miniature play

Curtain rises. Girl is sitting at her desk typing. As she is typing, the door opens and a man in a ski mask walks in and ominous music plays in the background as he closes the door and stands behind her, looking at the screen over her shoulder. Girl does not notice. The door opens again and a woman wearing a white dress with red polka dots walks in, carrying a Maltipoo with a half eaten treat in its mouth. She puts it down and sits on the bed, looking at her nails with a bored expression on her face as the dog proceeds to lie down and finish its treat. Girl continues typing.
Curtain falls.

Workshop for Dec 3

Hey guys. im still working on the ending of this piece. I finished it but i feel like the ending does not correspond with the rest of the story and to what i was getting at. If you have any suggestions or comments feel free to tell me.

The Art of Manipulation;
A Cinderella Story

Cinderella: Godmother, Godmother
How do I go from here?
You’ve dressed me in this beautiful gown
And whipped up such a carriage
But after all these years of being locked up
I’m just not ready for marriage

Godmother: Calm down my dear
And pull yourself together
Before we talk about marriage
You actually have to meet Prince Charming
You have to fall in love with him
And he fall in love with you

Cinderella: Love?
How will I do that?
Oh Godmother
Please help
And tell me what to do
How do I approach him?
And what do I say…

Godmother: Now, now
There are just a few simple rules
You have to observe
If you play your game right
His heart will be yours
The very first thing you have to do
Is make the right first impression
And he will come to you

Cinderella: But how will I do that
What if I make the wrong one?
Then what will I do?

Godmother: My dear Cinderella,
Just relax and listen:
What you have to do
Is arrive late to the ball
You want to make a grand entrance
But make sure you don’t fall
Keep a confident posture
And always stand tall

Cinderella: (Cinderella repeats these steps to herself)
Do not fall
Keep a confident posture
Make sure to stand tall

Godmother: If you commit to your share
His eyes will surely drift to yours
Glance but then look else where
A few minutes later
Look back at him
And this time do not turn away
This game is known as foreplay,
A staring contest between you two
If all goes well
You are ready for the next step

The following step
Of falling in love with
This complete stranger
Is one gentle smile
Nothing too strong
As to provoke any repulsion
Even half a smile will do
This act is not intended to
Intimidate you two
Rather it acts as a signal
To stimulate the both of you

(Cinderella looks to the mirror practicing her smile.)

The way to proceed
This everlasting smile
Is not with nervousness
Or paranoia
Or a collaboration of the two
What you have to realize
Is that subconsciously he
Already has fallen for you

Cinderella: But how will I approach him?
What will I say?
I don’t want to seem silly
Or foolish in anyway

Godmother: It’s the art of manipulation
To make him come to you
With your intriguing smile
And your fairy tale eyes too
He will be foolish
To miss this chance
Once he’ll approach you
Let him do the talking,
As a proper lady
Only does the walking

When the time will come
And trust me you’ll know-

Cinderella: But Godmother
How would I know?

Godmother: Your heart will double in rhythm
And then skip a beat
At that point both of your chemistries
Has sprang to its feet

You will freely engage
In a conversation or two
But make sure that time is a factor for you
Your curfew is twelve
Not a minute past due
But before the time swallows you
Back to your past
Make sure you leave him
With something to last
A kiss or an object
That would lead him back to you

Cinderella: After the ball
Forever we’ll part
There would be no other chance
To link his and my heart

(At this moment, Cinderella begins to weep)

Godmother: Cinderella,
You silly girl
You’re still not understanding
That love works in miracles
If Prince Charming truly has a spark for you
He will go out of his way
Just to get a hold of you
And once he comes back
That is when you’ll see
That everything in life
Will work out perfectly

Workshop 12/03/08

This was posted a while ago and I made a few updates plus a manlier version. Please read both and tell me what you think

Part I

You’re in the car with a beautiful man and he doesn’t tell you he loves you. You know he does. He helped you make cupcakes this afternoon. He let you pick out the flavor (chocolate your favorite). He let you break the eggs, pour the water and oil. He even let you lick the bowl. “Rachel’s birthday slumber party will great.” He says. It’s your first night away from home. Things are starting to change.

