The Garden

Sorry about the lack of an update, I've been trying desperately to try and keep my grant and with all the phone calls and letters and forms, not to mention continuing my regular shows, I've been really stressed out, so stressed out, in fact, that I don't even think I have the energy to talk about how horrible a waste of space I am. Here's another story I wrote. I'm sorry if it sucks, I wrote it very early one morning while slightly drunk and listening to a CD my Granny Margaret sent to me.

The Garden

by Andrew Gerard Panjaka

As we looked out on the bay, the fishermen came back across the water. Their boats were empty of fish but their mouths were filled with words that roared across the cool divide, from where their lips parted to release them to where ours met to speak them without sound. Over the whistling of the wind as it blew through the bulletholes in their sails, they screamed of navy blockades and an approaching army.

The screams that erupted from everyone in that park except us were as piercing as your tongue as it entered my mouth. In that moment, passion overtook me and I pulled you close, holding you tight in my arms. In that moment, the entire city seemed to stop around us before exploding into an ever more cacophonous bombardment of the senses; the wailing of the sirens, the scent of burning oil and, somehow, through it all, music. Looking back, I can remember the tune and the words, but never the name or the singer.

I don't believe in an interventionist god, but I know, darling, that you do. But if I did, I would kneel down and ask him not to intervene when it came to you.

Somewhere, in the distance, just above the sound of that song, a man on a hill was calling out, telling his brethren to fight back and crush the enemy. There was a rumble of thunder from above, followed swiftly by every cloud in the sky opening like a flower and letting its tears spill forth. As the rain fell, I asked you whether the calling man was with the army or the rebels and you replied that you didn't know. But when we looked back at the smoke that was filling the sky above the burning city, turning the rain to acid, we understood, for just one moment, that it didn't matter whether he was a soldier of order or of chaos. Either way, anarchy prevailed.

Oh not to touch a hair on your head, to leave you as you are and, if He felt He had to direct you, then direct you into my arms.

The next day, peace was announced. To this day, I'm still not sure whether it was the army or the rebels that won. All I know is that, mere days after the city had burned, a million people were walking back to work while another great crowd left the city forever, walking towards the horizon. Maybe it was the rebels being banished, maybe it was the army retreating, I could find out if I asked but I didn't care then and I don't care now. To me, that day was just another day, lying with you in the garden, holding you close, caressing your thighs, running my hands through your hair, just experiencing you until, at last, our lips met again and, somewhere, that song played again, the singers deep, sonorous tones hanging in the air alongside our sighs of content.

Into my arms, oh Lord, into my arms, oh Lord, into my arms, oh Lord, into my arms.

And that's where you ended up. Whether it was fate or circumstance that guided you there, it was in my arms alone that you rested for the rest of your life, brief though it was. Even as I sit here in this house alone, I think back to those few days. The world exploding around us while we just lived. We lived as hard as we could, because we both knew we wouldn't live long enough to join in the victory celebrations. But at least, if nothing else, we went on our terms. Dr. Andersen wanted us to have chemotherapy but why drag out our lives in misery and pain when we could simply enjoy what time we had left together?

So, you and me, we just laid down in the garden and died in each other's arms. Our bodies held each other close as we grew cold under the night sky. Yeah, you and me, we just laid down in the garden. 

The Failure

My dad used to say, “There is no failure, there’s only stupidity,” and I’m stupid, but I’m also a failure, I mean I guess dad has what he thinks, but how could anyone think I’m anything other than a stupid failure, I mean I bet all of you do, what else could I be? I mean what happened today I just fucked everything in my life up and almost lost my ability to do the things I love and afford the things I love, like my puppets, I mean without the grant what am I supposed to do about the puppets? And oh god I’m not making sense again, so I’m really sorry for that, I’m sorry that I’m being so stupid right now, at least in writing this.

