Monthly Archives: May 2012

A “Lost Case” and weird dreams: cries for help from a loved one.

“Yes”, I thought to myself (hiding the little Yorik skull inside my briefcase. “What am I thinking, prosecuting this woman outside of her own jurisdiction?”

I look back and see the jury again, I mean, the various versions of me and think that I might be having an LSD flashback from when I took that shit on 3 occasions, driving my Mini Morris Van up and down Scotland. But that’s another story. I was 17 years old then.

Now, a week later after my attorney and I decided to drop the case, I found out some terrible things. One, for example, is that the (so called) American Bar Association he belonged to had nothing to do with the Lawyer’s Union. It was, if anything, an association of former Alcoholic Anonymous members who drunk in hiding at some building in lower Manhattan, called the American Bar Association PUB. In there, you could find all the possible and existing spirits in the world. But the spirit I was after, had nothing to do with alcoholic content. I was after a microtonal, minimalist and exoteric spirit (of the spiritual kind) and I was hoping to resolve the question of the lost case and its altered pages by finding a Kabballah-voodoo-umbanda-crystal ball speaker.

I wake up in a panic. Weird dreams. Mother sits. Mother hacks a human being and cooks him. Mother serves the meat in deep round bowls. Mother, well, well…mother nothing! Dead bodies wash up on the beach. Five of them.
From the quality of the sand, I find that the similarities between this picture in my mind and the texture of the sandy beaches in Belmar, New Jersey, are simply astonishing.

After sipping my first espresso of the day, I look out that one window she jumped out of and felt an incredible feeling of solitude.

"Lost Case..(novel) soon to be released together with a book of paintings / drawings - "Coffee Noodles"

“Lost Case..(novel) soon to be released together with a book of paintings / drawings – “Coffee Noodles”

3 fun (and short) videos to watch: nostalgia, stuff from the past

http://geraldthomas.net/PP-Unglauber-Rehearsal.html

http://geraldthomas.net/PP-Don-Juan.html

http://geraldthomas.net/PP-B.E.S.T.A.html

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Visual autobiography # 4

EletraComCreta 1986

This was the 4th play in Brazil after all the Becketts and heiner Muellers here in NY at La MaMa and the Theater for the New City: after Julian Beck told me “go down to Brazil, form a company and do what you do here in NY but on a HUGE scale – then come back to NY and you will be guaranteed the front page of the Arts and Leisure (NYTimes). And history proved him absolutely right. Here I had done the Beckett world premieres, the Heiner Mueller and so on. EletraComCreta was written by me so that I could attract the Brazilian
“Concrete Poets” – Haroldo de Campos, Augusto de Campos and Decio Pignatari – before this Eletra I did Quatro Vezes Beckett (a replica of the new york “Beckett Trilogy” (1985), Quartett (Tonia Carreiro and Sergio Britto 1986) and CarmemComFiltro (Fagundes and Co. Sao Paulo 1985)

How attached one becomes to attached posters and picture on the wall after a flood

How attached one becomes to attached posters and picture on the wall after a flood: Beckett on the left, Poster for Waiting for Godot (1990 Munich), poster of All Strange Away (1894 La MaMa NY) and tiny “post it” notes.

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Jerusalem 4 – almost saying goodbye.

Dead Sea Mud - Room service style - King David Hotel

Dead Sea Mud – Room service style – King David Hotel

Walking to the Wailing Wall for the last time

Walking to the Wailing Wall for the last time

The WALL - almost saying goodbye

The WALL – almost saying goodbye

Jerusalem 4 - deep dive into nowhere

Jerusalem 4 – deep dive into nowhere

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Suffer, Gerald, Suffer !

Covered in Dead Sea Mud: dead but active. How's that for a...paradox?

Covered in Dead Sea Mud: dead but active. How’s that for a…paradox?

Under the Wailing Wall wondering about the real value of Facebook. I need psychiatric help!

Under the Wailing Wall wondering about the real value of Facebook. I need psychiatric help!

