I had an absolute blast writing and performing this show. Many thanks to everyone who came out, to Side Street Studio Arts, to Claire and all the other people working tech for shows at Elgin Fringe Arts Festival, to my wife Christine and to my parents.
Unfortunately I was not able to record the show, but I am working on recording it on a stage somewhere in the future. In the meantime, I am posting the full show in text below. Click on a title to expand to the full piece. They are stand alone pieces but I tried to arrange them to build an overall arc. I originally planned on reading a few more pieces but had to edit for time. The full collection is listed in order here – Steer into the Skid
Steer into the Skid (Full text)
My other sports car is an Alpaca
I promise you this
my midlife crisis
will be fucking weird.
No red convertibles or girls
young enough to be my daughter.
No recycling of the macho capitalist
dreams that brought me to this point
in the first place.
No, I’m driving up to that Alpaca farm,
the one too close to the highway,
I’m busting Randle out of that joint.
He looks so uncomfortable after they shave him,
all the tiny bits of hair itching under his collar.
I’ll let him know he is my equal, my spirit animal,
and we’ll grow our hair out and get high
On absinthe and existential dread,
And talk like ex patriot artists
With exaggerated American accents,
Eating all the free popcorn at the bar.
Except we won’t be pretending
We have it all figured out.
Instead we will be hopped up
On the knowledge that we know
Absolutely, fucking, nothing.
Our brains lubricated by big unfinished thoughts
And natural butter flavor.
And I’ll open a tab for my anxiety
Serve it tea and whiskey
And play three card Monte
But I’ll palm the queen.
And when it accuses me of cheating
I’ll flip it around and answer
“That’s a serious accusation without any proof.
People have been shot for less?”
And I’ll kick Randle under the table when he
Starts laughing and risks exposing my bluff.
And not knowing his own strength,
he’ll kick me right back
so sharply it summons a primal cry,
that shocks my anxiety into apologizing
for ever accusing me
of any underhanded behavior,
right before it retreats into a silence
I never knew existed.
And that silence
will trigger a paralyzing addiction
to peace. And I will hear
all those oxygen starved thoughts hidden
under the constant noise
of that sabotaging inner voice,
along with my outer voice’s irresistible need
to fill every moment, to not give that inner voice
the air to speak.
And they’ll tell me
“It’s ok. You’ve done enough for today,
get some damn rest for a change.”
And no amount of 90 mile per hour wind in my hair
or misguided illusion of youth
will ever,
feel that free.
– My Other Sports Car is an Alpaca © Mike Chernoff 05/14/2023
Fan Fiction
So this “God” person just ends the story in 2012, because of some unexplained Mayan calendar thing?
It continued as fan fiction but I wouldn’t bother, those volumes got pretty implausible and the narrative falls apart.
Fan Fiction(Two Sentence Horror Stories) © 10/01/2022
Vera *
You, who nurtured me, now casually ripping my arm from its stem.
Wringing out my blood, hoping it will soothe some minor injury.
* – Dedicated to the Aloe Vera Plant in my kitchen (I know it doesn’t make up for it, sorry man)
ChernoffWriting.com – Vera © 10/01/2021
Lord, Deliver Me (a Gas Station Hot Dog)
I know the angels watch over me
I can smell their breath,
Desperate as death
For any opening to pounce, any bounced check
or ounce of questionable ethics,
So they can call in their debts.
I can’t handle the constant threat
That hangs over any step out of line.
I just want to shine,
Like the grease glistened hot dogs
Rolling in place,
Predators of poor impulse control
and I find myself as prey.
Pray for better days
for better ways
To process feeling
But kneeling locks me in place
Held under the same ceiling,
under the same questions, needling
the same pressures freezing me
In this headspace.
So tired of wasting grace
chasing meaning, in the wrong places.
It can be freeing, that feeling
that no one else is coming, to save me.
I’ll pick myself up, but leave the dust,
life would just replace it.
Scramble up some courage
my fried nerves crackling like bacon.
Put the armor on again,
for a fresh war of my own making
With the daily blasphemy of living,
the guilt of giving
self-kindness in a world built,
around taking.
Lord Deliver Me (a Gas Station Hot Dog) © 08/20/23
Red Light Camera
“Why are you dressed up like a traffic light?” she asked.