I was supposed to send in my renewal for my grant to make puppets by the twelfth and my manager kept telling me to but it slipped my mind and I only realized on the tenth that I was supposed to do it but I still put it off, so, well, I did really badly on the essay and I bet it doesn’t get in on time and I bet that I end up with no money because of my incompetence. So I told my manager what happened and he said “I told you so, barbosa.” or something like that but I can’t be sure because I don’t really speak Spanish, at least not very well, though I have some Italian but I don’t like to talk about it because I’m really bad at Italian I just learned it so I could learn more about masks.

But what kind of fool am I? I mean this sucks and I suck and if I don’t get money from the grant there’ll be no way for me to continue with my work and then I’ll be absolutely nothing at all of worth, I mean honestly without puppets all I am is a sad sack man all alone in his room, who’s only talent outside of puppetry and storytelling is tripping over and screwing everything up. Without puppets I’ll be exposed for who I am; a failure trapped alone with his stupidity.

The Brambles

Today was frustrating. Finances have been terrible recently not that you really want to know about that, I've been feeling unwell but I don't want to go to the doctor in case I can't afford it or I bother her, and shows have been booked less and less which I can't help but think has something to do with the party, I mean you know how rumours fly around and I made such a massive awful fool of myself I bet word has gotten around. You know how people are or maybe you don't or maybe I just made a huge assumption about people, I mean maybe I'm the only person who gossips, I mean I know it's rude and it's not supposed to happen but I do it so maybe I'm the only person who does it in the whole world and people have been talking about how rude and mean I am this whole time. Or something.

Then when I went to the park to clear my head I fell in I patch of brambles, which is silly I think because what if a kid fell in, but then I guess kids are smarter than that, and I guess that the gardeners probably have enough on their plates and some people might think it looks nice so I shouldn't presume it's silly just because I cut my finger. But in the brambles I found a puppet! It's really cool looking, you can't really tell by this picture though.

It's such a good puppet, very well made, and such contrasts. There's a streamlined, almost art deco, form, yes, reflecting our modern society I'd think, and it's contrasted with the natural materials used in the design. The arms and legs are roots of some sort I think, the extended fingers very thing, almost straw-like twigs. Each limb is riddled with very finely tuned hinges for the maximum of maneuverability. The strings are fine cloth, or maybe metal, it's hard to tell at the touch, and the control mechanism is magnificent. The control piece is so complicated- I'd rather the design not go onto the web for to avoid people catching onto the design, so I won't photograph it until I've unraveled its secrets. Oddly, it's got a perfectly blank head. Of course, that's the standard with a teaching puppet, since it shows you to move the body for to create emotions within the figure, instead of relying on a face. I just say it's odd because it's such a well made puppet...

Okay, I'm done here, sorry for wasting your time with my rambling again.

The Performance

I'm really sorry for not updating for a while but I also guess I'm not sorry because I kinda suck as a human being, I mean my life is really boring, so I guess I don't really have to apologize because you were probably glad to be shot of me. I mean my life is just so boring and dull and embarrassing that I can't imagine why anyone would ever want to read about it or like me or anything. When I watch films and the characters do stupid stuff I can't stand to watch the films so I can understand why people wouldn't want to read my blog so honestly you don't have to. I mean, I'm a total wreck of a human being, uh, see, after the party I was just so so very embarrassed I couldn't even perform, and I just ended up making masks in my basement for days, and that's really embarrassing to admit to because it seems like the more I write and the more I blog the more pathetic I seem but I just couldn't handle it all after that horrific display at the party.

I finally got around to performing again on Saturday, for some kids. And I did my act, and they were enjoying it, but the girl wasn't there and I felt a bit mopey and one of the littler kids began crying in the Punch and Judy part of the act, and it was really sad and I felt really bad even though I was talking to one of the parents afterwards and she said the little girls sister had run away and the little girl was feeling super sensitive and it wasn't my fault, but I still felt awful. The bit where I let the kids wander around the set and play with the puppets at the end was just more stressful than usual because they were really boisterous and someone broke the nose off of Danielle and I just know she blames me for it. You might say, or you might not, I don't want to put words in your mouth or anything but well, you might maybe perhaps say that puppets can't judge because they don't have brains or something but I can tell they get sad sometimes, at least I think they do. That might just be because I get sad sometimes…

