212 pages

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ABRAMS BOOKS - D'Onofrio Vincent D'Onofrio

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212 pages

English

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Extrait

Description

A collection of irreverent and poetic short works from legendary actor Vincent D'Onofrio This is not a story woven around plot, characters, and contrivance. Rather, it is what acclaimed actor Vincent D'Onofrio's mind produces when on idle, when he is not thinking about servicing a story. His words are, in the purest sense, ideas that fall unexpectedly upon his head, "like an apple from a tree-dropping all at once," though less about gravity and Newton's apples, and more about levity. D'Onofrio's thoughts and images-presented here in all their uninhibited glory-are humorous, honest, abundant, raw, and unfiltered. And all exceedingly enjoyable. The unique design-a paperback with flaps and Chinese binding, all contained in a full-color, hardcover slipcase-offers the book an artistic, collectible feel.

Sujets

Philosophie et théologie

Memoir

Informations

Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	18 mai 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781647003371
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	7 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,1322€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

+ THINGS

STUFF

+ THINGS

STUFF
C A M E R O N

C O M PA N Y

Petaluma, California
M

+ THINGS

STUFF

Vincent D Onofrio

FOREWORD BY

Ethan Hawke

PHOTOGRAPHS BY

Carin van der Donk

FOREWORD

By Ethan Hawke

Things that have been told to me by animals

who don t speak or communicate.

Stories written by something sort of living. Also me.

Stories of self while I m still not completely numb and can still feel

my heart beat and have nothing to do with how I really feel.

Ever. NEVER EVER!

-ish

Sometimes humanity trips and hurts itself real bad.

118

196

What if I had a secret and it mattered so much to you that your life

would revolve around whether you ever found out what my secret is?

It s a secret.
F

e were performing a play called Clive .

It was an adaptation of Bertolt Brecht s

incendiary first play, Baal . It is not for the faint

of heart. The play has disdain for the audience.

Lore has it that Patti Smith once said it s her all-

time favorite. She may be the only one. Many

audience members seemed actively angry with

me for producing, directing, and starring in this

show. The set was built out of beer cans and

musical doors. Sounds strange and it was . . .

Early in rehearsals I remember telling the

company that if critics or audiences liked this

play, it meant we did it wrong. We all laughed

confidently. But courage was hard to maintain

as people argued in angry voices in front of the

theater, sure there was no point to what we were

doing. Even family members seemed slightly

scared for us. We all want to be liked. We want

to be understood. Young actors don t dream of

walkouts. No one craves derision.

BY Ethan Hawke

12
But there was a moment backstage, early in the run, when our

collective mettle was being tested. Were we going to have the guts

to deliver the nihilistic rage Brecht was asking for? I had called for

a company meeting, hoping to boost a flagging morale . . . but my

own confidence had waned and was so shaky I had little to offer. I was

worried I had led all my friends down a dark hole from which no light

could be offered. It was obvious to the cast I had lost my footing and

was unsure how to lead. Vincent D Onofrio spoke up and said, I

have something I d like to read. I wrote a journal this morning.

We sat and listened. At first everyone was fidgeting and nervous.

Is this for real? Is this supposed to be funny? Is this tragic? Is this the

truth? By the end, we were howling like a pack of wolves at the moon.

More journals followed. Something utterly original was flowing out

of Vincent. We began gathering before every show, hoping for a new

journal. Maybe it was Brecht s punk rock spirit that called to Vincent.

Maybe it was just his own desire to heal and give confidence to his

friends, but as this writing continued to pour out of him, one thing

was clear: this shit needed to be published.

16
Things that have been told to me by animals

who don t speak or communicate.
18
1.

I M A M OUS E

IN A RED

DRES S

I M A DOG

I M A DUCK

I M A FROG

I M A M ONK EY W

ITH AN ORGAN-GRINDING FRIEND

6 .

I M A M UL E

I M A CAT

I M A GUP P Y

I M A H AM S TER

10.

I M A L ITTL E

P INK P IG

11.

I M A PANDA BEAR W

ITH NO P OCK ETS

40
THINGS THAT HAVE BEEN TOLD TO ME BY

ANIMALS WHO DON T SPEAK OR COMMUNICATE.

I m a mouse in a red dress. I have a black nose

and I love cheese sooo much. I can balance

on a thimble with one foot. One foot. Imagine

that. I can run under a rug, sniff about, and

run out the other end. I m a mouse in a red

dress. Imagine that.

I m a cricket in a top hat. I m soooo smart. Like

a spring, my legs sprang and I m four feet in

the air. I land on a lawn chair, adjust my hat,

and I m off. Another four feet and I land. I m

on a garden hose and I m a cricket in a top hat.

Sooo smart and I m off again . . .

I m a M ouse

a Red

Dress

MUTHA
21

I m a monkey in Miami Beach. I have a red

pillbox hat and a vest with tassels. I hate my

clothes but they are tied to me. I am in a palm

tree hiding in between a bunch of coconuts.

I will only come down to steal food. I ve run

away from a stinky man with a beard and a

music box. I hate him; I hate the box. I m a

monkey in Miami Beach.

