Throw me Thursday: Overnight at the Capitol 2/24

The year I played Columbia in “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”, Magenta wrote a screen play.  We all had bit roles in a slash-em-up horror written by her’s truly.  The kicker was the on location filming after hours at the Majestic theater.  Pick a Saturday night.  Dress up. Bring friends. Drive to downtown Madison.  See The Rocky Horror Picture show.

Don’t dream it. Be it.

The Majestic theater at night, before its Joan River’s facelift and fancy new frocks, was an old, aging stage actress with smeared lipstick looking for a date.  Haunted.  Limp velvet curtains and threadbare tassels.  Yellow light.

The night of the filming, we were locked in by a theater employee.  We brought sleeping bags and pillows, but nobody slept.  We died in our hysterics on hard theater chairs with narrow seats, drank coffee by the popcorn machine, watched a fight across the street through the box office window.  We weren’t supposed to be there, but kept up our occupation for nothing but art.

This past week I’ve seen so much I find it hard to believe it’s only been 11 days. Or that it

A note from Tammy Baldwin

isn’t always like this—people on the street acting like you’re saving the world by wearing a sign on your back. Kids with drums. A world-wide pizza party on one block.

I’m at the State Capitol at night and I’ve lost my steam.  I’m tired. Maybe I always am. At this moment if I look up I see the dome, the fogged-up windows glowing from the outside lights.  Looking down from  my second floor perch I see signs, people, sleeping bags. Sleeping people in sleeping bags.  It all seems so normal.  And yet.

From here I am a voyeur in some post-apocalyptic movie.  This is Mad Max on politics. Burning Man in a city expecting to erupt…

And just as I wrote those words, “city expecting to erupt,” it did– the bill passed the Assembly.

The Capitol is alive with thunder.  And now quiet.





I can’t hear the speaking from the Assembly hall, but I can tell it’s somber.









It is 1:10 am on Friday morning February 25, 2011 and the State of Wisconsin is in tears.  Governor Scott Walker swore to his false benefactor that he would see success and to this extent, he has. To our discredit. To the muted shrill of her people.

A voice trails along the hall past our cubby, “The speaker of the house suspended the rules. They forced a vote. And they passed it.”

Only talking down below.  Only disbelief.

The Assembly Democrats have come out to the floor after 60 hours of debate. “THANK YOU!”



News crews flood the bridge opposite my post. The Assembly Dems are signing with their fists.









I only want them to be quiet. I don’t want to hear the Star Spangled Banner, see the coagulating masses in the center of the floor. This is how other people stay strong, not me. There is more, but what more?

Magenta finished her movie over a series of months. I couldn’t make it back in until nearly the end. By then, most of me had changed.  I did the bloody hacked-off limb thing, but I wasn’t a method actor and they had to use fake blood.

In the end, my part was cut.

Sometimes it’s more about the experience and less about the outcome. This isn’t one of those times.


About E. Victoria Flynn

E. Victoria Flynn is a mother and a writer living in Southern Wisconsin. Published in a variety of venues, Victoria is currently writing the first in a series of three fantasy novels based on Cornish folklore. When not taking part in a shrieking dance party or engrossed in her own little fictions, Victoria is keen on art, the natural world and people unafraid to explore their own brilliance.
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3 Responses to Throw me Thursday: Overnight at the Capitol 2/24

  1. Lisa says:

    Victoria, the outcome isn’t the end. Get some sleep, and know that you done good.

  2. Jeanna says:

    I wish I could have been there with you as I was in the horror flick years ago. Experiences are everything. Great job Victoria!

  3. “Mad Max on politics.” I’m so glad you’ve been a witness to the events. Your words are so important, so telling.

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