Text from “Truth and Lies”, SOLO 1994
The Margaret Story
How are you?
OH, I’m fine.
What have you been up to?
I heard that your relationship fell apart.
Yeah well there never was much hope to it. But I did have a good time.
It must have been strange to be with the Prime Minister.
Well that was exciting until the end.
How did you meet her?
We met at a dinner party in about 81 or 2.
It was pretty fancy and all the rest.
How did you get there?
My Uncle Bob was an MP.
Really I didn’t know there was money in your family.
Oh yeah, but your know when people have money they never talk about it.
When they don’t that’s all they talk about.
So anyway. I saw her at this table and she was so powerful. I had a short little pink number on and there was no way she was going to miss me. She just glowed with power.
What about her husband?
It was weird. He had bladder problem so he would go in and out a lot. Like
he knew but he didn’t know. That kind of trip.
Oh yeah, messy?
No it was cool with him. Margaret was a lot of maintenance.
There was this guy from Russia playing the piano, a very romantic piece. I just kept my concentration at Margaret’s table and I knew she would eventually notice me. The music was load and very romantic. Then the pianist quit playing. I felt my chance was now there so I went to her table and just sort of waited. Just as we made eye contact this Russian pianist showed up. Well he was being a real pain in the ass. He was telling Margaret how much he loved music. Loved playing music. Of course it was all a big hustle. He was just trying to squeeze her for some diplomatic cash. Well you know how Margaret was about money. And she had already started to eye me so I knew she wanted to get rid of this guy. Her husband had gone off to the loo. So Margaret told this pianist, very load to shut him up, ‘That is what I like about artists. They love their work so much I do not need to give them money and yet they will still do it. Wonderful’.
It was great.
Yeah what legs.
Yeah she had strong legs.
I can relate, like I hate my job but I don’t mind my work
The Truth Box
The truth is like a box. People hear about the truth so they go running toward it and then live in the box. Some people get to the box early and some people get into the box very late. They don’t wear watches or have e-mail. Anyway, the people in the middle of the box are hanging pretty well until some scientist, philosopher, biologist or feminist comes along and says to everyone at once ‘sorry but the truth is no longer in that box. It is in this box.’
Not all of the people hear the box story and are truly in the box while there are those who do hear but are in a dilemma. The people in the back are stuck if the people in the middle are comfortable. They have microwaves, refrigerators, and washing machines with dryers. If the people in the middle of the box are comfortable the people in the back are stuck. But the people who got in the box last get out first. They go running to the new box. But with all the fuss it takes to get out of the box, by the time they get there another truth box is heard so now their running from box to box. They are hanging in the middle, hanging in a lie.
I want to now offer a hidden meaning to the twentieth century vocabulary of solo. I will reveal a secret so personal that intimate behavior will forever in my life be impossible. A confession of my true being.
These are not my real tits. I used to have big ones. I had them hung up side down and they are an attractive ornament in my closet. I gave them to a friend and he never gave them back.
This is not my real hair length. My real hair grows. (Improvisation and a poem)
I have six husbands at home
All of my husbands have very big cocks
And they love me very much
All of my husband’s cocks have permanent erections.
I use their cocks to hang my laundry
I dedicate my life to my laundry