cabaret, now

steve, the dresser, now, singing cabaret with hilarious jazz-hands when i come into the drug room for cabaret after “i don’t care much”

drinking water while looking at tommy sitting near the stage right entrance, ready to darn his fake socks

matt’s howls, how they make me cry, how i can make it crawl into my voice and how it ties everything together

sex bruises

the waiters at café pamplona down the street, bean salad, gazpacho, the air conditioner by the back seat where i sit, write, and think

remo and tommy, how they look at each other and master-act, the eyes of the audience as the lose themselves in romance

fake cigarette powder and how you shouldn’t inhale it

don’t eat the confetti, it’s been fire-proofed, it therefore tastes like ass

rosie’s tits and the nipple tape that shreds them

the sky outside, ready to collapse

jordy as helga’s tits and her pacifier, feeding her doll gin, and making her laugh and cry

the look on matt’s face when i give him his microphone

the toupee tape that keeps my hitler-mustache on, and the struggle to keep in on my finger before i need it

guy refusing to put anything dirty in his mouth, but dealing

the gas confetti laying on the floor in the spotlight

the bartenders, lost and nervously laughing

circling up

frenchie and his chest hair growing in

the star of david on the bag going over renee’s face

annikha and her terrified expression when i rip her shirts off, the gasp, the petrified reactions, the compliance

getting my gown to fall over the lip, making arm space, turning slowly enough

the light, the light, the light

the sound of the train

letting go

the smirk, the degree, the artifice

the cane, the power, the sickness

the beautiful sentimentality versus the horrifying reality

falling legs

claire as kost, breaking down in my arms, the heroin needle, the collapsing, the pathetic gazes

jeremy as my hero, presiding as he who’s seen it all, in this theater and out

the falling snow, the taste of it on my tongue, the gas chambers, the hissing sound of gas, the blinding light

touching lance between call times, knowing we share the love of this moment

watching bogart give notes to the tech crew, knowing he is doing what he is built to do

feeling home

crying at last

because i can