You’re in a car with a beautiful man and he won’t tell you he loves you. You know he always has. He is only a few years older then you, and yet he acts like an old man. He’s driving you to the mall to meet your best friend that he can’t stand. He thinks she is bad influence. She has a bad attitude. He thinks she's hot. He doesn’t understand why you want things pierced and parts of your body permanently marked. He doesn’t like the way boys look at you now. "The changes of life" is what your P.E. teacher called it. No one likes these changes.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy and he tells you he loves you. You think he does, at least you use to. Rachel said she saw him the other night leaving the bowling alley with Jackie looking really cozy. Everyone knows what that girl is about. This couldn’t be true. He told you he was out with his boys. Besides he said he understands that you’re not ready. He told you he respects your decision. He told you that it wasn’t that important to him. He tells you he loves you all of the time. When did things change?

You’re in a car with a beautiful man who loves you. Today he stood before your god, your friends and your family and announced it. You must acknowledge this testimony. You’ve searched for this beauty for so long. “Kissed a lot of frogs” they say. You want to start a life with this man. You will have all kinds of new experiences. Thing will be exciting and new. This changes how you felt about love before.

You’re driving in a car with a beautiful little man. He’s in the car seat playing with his favorite toy. You love this boy so much it. You can’t even believe how much you love him. You are so excited about everything about him. You mention him in every conversation. He is all over your desk at work. He’s in your wallet, on your cell, even around your neck. This little man has changed you in a way that all of the other men seem a bit envious.

Part II

Left hand raises the fork to the mouth that’s feeding you. She made this for you. It’s your favorite. She shouldn’t have. You are the worst kid on the team. You know this and so does everyone else. The only time you ever even hit the field is at the beginning, when no points have been made and there is nothing to lose. When you are on the field everyone makes a point to keep the ball far from you. She knows this. She sees it. She pretends that she doesn’t. At the end of each game she gives you a hero’s welcome. She makes you strong. You have her respect.

Left hand raises the ice to the face to soothe you. You’re hurt real bad, you want to cry, and you know you can’t. It wasn’t your fault. He started it. He deserved it. You had to. He can shit talk to you all he wants but not in front of her. Why did he have to say that about her? What kind of man would you be if you let that slide? Shit does she always have to wear those fucking short skirts damn it. Now you’re in all this just because of her. You hope they called your father and not your mother. He will know what to do. He will let you cry. He taught you respect.

Left hand glides up towards her breast. You can do this. You tell yourself you can do this. You’re nervous. You know what to do…well sort of. Hope she tells you what to do. You have no idea what you’re doing. You have no idea what you’re even looking at. This isn’t like the dvds. She’s making noises. Is that good? What the hell am I suppose to do down here? Fuck If I don’t get this right how can she respect me?

Left hand raises the glass to your mouth as the liquid warms you. You stare at her. She’s speaking to you. Does this mean she’s interested? How do I know? She’s must know you’re interested. You’re talking to her, well listening rather. You’re paying really close attention too. She is wearing a low cut shirt. She smells so good. You ask a follow up questions. You know she likes that. She has beautiful skin the kind that just looks so soft. You want to touch her. You are smiling and nodding. You are afraid of her. You have to move slowly and carefully. Insert laugh. You know if you move to quickly she will get scared and run away. You say something funny. She laughs. Should I put my hand on hers? She says something funny that isn’t funny at all. You laugh and laugh. Let’s get another drink. It will make you stronger.

Left hand raises the fork that is an airplane to feed her. Every thing had changed. You love her so much. You can’t even believe how much you love her. She is so excited about you and you are about her. You mention her to everyone. You carry her everywhere. You always want to be there to protect her. You always want to be her strength. You will never see women the same.

Thank You

Wednesday's class

Hi everyone. I haven't heard from Ashmeena, but I think I'll go ahead and cancel class tomorrow. I'm not sure we would have a very productive workshop tomorrow, because I think some people will not be there anyway, and I want to give you more time to look at the work posted by Jody-Ann, Angie, and Ashmeena, which we will workshop when we meet again on Monday (Dec. 1). Tyrike, you should still prepare to talk about Ntozake Shange, and we'll either do it Monday or Wednesday. If you signed up to workshop on Wednesday (Dec. 3), we will be sticking to the schedule, so you should still post your work by tomorrow. Have a good Thanksgiving weekend and I'll see you on Monday.