And after I did strike I went and sat in the park for a bit and played with the grass alone because I'm kinda pathetic and lonely. I must have a big glowy sign on my head that says "pathetic" because this one guy from a church or cult or something about the "last" or something came over and started trying to recruit me, though I don't want to judge and say all people who are in religions or cults are gullible or anything. I just feel like they go after gullible and vulnerable people sometimes and well, uh, I guess I'm sorry again. Sorry to religious people and people who are vulnerable sometimes and everyone for wasting your time on this... Oh god I suck.

I Told You So

Well, after that last post, I figure you don't want to hear about my life. I'd probably just depress you. Unless you have a worse life than me, in which case you're probably already depressed, and if you're not, you're a much stronger person than me. Anyway, since I can't imagine why anyone would want to hear about me, here's a short story I wrote about Harvey the other day;

I Told You So 

by Andrew Gerard Pankaja 

That day, on that hill, a lot of things went wrong. 

It was supposed to have been a simple enough process. Harvey had done it a thousand times before; sneak down into the city, kidnap a virgin female, bring her back to the hill and kill her, letting her blood flow into the smooth recesses that lined the ancient altar on the hill's crest. He had been doing it for years, for decades, and it had never gone wrong before, until tonight. Harvey laughed in spite of himself. 

Nothing ever goes wrong until it does, he thought, the bitter taste in his mouth intruding into his thoughts. Harvey sighed, the unfairness of the situation clear in his sight. He hadn't chosen any of this; he'd been forced into it by circumstances outside his control. It was hard, being homeless, and if some seemingly kindly people offered you a way out, how were you to blame for taking it? Some people complained about being born and raised into a religion instead of being allowed to choose themselves. As far as Harvey was concerned, they could shove it where the sun doesn't shine. If they were given a choice between being born into a Catholic family or being forced into a sinister cult of bloodthirsty maniacs worshipping a faceless, shapeless, nameless eldritch abomination from the endless void beyond time and space whose very gaze would cause the brains of all who saw it to seep from their ears from sheer incomprehension of the entity's existence just to get off the street, Harvey was sure they'd be whistling a different tune. 

His initiation into the cult had been...interesting, for lack of a better word. He'd been retaught everything he'd forgotten in school, along with some other more...specialised topics, learning English and mathematics alongside how to properly prepare sacrificial victims. His mentor had been the cult's high priest, so he got, as he put it, a "fairly good grounding" in their belief system, by which he meant that if he couldn't remember a tenet of their holy book, his mentor would grind his face against the wall. As his thoughts wandered into memories of his years as an acolyte, he ran his fingers over the rope-like scars that ran across the right side of his face. 

It was in his acolyte years that he started to disagree with his mentor on a few major issues of their religion, the main one being the belief that by bringing the virgin sacrifices to Jesmegoth, as the beast was known in their holy texts, the cult would be spared when he eventually woke up and set the whole universe aflame. Harvey had grown skeptical that a creature known varyingly as "The Heartless", "The Merciless" and "All-Consumer of the Nethervoid" would value the cult's loyalty enough to not send their minds spiraling into oblivion. As he remembered the conversation with his mentor, his fingers moved from his facial scars to the hole where his ear used to be. 

Perhaps the most important area where he and his mentor differed was on the issue of what exactly the sacrifices were for. His mentor believed that the sacrifices would act as sustenance for Jesmegoth until he was ready to awaken and reign over all from an obsidian throne draped with the flaming corpses of all who opposed him, whereas Harvey thought that the sacrifices were keeping Jesmegoth asleep, which was the reason that, despite differing rather fundamentally with his mentor on the issue of the value of human life, Harvey had continued to make the sacrifices when his mentor and the rest of the cult had been killed in a shootout with the police, having kidnapped a member of the royal family as a special sacrifice. 

Until tonight. 