“shh…” I caution, “it’s the only way I’ve managed to avoid the robots, for this long.”
Red Light Camera © 05/14/2023
Tarzan of the Grapes
I can see you’re kinky,
just like my spine.
Let’s go to Costco,
split a box of red wine.
Overdose on samples,
get all twisted, swing from Red Vines.
Wake up in store jail,
or just a prison of our minds.
Don’t think you’re divine
Just cuz I’m down on my knees,
Scrounging for self respect,
but I’d settle for my keys.
Wandering this country
that warps in front of me.
Land of opportunity?
No, it’s a Spirit Halloween
But it’s good, it’s fine
I could use the disguise.
Can the makeup, the greasepaint,
check the bags under my eyes?
Stick with me, and you’ll see
How much this store credit buys.
A card swipe misdirection
from all my doubts, that galvanize.
My self-marketing campaign finds new ways,
to terrorize.
It’s funny how deftly anxiety,
can improvise.
An untapped brilliance whose only skill,
to agonize.
The smallest missteps in my head,
all pressurized.
Good thing all the distractions in this land,
are super-sized.
A big gulp full of booze, caffeine,
and Yellow #5.
Let’s see how many feelings,
these chemicals
sanitize.
It works as advertised,
My attention starts to scatter
I refresh my Like count
to see how much I matter,
50 tabs all loaded,
A perfect sampler platter
of gambling, puppies, porno,
politics and random chatter.
There’s a million ways to kill it
a million ways to drown
rabbit holes all multiply
but they can’t turn the volume down.
I’m searching for that spark
that won’t burn me to the ground.
Self-apology’s within me
but I can’t let it make a sound
I’m still gasping for the safe word
To make this inner voice subside.
There’s an endless stream of answers
Yet they never quite apply,
With my hollowed-out avoidance
fear, feeds back, all amplified.
I grab the mic, get on stage
because there’s no place to hide
but, my bulletproof sarcasm
won’t let anything inside.
I brought my own projection
I’ll flip this spotlight on its side…
Wait I thought I was near the orchestra,
but I find myself, ringside
The bell rings with authenticity
But my gloves, they’re counterfeit
While I came here seeking peace
My hands swing like hypocrites
Backed into a corner
Mouth full of bleeding words, I spit
I’m running out of options
fighting truths I won’t admit.
Defenses are all failing,
excuses, no longer fit.
There’s only one move left,
Just drop my gloves,
and let it hit.
Tarzan of the Grapes © Mike Chernoff 03/13/2023
Steer into the Skid
God bless…
The hellfire that spit me,
The demons that can’t quit me.
My DNA’s so shifty
That my genes don’t even fit me.
I take more time, than Time permits me.
I know it’s judgement will never acquit me.
But all the arrows it fires to split me,
I’ve pierced myself with, a time or fifty.
My stomach strikes up to greet me
In a symphony of uneasy,
Burns through any chance to relieve me
And all my fortune cookies, read “Eat me.”
I feel the rush of a frantic entreaty
From that nervous fire that breathes me,
spits my life story out as graffiti,
In penmanship sure to misread me.
God bless…
The fate that tries to grift me,
The reality that bit me.
My regrets meet in committee,
Their voices can’t always convince me.
Lately, patience runs out so quickly
that its breeze spins me dizzy,
And my mind has been so drifting,
that my dreams no longer fit me.
Is this rhyme imposed artificially?
Is the meter I’m on too constricting?
Thoughts circle answers but miss me,
collide off themselves contradicting.
They say everything happens for a reason.
They don’t say it, when it happens to them.
I’m falling off my rhythm again
Sleep starved eyelids scratching at the ceiling.
I try to spin it positive,
but thoughts have their own gravity.
And it’s hard to wrap my head around
this being where I’m supposed to be
when nothing here seems comforting.
And words, my only medication,
want war with my situation,
but fighting it just leads to more suffering.
So, is letting go my only safety?
No control has ever saved me
From this self-inflicted destiny.
I know this path will help me,
so why isn’t trusting it easy?
I repeat it to myself,
but until I can breathe it,
I don’t believe me.
I own this moment only, as it owns me
and even that overstates my agency.