When To say Good- Bye

Say Good-bye to the flowers when they have lost their tantalizing aromas and radiant colors.
Say Good-bye when the day is gone as the clock struck 12 midnight. Then tell yourself a new day has now begun and you now have a fresh start at life again.
Say Good-bye to missed opportunities, whether it was a chance to retaliate against an injustice; or failure to participate in new a activity that could have provided immense gratification.
Say Good-bye to it and put it to rest, for why bother torment yourself with agonizing regrets? Say it to loved ones that had died and tell yourself one day you will get to see them again.
Say Good-bye to lost love, to some one that has deserted you in your time of need.
Say Good- bye When the one you had made a conscious decision to love, share your mind, body and soul with doesn't want to be with you anymore.

It would be an premature thing to say that one can easily get over these are things, for i beg to differ. But, why stress yourself over the what ifs' and what should haves'? take a minute or two and ponder... don't get caught up in this cyclical psychological torture. Instead cease the moment for what it was, analyze it so you know how to deal with a similar situations in the future. Then pull yourself together and say Good-bye to it, maybe not forever reflection is imminent. However, you should always remember not to get stuck there because it's just going to lead to mental drama.

Saying Good-bye is the first sign of letting go and allowing yourself to return to a state of equilibrium. At this point you can be happy, enjoy life and look more optimistically towards the future ... perhaps go out and buy new flowers or allow yourself to find a new love.

Miniature play : Scene

A daughter and father duo are performers at a circus. The daughter is trying to express some restraint to the performance believing that they have to practice more.
No words are exchanged between the daughter and father.
They are approaching the ladder to take her up to the top.
When they reach the top, the acrobats fling themselves around beautifully.
Alas the climax of the movie comes; there is worry in her eyes as she approaches the swing. She is to let go of the rim and let her father catch her.
She lets go of the rim, but her father misses her, letting her fall to her death.

(THE SCREEN GOES BLACK)

She wakes up in a meadow. Unlike the opening scene there are only 3 distinct colors. Green, Blue and white.
She awakens as a little girl.
There is beauty and peace here.
A hand comes to hold her.
The camera zooms out so the audience can see that it is the father.
He is holding out his hand for her.
She draws back.
He whispers a secret in her ear only for her to know
Satisfied with the answer she eagerly gives him her hand to hold.

WORKSHOP FOR 11/26

I posted this poem before but I added something to it. I'm not sure how well it flows but I wanted to try to expand on it. Here it is

"The Cycle of Love"
You say one thing
But do you mean another?
Sometimes I believe you
But sometimes I don’t.
There’s so much confusion
Is this normal?
One day I’m happy
But other days I’m not.
I’m emotionally unstable
Is that your fault?
You do everything right
But you do a lot of things wrong.
You know exactly how to make me smile
But you know exactly how to make me frown.
Is this normal?
Everyone must feel this way at a point in time
I should just deal with it right?
Maybe this feeling will go away soon.
When I’m with you it feels perfect
When I’m not with you it feels perfect.
What am I supposed to feel?
There’s so much confusion
Is this normal?
When we're in the presence of love it's these emotions that flow through our body and minds, this sense of instability.
Is the never ending cycle of love normal?
We hear those fairytale stories everyday where it was love at first sight.
When you don't even know this person and you say you are already in love with them.
Then if we don't have this fairytale story about both people being completely in love with eachother and they're number one in eachothers lives, does that mean we have failed at love? Is there a chance maybe that there's still genuine love out there that even though you have to work at it at times?
The one you have to work at because you want so bad not to let go.
But then are you forcing eachother to be together and you should just stop forcing it and move on?
No one wants to work at anything anymore, it's so much easier to just wait for that fairytale.

For next Monday

Heads up: we have two classes left in which we will discuss texts by other writers (after that, we'll just do workshopping and such). For Monday, I'd like you to read the Spalding Gray monologue "Monster in a Box", which is in pdf form to the right, and the excerpt from Miranda July's script for "You and Me and Everyone We Know," which is also to the right, and finally Cat Kidd's two performance pieces "Bipolar Bear" and "Flying Lizard," which are in one pdf, to the right.

