E.W. Angst, the founder and conceiver of Fathomless Performance Concepts, has agreed to let his actors (he calls them "performance thinkers") fax their journal entries to the JustMorons.com offices, where This Moron will decipher them as best he can and post them for the reading pleasure of the public.

January 20, 1999
Kosovo, Albania

(Following diary entry by Ria Lally.  Please note that Ms. Lally dots her i's with little hearts, which I cannot reproduce in this font.  -ed.)

I am so excited!  This is so unbelievable!  Tonight we are actually finally having the kickoff party for our second world tour and I am so excited!  Yay!  It could only be better if it was my show, The Sorrowful and Bitter Life of a Teenaged Lake Bluff Girl instead of another one of E.W.'s stupid shows.  But we're here!   Yay!

It makes me want to go back to all those people who told me it couldn't happen and tell them, "See?!"  And I know that even though E.W. is saying it's all because of him, really it's because of my father, because without his money we never could of done all this.  The kickoff party is at some house in the suburbs, which is nice because there's less artillary fire out there.

Some of the other guys are kind of unhappy that we're here.  They're excited about the tour but they don't think it's a good time to be in Kosovo.  Buddy thinks we should of skipped Kosovo completely and just started in Vienna like we originally planned but E.W. really thought we would get better publicity here in Kosovo.

I hate to admit when E.W. is right, but I think he might be right about this, because we saw people from CNN today, and NPR, and a bunch of European stations I never heard of.   None of them interviewed us, but they know we are here, now, and I bet they might mention us in their stories.  I think Brad might of ruined our chances with NPR because he kept bugging the guy with the tape recorder for Cokey Roberts's phone number, and the guy was all, whatever.  As if he could even reach her from here!

I think it is exciting to have our diaries on the web.  I have never had anything on the web before.  I think it will bring us together as a company to all be posting our most secret private and intimate thoughts on the web.  That's good because I think we need to be closer, because this is going to be a long tour and we're going to need to get along.

I should talk about the show but I am running late because I need to take a shower and get ready for the big party.  Maybe I will write tomorrow.  E.W. says we will all have to take turns writing because it would paint an unfair picture if it was all just one person's point of view.  [Illegible scrawl here.]  Ooh!  That must of been mortar!

Bye for now!

--Ria Lally

(The following diary entry by Quarki Boargenhagun arrived over the fax about twenty minutes after Ms. Lally's)

I just should say that I am excited too and it was supposed to be my turn and I can't stand how Ria always has to be first (when E.W. lets someone besides him be first) and she LIED because she told me she was just going to test the fax machine but then Cally found her fax under her pillow while she was in the shower and can I just say that it makes me so hurt that someone I trust so much as Ria has to pull this kind of thing.  She is so judgmental of me, but look at her.  And she doesn't even know I slept with her brother last summer!  I have to fax this before she gets out of the shower.

--Quarki

January 21, 1999
Kosovo, Albania

(Several faxes arrived today.  The first diary entry is from Cally Lowdermilk)

Children.   I did not spend eight years of my life studying and perfecting my craft to have my career destroyed before it's even truly begun.  Infants.  Do I need this?   I do not think I need this.  Please forward the attached to my agent.   (Attachment was confidential)

--Cally

(The next is from Bradley "Brad" Temple)

I don't remember how the kickoff party went.  I remember waking up next to AnnaMaria.   That was cool.  I've been trying to bag her for years.  We were bundled up in some old blankets in the loft of a barn.  It was cold, freezing.   She was kind of blue and her skin was really cold.  There was a bottle of this weird Albanian wine we'd been drinking, and I took a couple of nips, and then a few more.   I remember trying to pour some down her throat.  She gagged, and I remember being glad because it meant she wasn't dead.  So I fucked her again.

I don't remember much after that.  I woke up on the floor here in my sleeping bag.   AnnaMaria wasn't around.  Quarkee was next to me, still sleeping.  She was snoring, so I fucked her.  I went out for a walk when I was done.  It was still cold as shit.  Some peasant dude with a head wound tried to bum a smoke off me.   These fucking Albanians.  They'll do anything for a Pall Mall.