I hold only this breath that sustains me,
and it’s best not to grip it too tightly.
I feel the constant pull to distract me,
creating constant need to realign me,
to steer into the skid that spins me,
when instinct swerves hard to derail me.
It’s ok that this fits so uncomfortably
If I can let it, it will eventually guide me
To the moment my breath slows so calmly,
that my screams, no longer fit me.
I exhale them controlled and chilly
over the embers that used to possess me.
I’m in the only place I can be,
I’ll take this peace, however uneasy.
Steer into the Skid © Mike Chernoff– 6/17/23
Borrowed Air
Your breath trades on borrowed air
inflating inspiration through your belly
and just as quickly returned to atmosphere.
Does it feel that minute moment
of life it sparked in your lungs?
The oxygen rich excitement
or the relaxing of grief’s
strangled grip,
finally expelled out
in cathartic cry?
And did you notice it, thank it?
That brief gift delivered to you
so steadily that
we calibrate our senses
to cancel out the noise
of its constant motion.
How easy it is to forget
that we are never not moving.
No matter how simple
or profound the moment,
we were never meant
to hold it still.
We carry it
just as it carries us.
We are agents of that air
that powers our voices,
changes us,
propels us to change the world around us.
And when that world balloons
to an unbearable burden,
We remind ourselves, “just breathe”,
if you can’t take anymore,
just take that one breath
and the rest will slowly return to you
your body echoing the endless flow of tides
Sharing the air from the same winds
that wind around, and over, and through
every obstacle in the earth’s vast imagination.
We become that air that animates us
and assume its responsibility,
to amplify the music that surrounds us
and wear down the sharp edges,
sweep the dry cracked leaves from the ground
lift them up, and make them dance again.
And when that breeze lifts you
to dizzy thrills, impossible excitement
swelling up in your chest,
give yourself that moment, feel it flush through you,
then remind yourself, “just breathe”.
Borrowed Air © Mike Chernoff 02/23/2023
“Steer into the Skid” explores anxiety, avoidance, and acceptance through spoken word, punctuated with sarcasm and humor. Mature language, some adult topics. Additional topics include existential benders with Alpaca and drunkenly swinging Tarzan style through Costco. Immature audiences only. Burritos sold separately.
Trigger Warnings: Adult Language, anxiety and mental health are discussed.
Recommended Ages: 16 and older
I will be performing at the Elgin Art Showcase (164 Division street, Elgin IL) at the following times:
9/7 at 7:30 pm (Thursday)
9/8 at 7:30 pm (Friday)
9/9 at 4:30 pm (Saturday)
in addition to those times I will be doing a 5 minute performance with a few snippets of my show in the showcase preview on 9/6.
All shows at Elgin Fringe fest are about an hour. I am doing a “Short Show”, which means I am sharing my hour with 2 other short show performance groups. I am performing my 20 minute act first, followed by:
Dusty Feet Sketch Comedy and
Ambo Dance Theatre
It seems like kizmit, because my wife is a dancer and I have done quite a few dance poetry collaborations online with my wife Christine, at College of Lake County, and with L-Theory Dance Collective. I am also a fan of sketch comedy so I’m looking forward to seeing both of these acts perform.
Tickets are $12 for the entire hour. Every ticket at Fringe requires purchase of a $3 button for the festival, so total cost is $15. Tickets are available here, picked up at “Fringe Central” which is at Side Street Studio Arts about 2 blocks from the Elgin Arts Showcase. Tickets are available until 15 minutes prior to the show. Side Street is about 2 blocks from Elgin Art showcase.
for Tickets and additional information about Elgin Fringe Arts Festival, visit: https://www.elginfringefestival.com/
Our set changes will be super tight to cram 3 different acts into one hour, and it is intended to be 1 show, so if you plan on coming, please stay for all 3 acts (you are paying for the whole show already).
The Critics are raving :
- “A brilliant re-imagining of our past through the kaleidoscopic lens of modern culture… wait, you asked me about Hamilton right?” – NY Times Broadway Critic Ethan LeMongue
- “The best show you’ll see all year. I stake my entire reputation on it.” – Anonymous
- “Who?” – Kurt Vonnegut
Chernoff Writing.com 