In addition to checking out the text, you can watch Catherine Kidd perform these two pieces on Youtube, or right here (in four parts):

Remake of Saw 1

Curtain rises. A bathtub filled with water is at the left side of the stage. A chain is tied to a pole next to a toilet, leading into the bathtub. In the middle, a man is laying flat on the floor, with thick red solution surrounding him. The spotlight of this seen soon fades, and all you see is darkness. The theater becomes silent except for a few confused and frightened guests. Suddenly, the silence is broken with a violent noise coming from the bathtub. As the lights are turned back on, a man struggles for air as he springs from the tub and onto the black cement. Drenched in water, he screams for help as he tries to free himself from the metal chain. In return, his screams are heard echoing within the theater.

a poem im still working on

Paths

Walking down a lonely path, surrounding by
giant green trees filled with singing birds.
I listen to the rustling leaves being carried by the soft wind.
One step at a time, slowly but without doubt,
I moved forward, into the light, staring up my path.
Should I choose the first or the second road?
Which one would be better? which one would be easier than the other?
The road I walked, now a broken fork and it made me wonder where they lead too.
As I did, the wind grew stronger and the dark clouds surrounded me.
Closing my watery eyes, I took a deep breathe and
stepped away from the first path and into the second.
After I did, I looked back and wondered if I made a mistake.
Then I remembered her words- “never look back in life, only forward,
and always aim for the best in every decision you make…
Do Not Lament over a decision already made”.
My mom told me this and I had always fumbled as to what she meant.
Now I realized the meaning of this simple statement she once told me.
I looked ahead and began to walk once again,
and I realized that this was not the end.
This was one of many difficult decisions I would have to face again.
I remember her words and tried my best to never look back….
Into a world that I left behind.

Just something I wrote.

I lie in my bed and close my eyes. A tear runs from my eye warming my face. I lay still and silent, thinking to myself. Maybe I have just realized it’s time to move on. Yet something inside of me is pulling back, making me hold on to you. I just don’t know what it is. I get up and walk across the room. I just need to talk to you. There are some words that I need to say. I go and take me cell phone off the charger and begin to dial your number. I hang up even before it connects. I look down at my hands. I turn my phone over in my sweaty palm. My heart began to beat rapidly. I just have to hear your voice; maybe it will change my mind. No, I can’t. I know what I have to do. I dial again, this time letting it go a second longer before I hang up, I can’t do it. I put the phone back down on the bed and walk away. The phone begins to ring; bringing me back towards the bed, I look at the screen, it’s you. I pick up. You can tell that I have been crying, you always know. “I love you, but I can’t be with you anymore it’s just too hard to look you in the face after all the awful things you have put me through” I say, and then I hang up. Motionless I lie back in my bed, close my eyes, and cry myself to sleep.

Scene

The curtian goes up. Four women are sitting at a table in a resturant. They are drinking wine, and all of a sudden one of the women spills it all over herself.

Inspiration for the Uninspired

This is something that I was working on, its just a list of ways to get inspired, for me at least. I always have trouble deciding what to write and how to get an idea. Let me know what you think.

Inspiration for the Uninspired

Take a look out the window and write about what you see
a bird, a tree, a car, a person.

Go to the beach and lay in the sand,
stair at the waves and clear your mind.

Look in the mirror,
reflect, and take yourself out of yourself.

Fall in love with someone completely different than yourself,
evoke that emotion.

Take a blank canvas and pour some paint on it,
close your eyes and use your fingers as a brush.

Get on the bus and go,
it doesn’t matter where it takes you.

Go to the bar and have some drinks
lose your mind, just for a little while
you never know what it may find

Take a drive to the country
put the windows down and enjoy the breeze on your face
feel free.

Make a song and sing it in the shower,
let it come from your heart.

Look at life from someone else perception.

snowball poem on Cinderella.

Lost.
Glass slipper.
Gone like night.
Vanishing music and laughter.
Prince finds slipper to return.
Then surprisingly, owner and slipper reunite.
It is love at first sight again.
They get married and live happily ever after.

story based on the lines the class wrote.