--BT

(The last is from Ria Lally)

I just think the less I say, the better.  I'm not sure what happened.  I'm not sure how it could have happened.  I don't think we should let Brad drink at these functions, and E.W. never should have encouraged him.  And E.W. shouldn't have made us improvise the opening scene of the show, not when we'd been drinking and haven't even had a run-through since we left the states.  AnnaMaria was disgusting, walking around with her boobs popping out of that slutty little thing she was wearing even though it's about five degrees outside and the heating system of the ballroom wasn't working.  I still haven't seen her today, she's probably spreadeagled on some terrorist's bed, the whore.  Alls I can say is thank God for Buddy and Cally.  They're the only ones with any discipline.  I've got to go, Quorqui's crying in the bathroom...

--Ria Lally

January 25, 1999
[Location concealed at writer's request]

(There have been no faxes for several days.  One finally arrived today, from E.W. Angst. Mr. Angst does not use capital letters or punctuation in his prose, but I have done my best to render his submission readable. I apologize in advance for any disservice this may do to Mr. Angst's prose. -ed.)

On behalf of Fathomless Performance Concepts, which I can speak for unequivocally since I am its founder and conceiver and it would be nowhere without me, I apologize for our lack of communication this weekend.

Allow me to explain.

A half dozen grown men in fatigues stormtrooped our quarters early Friday morning and seized the fax machine, the telephone, Quarkee's portable television, and Brad's entire collection of pornography. We despaired of ever again seeing our only links to the civilized world, and I feared our bold experiment in theatrical journaling was done for.

Happily, however, while fleeing a band of thugs this morning, and seeking shelter in an unoccupied garage a little outside the city, we stumbled across the decapitated remains of our tormentors, and found our goods in a box their executioners must have overlooked.

Quarkey's television no longer received any UHF stations, and some of Brad's favorite magazines were missing (including those with photo layouts of AnnaMaria, from whom we have still heard nothing since her disappearance the night of our kickoff celebration), but everything else was intact, and I am thus pleased to resume communication with this fax.

I am sure the men and women who have submitted diary entries prior to this one have informed you of all the specifics of this production--certainly, it is my finest creation, and one that deserves the global audience destined to receive it. I am sure they have also spoken at length about me.

Since, however, have all entrusted their careers and, indeed, their very lives to me, I must ask the reader to forgive their probable exaggerations. I am like a God to them, but I assure you I am merely mortal, and merely do the best I can with the materials destiny places before me.

Cally and Buzz have just returned from a brief reconnaisance of our former lodgings, which apparently no longer exist. They also state that Randall, who went with them, seems to have gotten lost on the way back.

This is very unfortunate. Randall was my personal assistant. Someone else will have to run props. But such is war.

On with my show, I say, on with my show! Our first rehearsal is at nine a.m. sharp tomorrow morning. We only have two weeks of rehearsal, so every moment's got to count.

I have entrusted a videotape from an impromptu performance we gave at some American cafe last week to a young woman flying to the states tomorrow morning. I have asked her to drop it off at N-------'s, and hope you will be able to make arrangements to get it, transfer it into an internet-compatible format, and post it on the web. I am also having Buddy photograph all the members of the company and will mail those off so you can post their pictures.

I am told AnnaMaria already has an adequate web presence.

All in the name of art! Onward!

--e.w.

January 27, 1999
[Location concealed at writer's request]

(There were two brief faxes today, spaced several hours apart.  The first was from Schlomo Lewy.)

I always get blamed for everything and I'm tired of it.  I have been working very hard because I really believe in E.W. and Ria and the whole company, but I never get any appreciation or anything.  I just get blamed for things, whether or not they're my fault.  I don't mean nothing's ever my fault--I admit I should have listened a little more carefully while the KLA guys were giving me the information for AnnaMaria's ransom, but it was hard to concentrate with Brad and Tawny going at it on the other side of this stupid little wall, and anyway it was one of these cheap Albanian phones.

I don't think we should have started keeping diaries until the tour was underway.  The rehearsal process is always very tough, even for me, and I don't do anything.  I am drawing up some cool posters though.  I don't know if we're going to find a place to copy them, since most of the copy centers are under the control of the KLA or the Yugoslavian army, and they don't understand the importance of theatre.

E.W. thinks we should do the show in the ruins of some building that got blown apart yesterday because he thinks it would underscore some very important point about the play.  Ria thinks we should do it in a bomb shelter because none of us gets paid enough to risk our lives.  Cally and Buddy and Brad are kind of psyched to maybe do it in the ruins.  Shurle says she will not do it unless it is in a high-security theatre with an armed guard.  I agree with Shurle.  We have to do the show in a theatre.  It's called theatre, right?   Not "show you put on in the ruins."