Until he'd tried to sacrifice a rape victim, who, unfortunately for both the child and Harvey, did not meet the "virgin" requirement. 

A nearby rustling shunted Harvey from his idle wanderings. As he watched in horror, tentacles of liquid darkness seeped from the undergrowth, snaking across the ground before wrapping themselves around his ankles and lifting him into the air. Harvey found himself face-to-nearest-equivalent-thereof with something that looked like a mass of slimy, black worms in the rough shape of a giant squid. Harvey shrieked in horror and, as his brains started to ooze out his ears, he heard a voice inside his head, ancient, powerful and cruel; the last thing he would ever hear. 

"At least you can say "I told you so.""

The Party

I went for a walk in the park today, not that I'm a hiker or anything, though if you are a hiker I don't mean to offend you I mean I think hikers are pretty awesome so I'm sorry if I offended you. But I go walking in this park like once a week, usually on Wednesdays. Around noonish, after breakfast. Uh, was that too much information? I know I can get a little too detailed about things and I really don't mean to I just notice details around and is that weird or something? I just like details because they help you to organize things and figure out what's important and what isn't and what you need to do and what you can do something about and what you can't do anything about and what's interesting and what's boring and what's fun and what's funny and when you do things and people and yeah… Sorry, went rambley there again for a moment. Oh, rambley isn't a word. Ramble-y maybe? Oh no, I'm wasting your time again, sorry, I didn't mean to. God this is so awful, I'm a terrible writer, I'm really sorry that you're reading this. If I was a comedian I'd have been pulled off the stage with that giant hook by now. Sorry.

Ugh, anyway, I was in the park. It's a nice park, a big wide open space, lots of grass, playground made out of tired with a big old tree in the middle. I think it's an oak, but I don't really know, I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on trees or on anything really. Ugh. Anyway, well, I was out for a walk in this big old park and I was wandering around on one of the bike paths when I ran into Darren, my manager, walking his dog, which I think was a german shepherd or maybe a labrador? I don't know anything about dogs, but that should be obvious because I don't really know anything about anything, but anyway back to Darren. He's about forty and he's lived a pretty full life, lots of exciting stuff going on, like I think he had a drag act in the early nineties (I can remember those, I feel old…) and he worked for a circus a couple of times. He's a smalltime manager of smalltime people and I think  he likes it that way because he knows a lot of more interesting people but chooses to let them go do other things and be managed by other people. I don't know very much more than that because I kinda shut down when people talk to me. But I can remember that today he was wearing jeans that had holes in them which is a bit unprofessional if you ask me though he was only walking his dog so I suppose he doesn't have to be professional.

 Anyway we exchanged greetings and smalltalk, or at least he did, and I stared awkwardly at the ground like the truly charismatic and outgoing person I am, whilst he kept giving me this look like he wanted me to answer his questions with more than a one word answer but I'm terrible at stuff like this, truly awful. But eventually he asked me what I was doing that night and I said "My recycling" because I always do recycling on Wednesday nights but I guess I was kinda rude because I think my tone implied that he should already know that which is very presumptuous and I don't mean to presume things I'm just really bad at talking to people.

But then he said "I'm having a part tonight with a bunch of people, you should get out of your house and come and hang out." And then he said that he was worried about me so I said I'd come. And he said it was a casual party so I wouldn't have to worry about fancy clothes and that it wasn't a pot luck so I wouldn't have to bring food or do anything that I don't want to do I'd just pop in and "socialize" for a bit and I nodded and said yes, and said I'd go just over and over whilst he was trying to convince me and I think he thought I wouldn't be true to my word or something.

So that night I dressed in a nice shirt and slacks because I wanted to look somewhat nice but I put converse on to make sure that I wasn't too formal because I didn't want to look too out of place or something and then I walked over to Darren's since I don't have a car. And, well, it was a total disaster. I was a total disaster, Darren's never going to invite me over again after what a totally insecure pathetic anti-social socially awkward THING I was at that party, and I didn't drink or anything, I mostly just sat there and twiddled my thumbs and felt awkward and scared and kinda gross and just wrong and I didn't quite know what to do with myself so I sat on a chair for a bit. And for a bit of the party I just kinda hovered around Darren but I'm sure I was in the way and cramping his style and stuff. But all of those failures as a human being were nothing after the final climactic failure of the evening occurred. You see… The girl was there.

