08/10/2019
Hi, all. I haven't posted in a while since I'm undergoing heart operations and other unpleasant medical procedures.
In fact, no puppeteering or much live music or story narration performances unill mid-January, 2020.
As a shut-in, I shall write. There's this novel in me about growing up down the North San Mateo County Coast in the early 50s through the Summer of Love.
A story haunting me, I first drafted in 1977 or was it 1980?
"The Professional." Done properly, it will surprise and shock. It is about a very sick man who works for a despot. Is it a banana republic? Is it middle east horror state? We sahll draw a veil or a Vaseline-smeared lens over it. Suffice it to say, this tool of the state is paid very well to torture and even vivisect political opponents of the Powers.
Until one day, his old early teacher, a man beloved, turns up to face the hemostats, drugs and bone-saws of our protagonist.
What will he do? Grow a heart, a soul - a sense of sin? Or will it be business, the bloody business as usual in medical cell 103?
I don't know myself.
This shall be a dangerous vision for me, the scribe, and will go on a journey during the telling.
Sometimes, it's hard to come back from the narrator's trance. And when I do I'm sure not to be the same as I was before the dread mileage into the arteries of the crimson unknown...
