To Broo: a haiku

broowaha.com cover January 28, 2008

In honor of Broowaha writer
Lynne DeSilva-Johnson,
and her “30 Days of Haiku”
project.
An offering, on the return of
Broowaha.com.


"Then in measured breaths...

I would read you everyday...

My heart beating, wild."





Copyright © 2010 Bill Friday

Pulp Poetry (1)

     Because sometimes, words look
     better in PULP.

     I hate you
     I don't love you
     I tolerate you (because)
     I'm too lazy
     and too afraid
     to do what is right.

     I am pathetic.



Copyright © 2010 Bill Friday

Shari Alyse: America's Next Talk Show Host

Meet Shari Alyse, Broowaha writer and contestant in the Oprah Winfrey Network's "America's Next Talk Show Host".   A Bill Friday interview.

Shari, on a professional level, how would you describe yourself?

I’m an aspiring actress and TV talk show host and a writer for Broowaha.com.

So, if you had to make a choice?

Through the years, as I have gotten older and have been learning more about myself, I have come to find that I make a lot better "me" than I do playing someone else. That is why I have put forth a lot more effort in the recent years to pursue the hosting route. I find that we all have something to teach one another, and I want to be a part of being able to do something positive with my life.

Why a talk show host?

What Have You Done For Your Art?



Jean-Michel Basquiat, "Boy and Dog in a Johnnypump"

 
Barista.

Janitor.

House painter.

Graveyard Courier.

Any of these jobs sound familiar? If you're a writer, I'd bet at least one. I'd also bet that, as a writer, you've said least one of the following lines to explain why.

"It's temporary." Or...

"I'm just working this gig to make contacts in the industry". And my personal favorite...

"It pays the bills and leaves me time to write."

Load of crap!

Art is never free, and someone always has to pay the bills.

Unless you're a young Quentin Tarantino sitting behind the counter at Video Archives in Manhattan Beach, working a near-minimum-wage job so you can make contacts is like the alcoholic bartender who drinks his mistakes to help him perfect his craft.

So I'll ask the question again. What have you done for your art? I'll tell you what I did for mine.

I'd Like To Report A Missing Person...

In honor of the memory of what was, a blast from BrooWaha past.  Firewalk with me down memory lane to a time when authors gave a crap, and their voice was heard.

It was Tuesday, September 4th. I drove north on Wilcox, my destination now in sight. I found a space in front of the building and parked. It was the only space left on the street. Was it fate, or just dumb luck?


For this job, I could use a little of both.

5:45 p.m. After a hard day at work the A/C inside was cool and inviting. Outside, the air was hot and wet, a lot like the pavement in a Whitesnake video featuring Tawney Kitaen. 100 degrees every day for... days, but that was another story.

1358 N. Wilcox. Hollywood Division. LAPD's Precinct of Broken Dreams. I stepped inside. A pale-legged tourist with black socks and an Iowa drivers' license sat next to a self-employed, freelance “actress" with six-inch heels and no permanent address. I noticed that, even in the late-summer heat, both of them were wearing wigs.

And just like the curls in their nylon hair, nothing about either of them seemed out of place.