a big nothing. By the color of the light she realized she was watching the "Armsters".


It seems unwise to me, almost against any artistic logic to allow someone to be standing with a broom in the same hall where a bunch of armless fagots in tuxedos are dancing. Think about it: There are only two lighted spots in this giant black nothing- One of them is this shinny gay fiasco and the other- the all mighty servant swiping dirt.
Furthermore, the dancers have been spending hours in front of the mirror messing with their somewhat over shampooed hair while the servant has not seen a shower in weeks, yet both seem to end up having the same haircuts... to die for.

Of course, this has all meant very little to Asky as her thoughts were still deeply in the process of...
In her mind she kept playing past conversations back and forth, back and forth. Vicious dreams of tormenting her in response to her total admiration, in the disguise of sweet words, corny promises and oh was she offended being thought to be SO stupid and SO blind.... So this is all a game... you just want to play... You know, play, to make our own lusts come true, to make our own life richer and better...
You do not play with people's feelings... it is NOT a game, or a rather destructive one it is, if so... It is not RIGHT, but it is OKAY...
Let us play, DEAR....
She had long ago had enough of a somewhat STRIKING attitude that she, maybe in the blindness of love or the desperation of desire had put up with. Tired of stripping herself to the bone the way she would do with NO ONE, only to run into a COLD, APATHETIC response, comments that are less than accepting and crumbs of warmth enough to keep her on her toes but just barely. EVERYBODY wants to feel LOVED. Not DESIRED. She had had plenty of that... EVERYBODY, as does she.
Too much for something is bad enough. Too much for nothing is unacceptable.
But of course, she will be weary and longing the next time he comes, if he comes, and these thoughts will crumble faster than this theater is probably going to.
She's trapped. He has the advantage of knowing the buttons. She by now was under the impression he didn't even have any.
But she knew he did have them, yet she was too young, to inexperienced and far too desperate for him to push them even if she had known. Fine... have your way...
But see, she knew that even at these thoughts she was doing them both wrong, even though she WAS angry, very much so.
The main problem with asky was that even though her mouth was shut, SHE believed she knew too much.

In the bathroom is where she finally crashed. She CANNOT feel sorry for herself. She MUSTN'T! It is against everything she's learned, and everything she believes in, and she probably has no reason to. But she does, and she is sitting there on the floor like the pitiful person she is. There, with the stench of urine and a few wet spots next to her, there she feels at home. But something of her refuses to accept this as justice, the BEST part, the parts that he had seen and approved of, and she enjoyed it so much she can't even remember if she likes these parts herself or only because he likes them. But she's asking herself, and asking the RIGHT questions. Aren't you even a little bit disgusted with yourself? No one is appreciated right from the start, do you hear me? It echoes well here between four walls and a toilet, doesn't it? NO ONE, and by sitting here you are giving up. By being jealous of everybody around you, you are giving up. By being vicious to everyone he is friendly with you are giving up. By being vicious at all- you are giving up. And when you go to bed at night you're restless and desperate, and you know why? and if it was someone else talking to her instead of her own self, the someone would place their finger under her chin and lift her head up- Because it is not LIKE you to give up. Someone else, yes, maybe anyone else... But not YOU.
So if you have to cry do it now, do it by a note, because in five minutes somebody out there is going to need you to swipe the floor or something. And there between the urine drops she had let go and cried and not out of viciousness, or for someone else to see, or for anyone else to judge or for anyone else at all, but for herself. She's scared. She's tired, and she wanted to get a grip. And she's okay, for now. The bathroom door slammed behind her.

The only way you can get somewhere is by accepting that you can’t stay where you are forever



A broken leg, tripping over a puddle of sweat are nothing new when it comes to the Armsters, especially as their legs are their main support and the ones who end any routine in a vertical position are condemned to leave the stage being dragged by a fellow Armster, using their mouth, of course.
So when one of them weirdos passed by bouncing on one leg shedding tears and sweat and some may claim they've spotted some blood, the brown eyed - not so tall girl took exactly 3 seconds to detract her attention from him and onto her zipper... THE zipper, and how much she hated it...

In her dressing room, which also happened to be her bedroom, guest room, not that she often had any, and kitchen, there was a bed, fairly comfortable- The mattress seemed to be centered when she went to sleep and half way off the frame to either the left or the right, depending on circumstantial tosses and turns, but that was her own fault if anyone's, a mirror, large enough and angular in a way that would allow you to see yourself, back, front and side, a cabinet in which she stored food if she had any, a chair, a closet, some books. random odds'n adds, that's it.
She was already pretty tired, but as her way at the end of every day, she started going through books and thinking, as tired as she was, it was a ritual.

Sounds cool at first, but when I tried to say it to myself I realized, it's one of the scariest things I've ever heard.

"When I let go of what I am, I become who I might be"
- Lao Tzu.

I want to become what I might be, but what might that be? I might be many things. One thing that I may not be is who I am right now.
who... I... am... right... now...
Think about it. The good and the bad both, you don't get to pick and choose. You let go of something and commit yourself to something else, and your entire personality and world and everything in between will change, or will be inflicted upon, as all things about you are in some way related. you gain something if you change, but lose something else. Then again, I guess that's the case every time you choose to gain something.
I'm not sure I want to let go of what I am, or else, what was the point in holding on so desperately all this time?
Then again, Things change, as do times. I have been holding on to what's stood for me at some time, but it's been a while since. Perhaps what carried me through then, is precisely what's holding me back now?