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From Jerusalem 2

Me in a shaft of light under the Wailing Wall

Me in a shaft of light under the Wailing Wall

Under the Wailing Wall

Under the Wailing Wall

Under the Wall: Herod's cisterns

Under the Wall: Herod’s cisterns

Under the Wailing Wall: window to nowhere

Under the Wailing Wall: window to nowhere

Under the Wailing Wall - the unmovable 600 ton stone

Under the Wailing Wall – the unmovable 600 ton stone

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From Jerusalem !

Jerusalem Timberlands and Reeboks

Jerusalem Timberlands and Reeboks

West Bank – and – Jerusalem:
Jerusalem Wailing wall nut club

Jerusalem Wailing wall nut club


I used to be the most skeptic and cynical son of a bitch. That is, till yesterday. Till yesterday I saw religion as a guise or a costume just like the costumes we use on stage.

But yesterday, floating on (or in), or (dare I say) above the Dead Sea, I had an insight. My arms extended to infinity and so did my feet. My eyes were sore from the salt water but I had a clear view of the hazy sky, 422 meters below sea level.

What can I say? Will my friends laugh me out? Who cares! Arms and feet extended, I was “drawn” upwards, while covered in mud and itching all over.

What can I say?

Upon returning to the King David Hotel, I threw up all the food and liquid I’d taken in and was up all night dehydrating. The toilet and its vicinity were one big tahini mess.

No, no self help texts, no help anything texts. However, one thing is for sure: Jerusalem has powers beyond ones control. I’m emotional about things that may seem so silly to someone who has practiced atheism for so long:

Fear not! I’m not converting you.

Actually, I wouldn’t know what to convert you into. A radical Jew? I mean, orthodox or Hassidic vine leaf? Or a Franciscan monk or priest or a cup of Nespresso or Illy Cappucino? Or a devout Muslim or…What? What exactly would I try to convert you into? A new Moses, perhaps, stuttering all the way out of his basked or coming down from the Mount Sinai (hospital) in tears whilst looking at what his brother was producing on Madison Avenue, all this “theatrical mess” down here, around Jaffa or Haifa or , even, in Egypt.

No, not today . No more fun with words. This is getting serious and my respect for the light has erupted like hives on my skin. From now on it’s all a matter of who believes in what and I respect that, no matter what the ceremonial platter and protocol may be.

Heads covered by scarves or balding heads, shaven like ravens, I simply look at them all as pilgrims looking for their lost ones and clinging on like Klinghoffer. No different than your usual suit and tie. No different.

Half of me is gone, GONE, finished, evaporated. The other half is growing again or will grow again, someday somehow.

How, I do not know.

I’m in a daze and, to be quite frank, don’t even know how these words are coming out of these half numbed finger tips, still brown (this time from the hard core Turkish coffee I drink non stop from date to date, honey to honey, figs to figs, nuts to nuts and ashes to ashes. That’s how I’ll end up, next to Schindler’s tomb hoping that my epitaph will read something like: “That was it?”.

I’m faintly dead on the ground looking up and thinking: “am I still thinking?” Have I turned into Bill Clinton? Paulo Coelho? Amy Wine Winehouse?

Ok. Done. Jerusalem, you’ve institutionalized me. You’ve driven the sane one out and have given full power of attorney to the madman.

INRI and garlic were the sounds or words I heard involuntarily thru the night. INRI, of course. Garlic, can’t stand it.

Yet, I still smell of sulfur. Of course, that is the smell which seems to be expelled by my skin or my organism because of the salt and the mud. Suddenly I was a Dead Being, saying dead things, a walking Tibetan Book of the dead floating above the Dead Sea or the Red Sea or the Jordan River.

Hello everyone. Here I am: the Brazil nut in human form. Enrollment next door at a very dicey price. The club, of course, is extremely exclusive!!!! You all know what I mean.

Gerald Thomas
Jerusalem
, May 15, 2012

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And here’s to the impossibility and improbability that we, as humans, will ever live together in peace:

Inside the Saint Sepulcre

Inside the Saint Sepulcre

Jerusalem and.. walls

Jerusalem and.. walls

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