But no one ever listens to me, so forget I said anything.

--Schlomo

(The second came from Shurle, although it was in Ria Lally's handwriting.)

I'm nervous.  I don't write well when I'm nervous.  I don't write well anyway, I have very shaky hands.  I'm just dictating,  Ria's going to write this for me.  She's already writing it.   She wrote that, just then.  She's still writing.  This is fun.   A-E-I-O-U.  Test, test, test.  Okay, okay, sorry.

I have nothing to say.   Seriously.  No, I don't.  I don't like it here.  I don't think it's an appropriate place to be.  I think some of the people I'm with in this company are not appropriate people to be with.  I am not neurotic.  Oh, and you're not?   Please.  Don't write that, Ria.  Stop.  Okay, okay.  Hold on.

I think E.W. is a very visionary writer, but I also think he's the most arrogant son-of-a-bitch I ever met.  I do too.   You said be honest, I was honest.  Are you writing that again?  Stop that.  Are you gonna write everything I say?  You're not gonna fax that, Ria.   Give me that paper.  Seriously.  I mean it.  Ria!  ----

(The remainder of the fax consists of illegible scrawls and stray marks.)

January 29, 1999
[Location concealed upon the advice of the American Consulate]

(One fax arrived, from Ria Lally.)

Things are getting really bad here.   We had a vote today on whether we should stay here in V------ or just give up on the Albanian part of our tour and head right to our next show (E.W. hasn't said where, but he said it was in "the Switzerland of the middle East," which sure sounds better than here).

We voted to go on to the next show, and then E.W. got really crazy and started screaming we were all a bunch of quitters and stuff.  I thought Cally was gonna punch him in the nose!  But eventually he calmed down. 

He explained that the reason he got so upset is that we still haven't got any money from our sponsors here in Albania, and in fact he is having a hard finding our sponsor.  He said he's heard rumors that our sponsor was a KLA informant and he's been taken up north by the Yugoslavian army for questioning.

Shurle thought maybe we could wait until he got back, explain that we have to leave because our contract doesn't include being shot at or taken hostage, get maybe half of our money and move on.  And E.W. was like, "Contract?"

I'm really starting to worry. 

Not because I'm scared, because I am willing to do anything for Art because Art is very important.  But I'm worried about Quorkie, who's wandering around the barn in her bathrobe making weird sounds; and about Tawny, who keeps flirting with the KLA guys occupying the town hall of the little village we're in; and about AnnaMaria, of course, who is probably being brainwashed by her captors--although maybe I shouldn't worry so much because even though it sounds mean to say so I think trying to brainwash AnnaMaria would be like trying to drown a goldfish.

The guys think they're doing all right but they're being disgusting and I think when we're finally out of here they're going to look back and realize how wrong it was of them to take advantage of the situation here.  These poor Albanian women.  It's really sad.

I hope our sponsor gets back soon.   How long can questioning take?

January 30, 1999
[Location concealed upon the advice of the American Consulate]

(One fax arrived, from Ralph "Buddy" MacCartwrightson.)

I just ain't never seen nothing like this.  It's like the Fourth a July every night!  Bout as pretty a thing as I've ever seen, an I just thank the Lord for the opportunaty to see it.  Me and Buzz went out with the camara tonight an took some pitchers of the fireworks.  Maybe they could put them on the web sight.

The barn shakes like all hell when the tanks roll by, an they was a lot a tanks rollin by today.  I think the Yougoslovians have pretty much took the town now.  Tawny's upset on account a there was some KLA guys she was sweet on, an they was executed in the town square this mornin.   I told her don't be upset, they've gone to a better place, but she just keeps cryin an cryin.  Makes me blue.  I'm kind a sweet on ole Tawny. 

Cally went to Kosovo last night an talked to the American consulit again, an he said we should get the hell outta here.   Cally told him what was goin on here in this little village and said maybe the consulit could tell someone and we could get some good ole American soljers in here and try to save some a these Albanians, or at least pertect our asses, and the consulit said there ain't any Yougoslovians here.  Cally said yeah, we seen them, and the consulit said, no, there ain't. 

So there it is.  I ain't too worried, though, on account I know that any day now were gonna see American G.I.s comin along and savin all these poor Albanians. 

The guys they shot this mornin are still hangin out there, and when the wind blows a certain way it smells like all heck, and that makes my sweet ole Tawny start cryin all over.  I hate seein Tawny cry.  It just brakes my heart.

