Roni Weiss here.

Since I finally had someone ask on the Facebook page what’s going on, I’ll tell you.

OUAP is a project that I still believe in, but that just takes too much work without a team of people who are seriously invested in it.

I’m hoping that such interest will develop at some point or that I’ll be in an artistic community that can bring it back.

Until then, OUAP is on hold.

If you’re interested in helping me get it back on its feet, e-mail me. Better yet, tell me that you have some people that might be interested. Really, that mostly means writers.

You can also check out the episodes that were completed. And if you like them, share them. And if there’s a problem with the links, let me know or feel free to do a search on Internet Archive, which is where they are stored.

Roni

Episode #4 – Press Button, Receive Bacon (2/2)

Pressing Buttons in the Waiting Room [or O Bold Heart Span], written by Joe Love

Woman:  Emily Redenbach

Mr. Jones:  Gabriel Wolf

Mr. Singleton:  Mike Preston

The Ongoing Adventures of Tammy Jackson, Part Time Janitor:

Part 2: Cleaning Conundrums, written by Steven Thomas

Tammy: Seri Johnson

Ron: A.J. Teshin

Harold: Ian Hayes

Silhouette, written by Andrew Scott Bosscher and Roni Weiss

performed by Andrew Scott Bosscher

Duchamp’s Fountain, written by Robert Clark

Marcus:  Mark Turetsky

Luke:  Sean Chiplock

The Salmon of Knowledge, written by Sean McCarthy

Performed by James Lake

Executive Producer: Roni Weiss

Editor: Amanda Purnell

Special thanks:   Sharon Burian, Tammy Gordin and Mistina Willmaser

I suffer from vegetarianism.
It’s not the worst disease, it’s true.
But the epidemic has some 7.3 US-born stricken.
All affected every day, all day through.
I’m not asking for benefits or sympathy;
I don’t want to get famous for this.
But perhaps I might get this disability,
Classified as a chronic illness.
The trouble isn’t with an unstable diet,
Or mockery from insensitive friends.
I’m not missing protein, iron or zinc,
And don’t care to be following trends.
The problem is an uncertain ethic,
Yet compulsory as most that I keep.
With a logic that can never be certain,
And a risk that is far-flung from cheap.
It may be that I donate to the death-knells,
Of Majority Worlders whose livelihoods are torn,
By narrow-minded westerners valuing their cats,
On a par with the sentient-born.
But as you’ll have figured that’s exactly my problem,
I can’t say for sure that that’s wrong.
I can’t know for certain the ratio of worth,
From sentient to non-sentient King Kong.
But what of the livelihoods dependent,
On westerners buying livestock?
I simply can’t know, can’t know, can’t know.
Argh – this moral-grey path that I walk.
So I’m left with an unstable conviction,
And given a nebulous vote.
Knowing as if in a horror film,
My wrongness would murder by rote.
But the disease is not in any particular decision.
It strikes as soon as the choice presents.
A victim can only acknowledge the options,
And make a choice in the absence of sense.

By Joshua Bizley
To all my fellow vegetarians – my condolences.

The topic is:

World Rank-Society Class

(Original photo by Kujtim Pllana)

Any original writing (fiction or non-fiction) or art, original and inspired by the topic will be accepted.