It was hot and sunny, so I decided to go to the beach and fly kites with some of my closet friends. Then all of a sudden the clouds became dark and it began to thunder and lighting. To be honest, I’m not impressed with it like some people are. As a child I was more amused with these like clowns and my dreams. There was one dream that I had when a clown took off all his clothes and went streaking through my neighborhood. The whole time he was running, he had the biggest smile on his face. The worst dream that I ever had was when I was thirteen. I opened up my front door and Santa was there, standing in the door way with a very large gun. For some reason he came in and kissed mommy. The joke was on him, because little did he know, but mommy was in a coma. He just sat back and thought about what he did, and had no idea at the time that she was sick. He wanted to thank her for the experience somehow, so he sent a bouquet of roses with a card that said “for the best kite runner ever”. The roses must have been magical because she woke up and the next day invited him back to the house. When asked if anything happened, she responded you know guys, they always need something.

Irony

The stage dims. A cast member comes out, dressed all in black. He smiles a devlish grin. The lights go off and people start screaming.

Don't Get Wet

The air conditioner is not turned on. The curtain rises. 24 Performers enter stage each holding a bucket. Performers grab water balloon from bucket and throw at audience.

Retailer Product Diversification

In New York, Barney called his good friend Mr. Fred Segal in Los Angeles. He wanted to discuss the new man about town Odin. Odin just moved to the east village and was creating a little stir. Mr. B. Goodman overheard the conversation while his head was pressed up against the wall decided to telephone his former paramour Mr. Ron Herman. Mr. Herman concluded that it was much to-do about nothing and that he had seen better American Rag. The real Scoop was that he saw Jeffrey the former golden boy at Mario’s trying to play the part of respectability while he was leaving Atruim with Riccardi. Mr. Goodman let out a squeal of delight
“If only I were a BlackBird on the wall”
“No no my dear you resemble more of the mighty Oak variety”
“Well you certainly insist on being cross”
“My apologies dear I am a bit beastly today after hearing of Mitchells departure.”
“The Mitchalls from Westport”
“Oh no you confuse them for the Richards of Greenwich”
“Well they certainly are one in the same now aren’t they? They always work paired up”
“It doesn’t matter they’re off to Louis Boston and they took Jake along” Mr. Herman spat
“I thought the harlots name was Maxfield”
“What ever they call the bitch does not matter. What’s done is done. I’m off for a liquid lunch and it is time I bid you farewell.”
“Lunch? With whom?”
“Lisa Kline. I don’t care for her much she is a bit of a bore but when you’re out with Lisa Kline Men just flock and lets face it we all got to eat.”
“Well isn’t that just fabulous. I shall let you go then dear au revoir”
As Mr. B. Goodman hung up the receiver Mr. Neiman Marcus, Mr. Stanley Korshak, and Mr. Steven Alan stepped into his office.
The three Villians hardly ever step out of the Villians Vault. This must be of some very important. Even Barney quickly stopped and assumed the position for eavesdropping.
“How’s it going there Scout?” Mr. Korshak asked
“I Wish you use my name Mr. Korshak and I am well thank you and yourself?”
“Don’t take it out of Context now LuLu, the fellows and I came down here to see how our newest account is doing”
“I’m doing very well sir. I am on my way out to make a sales call.”
“Good. We need this Union to be a BBlessing. Everything must run smoothly”
“I understand that sir”
“Do you?”
“Yes sir”
“Now I know that when you first stared the three of us gave you a time on the… Active Ride Shop, but we just want you to be prepared for what may await you out there.” Mr. Alan encouraged
“Yes sir I understand. Like I said I’m on my way out to a call”
“Just make sure you always bring your own Saks. Fifth Avenue is no where to get caught unprepared. If you come back with something you’re not suppose to we will let you go.”
“This is a small order; Jack’s Surfboards need to get waxed.”
They were very pleased with this and made there way towards the door. Before leaving Mr. Marcus turned and said “Very well then but do change your attire we don’t want you meeting clients looking like a common working girl. Always remember, when you step out of The Closet you represent us.”

My Event

curtain raises on set with a tree stump with an ax in it. Group of 5 children carrying raw meat walk onto stage. Each with with a different kind of meat, beef, lamb, pork, bison, and venison. Each child then proceeds to take up the ax and one by one chop their meat to smithereens while singing old macdonald had a farm.