The one I talked about before.

She was there and I tried to talk to here. I tried to be suave to her. Guess how well that went. I talked about puppets and girls don't like puppets no matter how much I try to convince myself that SOMEBODY, ANYBODY else in the world likes puppets and is over the age of nine. But nobody but me likes them, not properly, and so I scared her off and creeped her out and she laughed at me, she laughed at me and I apologized and said sorry and I didn't know what to do and I said that I was sorry for creeping her out and being annoying and making her laugh at me and that I was sorry that my only skill was puppetry and the only thing that I could talk about was puppetry, but now that I think about it it sounds like I was trying to guilt trip her which is not what I wanted at all, oh god I bet she thinks I'm a colossal jerk and weirdo and a kind of self-hating emo who threatens to cut himself so girls will like him not that there is anything wrong with being emo I'm sorry emos I didn't mean to offend you but I keep offending people I'm sorry...

The Cast

So I figure I should introduce you to my cast of puppets. Not that I feel obligated to or anything, or that I'm presuming that you'd be interested but...well, my puppets are more interesting than anything I have to say about myself. They're all I have, really.

I start my act with two marionette servant girls called Clémence and Danielle, who start off doing jokes about their stingy employer before noticing that the audience is there and doing the can-can for them. A bit cliché, I know, which is why I try to liven it up by having them mess up the can-can, kick each other in the face and start arguing. It usually gets the audience's attention.

After Clémence and Danielle, I bring out two innamorati or lovers, traditional puppets which developed from the commedia dell'arte style of acting which emerged in late Renaissance Italy. My lovers are called Ortensio e Aurelia. Like many innamorati performances, Ortensio e Aurelia spend the beginning of the performance bickering and jibing each other until Ortensio has to go to work, at which point both he and Aurelia start overdramatically pining for their departed love. Once Ortensio returns home, he and Aurelia act lovey-dovey once again, for a few moments, at least, before returning to their bickering. Not unlike real-life couples in that sense, I suppose. Not that I would know.

Once Ortensio e Aurelia have done their bit, I take another leaf from the commedia dell'arte book with a traditional Punch and Judy performance. As is the case with most Punch and Judy performances, the play has a rough structure but is largely impromptu and allows for a good deal of audience participation, much like a pantomime play. At this point, I usually have the audience's attention for the grand finale.

Through combining the familiar Harlequin archetype from the commedia dell'arte tradition with the modern penchant for fusing ventriloquism with stand-up comedy, I created the character of Harvey the Tramp. My act with Harvey is based primarily on quick back-and-forth banter, as well as commenting on the misfortune of Harvey's life and the stories in the newspapers he sleeps in, which allows me to poke fun at whatever's topical at the moment, which means I can keep the routine fresh.

You know, I love the feeling of being on a stage. I love making people laugh. I love making people applaud. I love taking my bow at the end of the performance, with all my puppets, of course, and knowing that I've made people happy. The thing is, when I'm on stage, I know that people like me. I can see them liking me, I can hear them liking me, I can feel them liking me.

I just can't get that feeling off the stage. Oh, look at me whining. I'm sorry to be unloading my self-pity on you, whoever you are. There are people in the world worse off than me. There are people starving in Niger, being gunned down in Libya and dying of AIDS in South Africa, I shouldn't be complaining. Oh, that sounds arrogant and racist doesn't it? Because I used all African countries and made it sound like I can't complain because at least I'm not like those people. Oh god, I'm sorry if I've offended you and I'm sorry if I've annoyed you by complaining about my problems when there are people far worse off and I'm sorry, in general, for being me.

I hope I didn't offend you.