Oh, god, how long has it been since I put pen to paper and recounted any of the amazing adventures into which my artwork has led me? Yes, some would say landed me – as in landing me in the shit – but I don’t see it that way. I rise above even my dead …
Continue reading “In which Rufus puts pen to paper for the gentle reader”
Rufus sits sucking a pencil for a few moments before writing. Rufus: Technology has improved how teachers teach and learners learn concepts, but, like, I don’t know because it is like, you know… To express stuff is, what’s that word? Rufus snaps his finger twice. Rufus: It is a synonym of concepts but not ideas …
I had been in jail for at least twenty-four hours when my cousin Budcock arrived to talk; well, talk isn’t the word because I am nearly a famous artist on the literal cusp of oeuvres of artwork that will just blow the socks off of everyone—even people who listen to Hip Hop music if you …
My mentor, Dermot Dermot, came into the Teacher’s Assistant rooms and yelled at me yesterday; I don’t know if he was having a bad day or if it got bad when he saw me standing atop the cubical wall. I thought it was an overreaction on his part because the cubical walls are robust and …
If you are like me, you know what it is like to wash up unconscious on the beach with sand in your undergarments and have a beautiful Italian woman resuscitate you vigorously. If you are not like me—and I seriously doubt that you are like me in any way—, then you will have to take …
Rufus walks into a seaside restaurant and sits at the bar; his aunt’s boyfriend Lucky Strike walks over. Rufus: Hi, Lucky, man am I hungry! I’ve been making artwork all morning on the beach! Lucky: You’ve been making artwork? Rufus: Yeah, and I’m super hungry! Lucky: What does that remind me of? Something Georgiana told …
Dermot Dermot hung up the phone as gently as possible with a delicate push of his thumb. He even said, “No, no, thank YOU officer,” as if he appreciated the call from the FBI agent about the missing handgun. He leaned back in his limo seat and ran a shaking hand over his face. A …
Continue reading “In which Rufus sleeps under Dermot’s desk”
A park. Rufus stands at his easel to paint a picture; the canvas is blank. Inspiration will come soon, I’m sure. A dog approaches and poops. Rufus, mumbling to himself: I don’t know which color to select today: do I feel like painting something from my blue period, or do I feel like painting something …
Continue reading “In which Rufus attempts to paint in the park”
Dermot asks Rufus a question: Dermot: Rufus, do you remember the name of the girl who would sit in front of you in Introduction to Postmodern Existentialism? Rufus: Beatrix? Dermot: No, no, no; Beatrix was the goth who sat at the back near the door. Rufus: Candice. I remember a Candice with big—can I say …
Dermot stands near Rufus’ jail cell lost in thought for a moment. Dermot: I can never remember the name of my office assistant! Rufus: Kevin? Dermot: Isn’t it Basil? Rufus: Huh, for sure it is one of those names with vowels and concordances around the vowels. Dermot: Concordance around the vowels? Rufus: Kevin, Basil, Jerry, …
Continue reading “In which Rufus and Dermot talk between bars”
Friend: I’ve greatly improved my life; recently, I’ve stopped speaking unless I have something truly wonderful to express. I only say exquisite ideas. Think about it: anyone can say just about anything,and they do! But I take the higher road and limit myself to only expressing the really refined ideas, and this is just one …
Continue reading “In which Rufus further distances himself from the common man”
Rufus: Opera singing can’t be that hard. You just have to raise your voice to a great volume, and then wiggle your voice around like this: I AM SINGING PASSIONATELY ABOUT MY LOVE, MY LOVE, MY LOVE, MY LOOOOOOOVE! A shoe flies through the open window and hits Rufus in the head. Rufus, continued: I …
Blog in which the proto-Rufus discusses music Boy: I hate this song. The boy removes his headphones. Boy: The lyrics are a lie; it is not true that “where you spend your love, you spend your life.” Mother: Are you talking to me? Boy: No! No, just continue doing… whatever you are doing. Mother: I’m …
Continue reading “In which proto-Rufus discusses song lyrics with his mother”
An apartment. Rufus: Mom? MOM! MOM! A muffled voice answers. Rufus: MMMOOOMMM! His mother enters the room. She wears rubber gloves and carries a plunger. Rufus: Are you cleaning the bathroom again? Mother: Why, yes, I am. What is it? Rufus: Have you ever listened to Bob Dylan? His music is just something else. Mother: …
Continue reading “In which protoRufus talks to his mother about Bob Dylan”
Rufus fell off the boat and floated for some time before the ocean current brought him to shore. He crawled out of the water and lay on his back in the sand. After a while, an old man approached Rufus and stuck him with a walking stick. Old man: Are you alive? Rufus: Is this …
A beach. Full sun. Nearby, a green flag waves in a light sea breeze. Soft waves lap at the seashore. Rufus sits in the sand near a naked woman. Rufus’ back is to the woman. His eyes are firmly closed. Tears roll down his cheeks. Rufus: No, no, I won’t! Mother: Turn around, Rufus! Rufus: …
Continue reading “In which Rufus joins his mother at the beach”
The ocean is a capricious lover. Only the most stalwart of sailors can love her passionately and for life. Although Rufus thought himself stalwart, passionate, very much a great lover of women, and for his whole life, which would incline us all to believe him capable of the passionate love for the sea which characterizes …
Continue reading “In which Rufus finds his trousers inside the wrong caravan”
Dermot ran an absent-minded hand in a small circle around her bellybutton. “The gypsy girl is a waste of your time, Rufus. You should come back to New York City with me.” Rufus raised his leg and rested his foot between the bars of the jail cell. He pointed at a global positioning system anklet …
Rufus walks into the body-lotion shop. Rufus: Do you have activated-microplastic cream? Worker: Yes, we sell activated microplastic cream. What kind of creams would you like? Rufus: Oh, well, I don’t know. I want to cream everything. Worker: What specifically will you cream? Rufus: Which parts of my body? My face, neck, chest, arms, hands, …
Rufus’ mother had returned from a few weeks away in Los Angeles and the detox had taken sundry effects. She had not decided any particular dramatic revenge upon her son until after she and her boyfriend entered the living room and found themselves standing on a sticky spot of the floor. “Where should I put …
Rufus cries softly into a wineglass late at night. A computer sits open before Rufus upon which he has just binge-watched a full season of Archer. Rufus: How did this happen? Why? Rufus shuts his computer, slurps wine, and lets the tears roll down his cheeks. Dermot: Are you talking to me? Rufus: Dermot? Where …
Dermot and Rufus sat in the back of a cab and looked out the windows as they made their way uptown to the university gallery. The city looked just the way it always looks in September, which is how it looks every other season, too: lots of cement and glass. The only difference was how …
This is the opening scene from a protoRUFUS play I wrote in 2012. CURTAIN Morning. A bedroom in a cottage in rural America. RUFUS enters hurriedly, nearly naked, and a little hung over. RUFUS. I think no one saw me. How did I fall asleep under the kitchen table again? If my mother catches me …