From Shane for Nov. 19

Shane Hanlon

For Nov. 19 Workshop

Fallacy/Our City 2008 A.D.

1.

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do”

Will sat on the bus busy, no time for considering the diversity of bird chirps. From a hard seat reserved for the handicapped, books on lap, he lifted his chin from his chest. Than wondered how his face looked, and if its bone structure was causing it to cast any dark shadows on itself. This thought sat as he made a line in his head, ‘I love this city, but its time’s like this I wish I had it to myself.’ An impossible thought.

“Woman, behold your son”

Will noticed the Chinese girl sitting across the aisle, cross-legged, listening to music. He assumed the music was empty and thought she was thinking nothing. After a short inspection, leaned back, and didn’t let her nothingness bother him with the reasoning, ‘this oriental bird that has appeared will soon dissolve into her destined migration. Content little swallow.’ This lean back had been with the desire that the shadows would darken on his face, while staring directly at the young women, wanting her to recognize gloom. She averted all attempts to hold her in his glance.

“I Thirst”

Will looked to his exit. The doors were loose and slightly wobbling. The bottom of the door had become separated from the steps which brought passengers down from the bus. It seemed so un-miraculous to see the street moving by, simply cement passing at a pace faster than it does while walking. The machine seemed just a container with wheels, as the road was just rocks, melted and binded; empty. While this anger bubbled inside, he threw-up slightly in his mouth and automatically gathered saliva to dilute the acid. Than, looked fiercely at the young woman, and decided to get off a stop early; also, for the first time ever to discharge his vomit spittle onto the black rubber flooring right before leaving. As Will rose from the bench in anticipation, his cell-phone which he had placed on his lap, fell and hit the floor. The girl quickly moved to pick-it-up and her CD-Player dropped to hit the floor with a hard crash which broke the cover off. Nevertheless, she reached for the phone first. While beginning to lean and take it from her, he noticed the now exposed CD from her broken player was one of the artist Bjork’s, a much loved musician of his. This brought rage and it showed when their eyes met. In an attempt to deny the phone was his, the vomit-spit fell from his mouth. The bus doors opened as the girl on her knees moved to hand it to him while a thick stream of saliva hung from his chin. Without accepting her offering, he turned instantly and jumped down from the public bus to the dark concrete.

“My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me!”

2. (This morning, three days later.)

“This day you will be with me in paradise”

Will stood, unable to move on the filled bus as it rolled slowly through traffic, blank-minded and incapable of directing a specific thought. He was facing towards a window, not by choice, as they all moved down a main road. The sidewalks flowed with people and the stores seemed endless, the words, ‘true metropolis’ shot through his mind. Unable to focus on a single store, they seemed to hold anything and everything. The throngs streamed down the boulevard; each face seemed unique and irreplaceable to the young man, all wrapped in coats just as he was. Watching this famous city made by its inhabitants his head felt warm and clear. He imagined each person carrying a brick and dropping it at the entrance of the high buildings.

“Father into your hands I commend my spirit”

While Will smiled at this vision, he felt a kick to his shin. On looking down, he met a pair of shiny, black, slanted eyes belonging to a girl who had been progressively leaned heavier onto during the admiration. He Moved back without removing the smile or glance from her face, although she had immediately broken eye contact. She appeared very young, with dark pony tails that had red highlights, her white skin soft-looking, and his smile reached wider at the sight of her small nose and ears. Amidst these still developing observations, and that still stretching smile, she was pulling her hand from her purse and a cell-phone came out along with her hand, but not in it. Her phone crashed to the floor and the battery separated from the rest. Not realizing she was picking it up he genuflected onto knees reaching to retrieve it for her. Focused on the task, he was unaware they were both placing the phone together simultaneously. She snatched the two pieces away from his palms, stood up, and quickly squeezed through the crowd out of his sight. He rose; grinning and unaware of his neighbor’s stares. The doors opened to the discovery that his stop had been passed twenty blocks prior. Instinctively jerking in the direction of the door, he stopped suddenly at sight of the passengers on the bus. Will stood transfixed, he gazed at each face one-by-one without a specific thought, smiling, and continued forward on the public city bus far beyond his stop.

