St. Genesius At The Stake

Saint Genesius at the Stake


Actor or saint, which god did you serve,
When on a clear Roman evening
You declared yourself Christian
And sealed your doom.


The play was over, and your part -- concluded.
Why did it carry on into the Emperor's Court
Where you declared yourself
Moved by your own performance,
A mockery of the baptism.


And what was your motivation
When put to the torture,
When the pyre was lit,
And the heat came in waves 
Over your sweat-streaked face?


Were you overcome with the Holy Ghost?
Thus declaring yourself Christian --
Then, no patron of Actors.


Or were you serving Thespis?
Singing the great goat-song of Dionysius --
Then, no Saint.


Or are you merely that twisted actors's fantasy --
A moment on stage, turned Legend?

Don't Be Afraid Of The Shadows, Julia

Don’t be afraid of the shadows, Julia,

The darkness can be your friend.

You can’t live your life in the sunshine,

Even the brightest day must end.

Night-time comes, candles are lit,

The shadows begin to fall

Casting phantom figures

Which dance upon your wall.

Shapes and forms at your command

Performing as you like –

Giants and dragons, witches and ghosts,

Your dream-wishes bring them to life.

The mantle of darkness, my Julia shall wear

With ne’ery a trace of fright,

At home beneath moon and the wandering stars,

A princess of the night.

I sketched out the preliminary lines for this poem on Halloween, 1991 when Julia was one day old and still in the hospital.  I finished it later, of course, but the inspiration was two-fold.  First, we had finally decided on her name that day, and I loved the name “Julia” for so many reasons, but partly because there was a “Julia” on Dark Shadows.  And the song “Julia” by Annie Lennox was going through my head over and over while I held this tiny brand new life in my hands.

Secondly, Deb and I loved the night, and the shadows, and the mystery, and the danger that was present in all those gothic novels, stories, and movies, from classics like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, to more popular outlets like Victoria Holt and Anne Rice.  And I didn’t want my daughter to be afraid of the nighttime, or the shadows, or the darkness, because those times happen to us in this world, as well as the worlds of literature and imagination.

And finally, all the old poems my mother, and my grandmother used to recite to me, with the older language and the older cadence and rhyme, these were also going through my head as I held her close to me and passed the time until we left the hospital to take her, not home, but to the theatre. From “Little Orphan Annie” to  “The Land of Beginning Again” the old sounds were in my thoughts as I held this new life.

So, nineteen years later, I wanted to share this with you, and to re-dedicate it to my beautiful daughter, Julia -- a brave, strong, and formidable woman who is definitely not afraid of the shadows.

The Faery Glamour

Consciences are luxuries for kingly men,

Not a traveling player taking leave

Of an unholy company

Mirthless actors behind grinning masks

Shape-shifting frantically

Unable to reclaim the original skin

So easily shed

Surrendering your own voices

Believing them ordinary –

Replaced with echoes;

Shadows cast by footlights.

And if you are truly talented, it is the shadow

And not you which they shall remember –

For only the living are liars

Ghosts whistle truth backstage and in the wings

And aren’t afraid to scream “Macbeth”

At the top of their voiceless lungs

For the real show isn’t the show at all

. . . and I do not wish to be here anymore.

      -- Quentin Collin Faust

Back to the Blog . . .

Getting tired of how hectic, and how public Facebook is getting, so I revamped the design and am starting anew.

Today, my day of rest is turning into a day of work, but at least I don't have to put on a tie and drive in to Dallas.  Instead, I've got my shoes off, a pot of mint tea on, and instead of coffee breaks, I'll be taking "hot-tub" breaks.  And the other great thing is that I can continue to download all of these ShowTunes into my iTunes account.  So, I'm looking on the bright side of things this beautiful October morning.

The Trashcan Man & The Boxcar Child

for Shaun

A black edged, golden gray, tinted with orange dawn

Fills the air with the smell of yellow rain.

The trashcan man and the boxcar child

Embrace the morning with cut-throat smiles

And rise to another day of robbing Peter – and lying to Paul.

And as they search for shelter, their minds race helplessly,

Looking for a reason for the pain and the burden they share

As together they bear the Mark of Cain.

Chalking it all up to a Karmic debt, a cosmic bet, a holy joke.

With no roof – the world’s their dwelling place

. . . but not their home

With no relatives – they have many families

. . . but none their own

With no money – they get drunk

. . . on as much liquor as they can find

While their dark and bloodshot eyes

. . . are filled with bruised wisdom.

A fading blue, ribboned with pink, and dotted with black sky

Falls gently on a cloister of trees which covers the graying grass

Where the boxcar boy and the garbage gent

Lay down their burdens, lay down their heads.