I m a crocodile with no friends. I m still hungry.

I m a crocodile with no friends.

I m a tadpole. Jesus, I give up.
DOG

22
23

I m a dog and I love myself too much. I m on

a corner talking to my friends, and my owners

are talking to their friends. Jeez, I feel a tingling

sensation around my groin area. Should I have

a sniff down there? I think I will. Fuck it, I think

I ll lick my balls.

I m out and about and wander into a store

that allows pets. People can sometimes be such

suckers for a cute face like mine. They have no

idea what I m thinking. Most likely I m thinking

about food. Or my groin is tingling like right

now. I think I ll have a lick.

I wonder what the rest of the day will be like.

I think I ll have a nap. I wish I had something to

chew on. Like a baby bird carcass. Hey, there s a

bunch of little children to play with. Sooo much

fun running around and knocking them about.

Oooh, I feel that tingle again. I think I ll lick my

balls; the children won t mind. I m a dog and

I love myself too much.

I m a Dog

DO
THINGS THAT HAVE BEEN TOLD TO ME BY

ANIMALS WHO DON T SPEAK OR COMMUNICATE.

MUTHA

I m a Duck

WATCH

I want to be a rock star. Instead, I m a duck.

I want to be skinny and scream-singing in an auditorium of countless

people staring and scream-singing with me. Instead, I have a beak.

I m not even a white duck. I don t have a shiny yellow beak. I don t

have fluffy white feathers. I m not even a mallard. I like those. I don t

have one. I m just a duck . . . the kind of duck that unless you re a

duck specialist, you have no idea what kind of duck I am.

What do you know? What I know . . . is that

I m not a rock star. I

don t have a band. I don t get to glance across the stage at my lead

guitarist as we give each other a look.

A supercool look . . . a look that

says we have a secret. A rock star secret. God, I wish I were a rock star.

I shit in a lake. Sometimes I shit on the shore but only when there

are no people around. Because I find it embarrassing. Nobody likes

having a shit on a shoreline. Nobody. I live in my toilet.

I am glad I wasn t born a chicken. For obvious reasons. I ve thought

about throwing caution to the wind. Trying to beat the odds and

become a rock star. You know? Learn an instrument and learn to

scream and sing. I tried to get a duck band together but nobody stuck

with it. Ducks have no purpose. Well, a duck can dream. Playing pool

is cool. I might take up billiards. That would be cool. Have my own

stick . . . the kind that splits in half and you carry in a case. A leather

case cool. Very cool. I think I ll have a paddle around the lake . . .
25

M
THINGS THAT HAVE BEEN TOLD TO ME BY

ANIMALS WHO DON T SPEAK OR COMMUNICATE.

MUTHA

I m a frog. Mind your own business.

Don t look at me. I m a frog. Don t you stare at

me. I eat flies. I m damp. Are you?

You are the one, the ugly one, not me. You are

the one who sticks your

nose in other people s

business. The one who can t keep to yourself.

I can. I m a frog. I keep to myself.

You are the one with the opinions. You have the

world in front of you. I have the next stool. My

TOADSTOOL . You can walk into anything and

muck it up. I live in the muck. None of this is

my fault; my pond is only so deep.

It is you who causes all the problems; I am a

frog.

Stop involving yourself in others lives. We are

not asking for opinions; I have never asked for

anything. Catch a frog asking for something.

I m a Frog
27

Never happens. Never ever. I have an opinion

of my own. My opinion is not based on

anything but a real urge, an urge that comes

from my nervous system. You are just nervous.

The water is warm. The muck is cool. The

bushes are full of insects. Kids like to kill me.

Chlorine kills us. People used to have us as

pets, now they have tarantulas. Stupid spiders.

Large lizards. Sure, now that you can have them,

go ahead, get a bunch. Fucking lizards.

My thirst is quenched.

I am not thirsty. I live in water. My needs are

few. My opinions, these opinions count.

They are real things. Basic urges. Like eating

and croaking. I m a frog.

You want to be a fly on the wall. Fine, that s just

fine. Consider yourself frog food. I m a frog.

Mind your own business folks. You are causing

your own problems.

Get it together before you croak!

THINGS THAT HAVE BEEN TOLD TO ME BY

ANIMALS WHO DON T SPEAK OR COMMUNICATE.

MUTHA

I m a monkey with an organ-grinding friend.

I don t really like my friend. He does give me

nuts. Hard on the teeth. What s so entertaining

about the two of us? Is this world starved for

entertainment? Are we that far gone? That even

with the Internet, we still need organ-grinders

with monkeys? I d like some new clothes; this

French sailor outfit isn t cutting it anymore.

If I could get out of this collar, I d split. I d run.

I hate organ music; it sounds broken.

The organ-grinder cranks out these tunes.

I ll commit monkey suicide one day. He ll be

cranking out tunes, and he ll notice he s been

dragging me, the dead monkey, for blocks. My

grinder, he s so into himself. He only talks to

me when there are people around. He smiles

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