--Buddy

January 31, 1999
[Location concealed upon the advice of the American Consulate]

(One fax arrived, from E.W. Angst)

I understand that certain members of the company have stated certain opinions about what's going on here in Yugoslavia.  I cannot overemphasize the fact that the men and women of Fathomless Performance Concepts, which I founded and which would be nowhere without me, are not here as political observers, and, indeed, haven't an ounce of political savvy between them anyway. 

I have spoken at length with representatives of the American government and have been assured that although we remain here at our own risk, Yugoslavians are only killing Albanians in self-defense, and vice-versa, and that so long as we offer no threat to either side we should be fine.   He said we're on our own as far as AnnaMaria's ransom is concerned, and although I haven't yet broken the news to the company I think we're going to have to resign ourselves to finding someone else to play her parts.

We've had a few readings and rehearsals begin in earnest tomorrow.  I've made some revisions that I'm quite pleased with.

Onward!

--e.w.

February 2, 1999
[Location unknown]

(Two faxes arrived one after the other.  The first, from Tawny Lee, had obviously been hastily written.)

They don't know I'm sending this.   Don't tell them I sent this.  No, I don't care if you tell them.  You have to get me out of here.  Please get me out of here.  I don't know where we are.  We've been moving around a lot.  I don't know when I'll be able to fax this.  Please help get me out of here.  Not only are we in the middle of a warzone but now he's going to make me act.  I'm not supposed to act I'm just supposed to emcee.

(The second came from Buzz Aldrin, and was barely legible.  I have done what I can.)

Here's your goddam entry.  Fax THIS, Ria.

February 4, 1999
[Location still unknown]

(One fax arrived, from Ria Lally)

Since no one else seems capable I suppose I will have to the positive one around here. (For a change !).

It has been a very exciting couple of days and now that we are all okay, and I don't know why but I think we all feel a little better knowing that Schlomo got the message wrong and AnnaMaria isn't being held by KLA guys or any army guys after all, just regular kidnappers.

We had one rehearsal in a freezing cold barn and one in the basement of a school while a bunch of old ladies and little kids watched us, which is weird, but can I tell you something?  I think this is so exciting.  I really feel alive.  I think it is so much more organic, the process we are going through.  It's exciting moving around every day and watching the tanks roll up and down the streets (although we see that less now that we are further from Kosovo). 

This is civil war here and I have never seen a civil war before.  I always picture Robert E. Lee or something.   Like in Gone With the Wind, which is like my number one favorite movie of all time.   But instead of horses and swords and stuff there's all these tanks and armored cars and there's always artillary going off in the background.  I think we will all learn about life and truth and art and man's inhumanity to man here.

I think Buddy is kind of cute.   I think his whole God trip is weird because I only met one girl who was into religion at theatre school and she became this born-again between freshman and sophomore year and it was so weird.  But all of a sudden a lot of what Buddy says seems to make more sense.  I can understand God better when I see how awful the world can really be.

Maybe I will join the Peace Corps after the tour.  I would like to make the world better.  But then, the world needs art, and theatre is art, so I already am making the world better!

Quarkee and Tawny are fighting, I have to go.

--Ria Lally

FEBRUARY 9, 1999: I HAVE NOT RECEIVED ANY FAXES FROM FATHOMLESS FOR SEVERAL DAYS.  HERE IS A PHOTO OF SOME OF THE COMPANY, TAKEN JUST AFTER CHRISTMAS IN THE ALLEY BEHIND THE BUDAPEST PUB IN WHICH THEY WERE PERFORMING E.W. ANGST'S "LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY FUCKING CHRISTMAS."   THE ALLEY ALSO APPARENTLY SERVED AS THEIR DRESSING ROOM, IF A NOTATION FROM MS. LALLY IS TO BE BELIEVED.  --Ed.

 
Photo #1.  Budapest, December 1998.

FEBRUARY 11, 1999: UMM...  STILL NO WORD, SO I AM POSTING ANOTHER PHOTO FOR THE TIME BEING.  THIS ONE IS FROM THE FIRE ESCAPE OF THE YOUTH HOSTEL THEY STAYED AT SOMEWHERE IN BULGARIA.   I'M NOT SURE WHO'S WHO IN EITHER OF THESE PICTURES, BUT I HAVE SPOKEN WITH AN EX-COMPANY MEMBER WHO HAS AGREED TO LOOK THE PHOTO OVER AND EMAIL ME THE IDENTIFICATION OF EACH INDIVIDUAL.  --Ed.