E-mail your submissions to onceuponapodcast@gmail.com

by Joe Love

As a child, the white mid-western father figure would, in his authoritarian Sunday-school-best voice, tells us kids, as we watched the nine-inch black and white television, what a delinquent was: “Johnny is a delinquent. Notice his black leather jacket, his white T-shirt and his aloneness. Notice the good boys and girls sipping on straws sunk deep in floats and perched upon the drugstore stools, smiling to the white trumpet on the jukebox and smiling at the soda jerk wiping the counter repeatedly. They know better than to even look in the direction of the evil loner—that solitary boy who stays out late and is often disrespectful to his parents. Avoid him. Give him wide berth. He is an anathema to the well being of our highly structured and obedient society.” And thus, the media became the Sunday School Teacher, spreading its biased and controlling ethics with the sweet syrup of Cherry Cokes and Big Band music. I was lucky and saw through the narrow-minded restrictive politics of the controlled behavior. I knew Johnny was far more interesting than the sipping friends or the jerk behind the counter, and when I entered the stream of teen-hood, I made friends with every outcast that came along. Who were these people? Many were musicians and artists and poets whose grand vision of society was anything but the great white way. They were trying to mount the endless influx of good old boy waves bombarding the hearts of Americans for decades. They could see firsthand the oppression of their mothers, their minority friends, the artists, the other outcasts, those who didn’t bend down on one knee before the voice of the Omniscient Media Father. I didn’t seek out these people. I was instinctively drawn to them. I was one also. And I didn’t steal from stores or old ladies old arms where purses dangled. And I didn’t taunt the police or plan to kill any politicians or seek evil. I simply refused to take their rule as absolute because I knew there was no absolute. A delinquent knows that there is no absolute: that is what makes them dangerous. That is why “The Great Society” is afraid of us. And they are still afraid. So how do they deal with what they fear? Make them famous. Pay them lots of money and then they will be in their own little world, out of the realm of everyday life where dwell those-who-do-only-good. The media is a dangerously adaptive control device—and its cool handling of America’s outcasts is one of its most powerful weapons. So bend to the television. Get down on one knee. It will tell you how to act. And good luck living your delinquent free life.

Un delincuente, un delincuente… ¿qué es eso? Una persona malvada de películas americanas con antifaz negro y una bolsa en la espalda, un señor de cuello blanco con la cabeza llena de ideas para robar dinero. Una persona que la sociedad aparta por no ser un ejemplo responsable, un vago, un vivaz, un sutil, un perspicaz? ¿Qué es eso? ¿Algo malo, algo bueno? Definitivamente creo que son personas enajenadas, sin amor propio, mucho menos respeto social. Un delincuente, alguien sin escrúpulos, rodando en la sociedad y tomando lo mejor de ésta para convertirlo en basura. Dando miedo, creando inseguridad. Un delincuente, un delincuente. No es verdad. Creo que todos tenemos adentro ese ser que todos decimos repudiar. Todos alguna vez pensamos en que podríamos hacer si se presentará la oportunidad. Todos, en está maldita sociedad, estamos programados para no ser uno de ellos, supuestamente carentes de lo que se necesita para serlo. ¿Y entonces, no estaríamos ya programados para ser uno de ellos? Somos algo que nos impide ser lo otro. Por carencia tenemos el potencial de ser lo malo. Somos bondad según sabemos, la bondad es carencia de maldad, pero sabemos qué es ser bueno porque sabemos qué es ser malo, y lo malo ya lo sabemos, no lo somos, según algunos, pero lo sabemos. Sin embargo, en esa carencia de bondad, podemos demostrar que algo de maldad al menos conocemos. Y es interesante llamar al delincuente por ser un ser que arruina nuestra sociedad. Pero creo de nuevo, que todos podemos llegar a ser un delincuente sin necesidad de apartar de las personas algo material. Se es malo cuando se toma algo material, un delincuente, lleva en la bolsita, las pertenencias de otro ser, porque tal vez, necesita comer. Pero en general, llevamos en nuestras almas el padecimiento de los demás. Somos capaces de ignorarlas, de pasar por encima, de no actuar coherentes, de no aportar a la humanidad. Somos capaces de respirar alivianados, sin tener en el pecho la idea de la carencia de los demás. Somos delincuentes, porque no arrancamos de las manos sino del alma la bondad de los demás, somos delincuentes porque nos aprovechamos de lo que está puesto y servido , así sepamos que no nos pertenece. Somos delincuentes por querer lo de los demás. Somos delincuentes por simplemente, ser humanos. Delinquir, Qué delicioso bienestar. Y es más por esa risa graciosa, burlona que nos produce el malestar del otro. Somos deliciosos, satisfechos en nuestros deseos. Somos delincuentes, y no nos importa, porque sólo juzgamos a quién ha sido capaz de llamar la atención de la policía para ser atrapado en una jaula. Sin embargo, todos tenemos algo de ese demoniaco ser. Todos delinquimos, así no queramos. No es material, entonces no se ve. Pero siempre delinquimos, y nos molestamos por ser llamados así: Delincuentes, delincuentes de lo moral.