Waking up at the first hint of dawn I see a salmon-colored horizon

as pinkish as the mouth of an Abyssinian cat’s yawn.

Darkness recedes as a glimmer of a never-ending sun emerges.

A curtain of black spider silk unfurls. A drama is about to begin.

Beneath the proscenium arch deep in the orchestra pit, musicians tune up,

discordant as ornery cats, before plunging into a strident rendition

of “Thus Spake Zarathrustra” from “Space Odyssey 2001.”

I had no idea what the show was about until the middle of the second act

when battered and bruised I stood before Torquemada, lying as best as I could.

Bitten by a snake at the Union Cemetery on the way to Saulter’s Pond,

a tourniquet kept the venom at bay. What kind of denouement will the third act bring?

I must have been sleep-walking when I wrote this scenario, just like I originate

all of my dreams with lots of suspense waiting for the future to become now.

Often ingrained with themes of the pain of solitude and the dread of loss,

essential epiphanies are necessary surprises, like discovering the delusion of God.

Walking the fine line between comedy and tragedy, I include lots of laughs

and a penumbra of impending doom, like the story of cousin Jerry

who woke up one morning bleeding from his ass. I also leave room

for Chekovian conversation, urbane and witty dialogue designed to unravel

the subterfuge that interferes with understanding each other.

I illuminate the drama of feeling lost and alone, searching for the secret alchemy of love

that allows extraordinary tenderness to be sustained. Wrestling with the Angel Of Death

keeps an audience on the edge of its seat. Heroism in the face of terror gets everyone

on their feet clamoring for more. The protagonist will be tested,

but won’t know how, when or where he will be faced with the black brick of catastrophe.

He may tread lightly over the fiery coals of impoverishment, blindness or becoming

wheel-chair bound. Will he have the courage to go on?

He will be the first to know, but the audience will not find out

until the end of the third act when the curtain descends and the end is the end.

Until then, the show must go on.

All tickets are reserved and there are no refunds.


Milton P. Ehrlich