 
Photo #2.  Bulgaria, January 1999.

FEBRUARY 13, 1999:   I STILL HAVEN'T RECEIVED ANY FAXES, BUT I DID RECEIVE THE FOLLOWING PHOTOGRAPH VIE EMAIL, WITH A NOTE FROM E.W. ANGST THAT SAID ONLY, "ONWARD!"  IT WAS DATED 9/2/99, WHICH SEEMS STRANGE SINCE IT'S STILL FEBRUARY.

THE IDENTIFICATION OF COMPANY MEMBERS IS STILL NOT POSSIBLE, AS THE EX-COMPANY MEMBER REFERRED TO ABOVE SENT ME ONLY A CRYPTIC EMAIL SAYING "Isla told me there was nothing between her and Alistaire.   She lied!  She is a liar!  Look at them.  Just look at them.   They can all burn in hell, I despise them all."

I'M GUESSING THIS MEANS THAT ALISTAIRE IS THE MAN WITH A WOMAN (PRESUMABLY ISLA) WRAPPED AROUND HIS WAIST IN PICTURE #1... ALSO, YOU CAN SEE THEY'VE LOCKED ARMS IN PICTURE #2.  THEY'RE NOT EVEN LOOKING AT EACH OTHER IN THIS NEW PICTURE, THOUGH, SO MAYBE THINGS ARE CHANGING.

--Ed.

 
Photo #3.  Unknown, "9/2/99."

February 21, 1999
[Raska (?)]

(One brief fax arrived yesterday, from E.W. Angst.)

We're out of Albania finally, we have been travelling at night and sleeping at day, we finally crossed the border last night and are finally in Macedonia.  We're just outside a town called Raska.  We have left all our troubles to the south.  We will sleep our first peaceful sleep of two weeks tonight.

--e.w.

(Note: I don't have any new atlases, but the only "Raska" I can find on any map is not in Macedonia, but Serbia.  The phone number from which the fax was sent also appears to be of Serbian origin.  Also, Macedonia is south, not north, of Kosovo province.  --ed.)

February 28, 1999
[Somewhere in Yugoslavia]

(One fax arrived, from Ria Lally)

The good news is we've reached something like civilization.  We don't hear artillary fire all night.  People aren't hanging from lampposts.  We're not sneaking through the woods like animals and tripping over mass graves anymore.

The bad news is I think we're in Yugoslavia and I don't think they're crazy about Americans. 

E.W. is making us all to use fake British accents.  It doesn't really help that Buzz is walking around in his South Park tee shirt and his Cubs hat, chainsmoking Marlboros and yelling at the bartenders if they don't have Budweiser.  And Quarky doesn't sound British, she sounds like a retarded girl from New Orleans with a harelip.

We're going to try doing some improv at a pub on Monday night, and the guy says if we do good they will hire us for a couple of weekends, which I guess would make up for the gigs we lost in Kosovo.

We should of stayed in Vienna.   E.W.'s an idiot.  I wish someone would kidnap him.

Luv,
Ria

March 9, 1999
[Somewhere in Yugoslavia]

(One fax arrived, from Quaurky Borginhagen)

Well everyone is just so happy because we are doing these stupid improvs at this stupid pub in the middle of this stupid town where you can't even get a good corn dog anywhere as if it was some kind of huge success.  They all are so happy because there isn't gunfire going on every night and the houses are pretty good (we had almost forty Saturday night and that was like a full house), but I am not happy because I think this is not where we are supposed to be.  This was supposed to be our big world tour not a bunch of stupid improvs in the middle of a stupid town where you can't even get a good corn dog anywhere.

Also E.W. made us do an improv McBeth this weekend and I was Lady McBeth and I was trying so hard, but everyone just kept laughing at me, and the more they laughed the more I would try even harder to be really harsh and cruel and really see the blood on my hands, you know, and I was like "out, damn spot!  out, out!" and they just laughed harder the more serious I got.  And it really hurt my feelings and that messed up my concentration even more and just made everything worse.  I think that people here obviously don't know anything about theater.

Anyway they said you wanted more pictures so I drew one, this is me doing Lady McBeth.

--Quaurki

March 19, 1999
[Outside Belgrade, Yugoslavia]

(An email arrived late last night, early this morning Belgrade time, from E.W. Angst)

Please get us out of here.

--e.w.

March 20, 1999