Jul 30, 2007
Jul 28, 2007
monologue from the opening of a new play
I have a face like a bowl of worms. Squirming around the ticks, the scars, the moles. It's disgusting. A face like this. It's absurd, without meaning or purpose. And I honestly can't say if I'm an experiment gone awry or if I was just born this way. I have no origin. I have no memory. I can only remember you. The way you looked at me, the first time you saw me, it was like you saw the bowl underneath the worms. It was like-- Your face was like a china plate. Perfect. Whole. Pristine. And you looked at me, the way you looked at me—
The patient had died. That much I remember. His wife was wailing but I couldn't hear her. Because you were there and everything else melted away. "Let's have a drink," you said with your face like a plate. And we drank and we drank and we went to your place and we made love like normal people. And it continued that way for days, weeks, years. I can't say for sure.
I'm not sure I can pinpoint the second, the moment you grew tired of me. I can't pinpoint the moment I became what I am. Your body was like liquor and I couldn't get enough of it, couldn't spend a night without you. I didn't know you weren't drunk on me. I didn't see the signs. I should have seen-- How could I have missed the diagnosis? How could I have avoided the bald shock, the morning discovery, to wake up and find your note.
And now I can't remember anything except you. You will pay. Everyone will pay. You will all pay dearly.
The patient had died. That much I remember. His wife was wailing but I couldn't hear her. Because you were there and everything else melted away. "Let's have a drink," you said with your face like a plate. And we drank and we drank and we went to your place and we made love like normal people. And it continued that way for days, weeks, years. I can't say for sure.
I'm not sure I can pinpoint the second, the moment you grew tired of me. I can't pinpoint the moment I became what I am. Your body was like liquor and I couldn't get enough of it, couldn't spend a night without you. I didn't know you weren't drunk on me. I didn't see the signs. I should have seen-- How could I have missed the diagnosis? How could I have avoided the bald shock, the morning discovery, to wake up and find your note.
And now I can't remember anything except you. You will pay. Everyone will pay. You will all pay dearly.
Jul 27, 2007
from Patrick
"Once you're a writer and have lots of writer friends, you know there are scads of talented people out there with great manuscripts that will never be widely read. The bullshit story told to beginning writers--if you write something great, it'll get published/produced/staged--is a fiction designed to keep the pipeline producing more work for the producers and publishers to choose from."
99 cent Sundays at soho rep!!!
Tickets to all Sunday Mainstage performances are 99¢
Available online or at the box office.
Some of my favorite shows in the past few years have been at Soho Rep.
Like these shows for example:
Take advantage of this amazing deal. And while you're there, take in some adjmi or two headed calf (both of which I reccomed highly) and the writer director lab always has some great stuff too. And Jenny Schwartz is the bomb!
Next year in New York theater is looking pretty great what with Playwrights Horizons and Second Stage. Anyone have a season roundup? What else is going on next year?
Available online or at the box office.
Some of my favorite shows in the past few years have been at Soho Rep.
Like these shows for example:
Take advantage of this amazing deal. And while you're there, take in some adjmi or two headed calf (both of which I reccomed highly) and the writer director lab always has some great stuff too. And Jenny Schwartz is the bomb!
Next year in New York theater is looking pretty great what with Playwrights Horizons and Second Stage. Anyone have a season roundup? What else is going on next year?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)