While their spirits wander restlessly

Searching for an emerald dawn

They know will never come.

Sleeping Memories (Christopher)

Sleeping memories: Drunk Christmases / Black Easters --

Freezing:

The snow falling inside the house through the broken windows . . .

A frozen lake in the bath-tub and the toilet . . .

Frozen socks hung up to "dry" the night before . . .

Refugees huddled in the "heated" room

Hiding out with the enemy,

Powerless, in a house that is silent, dark, and cold

Sleeping memories awaken at a brother's pain

Childhood unresolved, forgiveness denied,

Understanding . . . . withheld --

Frozen.

Lost in the dark timber, where the deer roam wild,

Along with PaPaw's beast, the "GallyWampus" who devours

Hapless children who gaze too long into his single eye . . .

In the black, back forty, where bearings are lost,

And the sun can only be seen

From the top . . . of the tallest tree . . .

When we were young, we climbed that tree, and found our way back,

Found our way "home" . . .

We stayed warm without a fire,

And found ways to pass the time.

Together we managed to eat, when there was no food,

And to be kind, when there was no kindness . . . .

All we have now are memories;

Different memories of the same childhood,

Reminding us we survived, but separating us,

From who we are now, who we were then,

Or who we remember . . . .

We are older.

We have faced the pain and the questions;

Together and separately.

Different pain

Separate questions.

I am not hiding any answers from you . . . .

I don't know what happened.

I don't know why things are so difficult.

Or, it it simply because we know today what we didn't know then?

That every day we face the monster in the dark;

That every day we have to find our way home,

And that every day when we look back . . .

We have to remember . . .

Not to gaze too long . . . .

Summer Break Started Yesterday

Julia's final performance was Saturday night, then she left for Austin and today's State Solo & Ensemble competition, and then she's done, done, done with her Junior Year. I think I'm more relieved than she is. I'll be posting pictures here and on Facebook from her show in the next couple of days.

- Q

The Memorial Day "Special Gift" . . .

Oh, Dear, Dear Patrons,

We pride ourselves on being the keepers of "EVERYTHING", particularly keeping those bits of flotsam and jetsam that could prove MOST embarrassing to our friends.  Well, all I'll say now is that I have found a precious gem of a memory and will be preparing it for duplication and distribution to the patrons lucky enough to have reserved a spot at this year's Memorial Day BlowOut. Or . . . in the common vernacular . . . I got the goods on one of you !!!!

Be Here or Be Talked About!

 - Q

The Song Remembers When . . .

And so . . . you're standing in line at a deli . . . box of fix-your-own salad from the salad bar . . . and a song comes over the muzak . . . and it's all you can do to pay for your lunch, make it to the elevator, then up to the office, where you shut your door quietly . . . and let yourself cry.

Walpurgis Night . . . 2009

Tonight is often the night designated as Walpurgis Night, the night before May Day, the Festival of Beltane (whose opposite way festival is Samhain  . . . or Halloween).

And tonight is the night that Julia and I went to see Fleetwood Mac, and Julia and I got to see Stevie Nicks perform "Storms" which they are doing on this tour for the first time ever.  It is the lyrics from "Storms" that Deb selected for her Memorial Plaque (So, I try to say "Goodbye" my friend, I'd like to leave you with something warm / But never have I been a blue, calm sea / I have always been a storm).

And tonight is the official end of my dark period, although I've been struggling my way back into the light for the past week or two.

But I've learned a lot, and I did manage to avoid any visits, or any major events during April, was able to take care of many minor (and a few major) details along the way, which has certainly contributed to my sleeping a whole lot better than I have been.  And I feel like after three years of being "de-constructed" after Debbie died, that I've laid the first few tentative bricks towards the "re-construction" of Quentin Faust, whatever that will finally look like, who knows.

I certainly know what I don't want, and often times in my life knowing that has pointed me in the right direction, and I hope it holds me in good stead at this cross-roads as it has in the past.

May will be a busy month (although maybe not if they keep closing things down in fear of this swine flu, but don't get me started on that tonight).

Julia has many performances, banquets, and activities this month, my nephew Jaedan graduates in two weeks, and I'll have the group down for the Memorial Day Weekend, when The Hotel Abandon officially opens for the Summer Season.  But I am hoping that as I "ramp up" again, I don't go full tilt into the craziness that was  my life before this "April Darkness" that has been so kind and so instructive to me at the same time.

I wrote these words down right before a very significant turning point in my career, almost ten years ago, and tonight, they seem appropriate, and I hope they are as prophetic for the next ten years as they were for the last . . . 

"Now is the beginning of the end of your searching"

"Praise be to all of your ghosts and guardian angels"

- Q