“It is finished”

Experiment for this week

After our discussion of Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty, I thought we might try something a little gentler. The event score is something invented by a group of artists in the 60s and 70s who called themselves Fluxus. It is essentially a very miniature play, which may or may not be performed. Some examples are below. Try writing a few of your own and post them this week.

From Wikipedia: “Event scores, such as George Brecht's "Drip Music", are essentially performance art scripts that are usually only a few lines long and consist of descriptions of actions to be performed rather than dialogue. […] Fluxus performances were usually brief and simple. The Event performances sought to elevate the banal, to be mindful of the mundane, and to frustrate the high culture of academic and market-driven music and art.”

Supper
The curtain is raised. A large table set with food, drink, flowers, candles is displayed on stage. 10 well-dressed performers carrying instruments enter, bow, and seat themselves behind the table. They lay down their instruments. 2 waiters begin to serve food and wine. Performers begin to eat, drink, and talk. After a few minutes, the audience can also be offered food and drink. (Emmett Williams, 1965)

Sanitas No. 2
Auditorium or theatre should be dark. Performers throw small objects, coins, toys, etc., into the audience and then try to find these objects using flashlights. (Tomas Schmit)

Theft
A theft is announced and the audience is searched. (Ben Vautier, 1961)

Audience Piece No. 10
An announcer hidden from view of the audience observes all who enter the theatre with binoculars and describes each in detail over a public address system. (Ben Vautier, 1965)

Child Art Piece
The performer is a single child, two or three years old. One or both parents may be present to help him with a pail of water, a banana, etc. When the child leaves the stage, the performance is over. (Alison Knowles, 1962)

Drip Music
For single or multiple performance. A source of dripping water and an empty vessel are arranged so that the water falls into the vessel. (George Brecht, 1959)

More examples can be found here.

Patricia: Workshop for 11/19

Always Praying for a resolution
Always Aiming for forever
Always Trying to succeed
Always Requiring love
Always Insisting on happiness
Always Crying for opportunities
Always Intertwined within herself
Always Accepting what cannot be changed

Sometimes Lies to herself
Sometimes Undermindes others
Sometimes Prefers solitude
Sometimes Enjoys everything

Never Wasting a moment
Never Understanding her life

Broken Glass: Workshop for 11/19

Broken Glass. That was all she could think about.

I draw on my notebook often
They are very random pictures;
From a flower to a glistening eye
Not artist worthy though
Have I let it discourage me?
Yes, because I care too much about what others think
I wish I could be more carefree
I wish more people understood me.

My best friend is the sweetest person ever
All the men admire her
I try to stand out, and I cannot
No one glances my way
Have I let it discourage me?
Yes, because I care too much about what others think
I wish I could be more carefree
I wish more people understood me.

There was one man who seemed like everything
Intelligent and attractive
Couldn’t stop thinking about him
Didn’t even want my friendship
Have I let it discourage me?
Yes, because I care too much about what others think
I wish I could be more carefree
I wish more people understood me.

There is a drive within me
Excellent GPA and a honors student
Want to make my parents proud
Always worrying about it
Have I let it discourage me?
Yes, because I care too much about what others think
I wish I could be more carefree
I wish more people understood me.

There is something to be said about telling the truth
It is hard, but the aftermath is so refreshing
You decide to take a risk. Sometimes it works or does not.
I took a risk, and as usual, I was let down
Have I let it discourage me?
Yes, because I care too much about what others think
I wish I could be more carefree
I wish more people understood me.

Glass breaks. Blood. Tears. Why didn’t they understand her?!?!

Reading for Nov. 17

I've just posted, to the right, the reading by Bertolt Brecht for Monday: it's his play "Mother Courage and her Children." However, the file is a bit messed up and I don't have the time to fix it right now. It's okay, though, because I only want you to read the first scene (which means the first seven pages of the pdf, or up to page 33 in the pagination of the book). The text by Antonin Artaud is also there. The Artaud is theory, and although the Brecht text is a play, we'll be talking about it in rather theoretical terms: essentially, we'll be talking about whether a play should value realism or something else. When you watch a play, do you expect to see a portrayal of real people experiencing real emotions in real situations, or do you expect to see a group of actors and entertainers doing interesting things and perhaps conveying a message? Which do you think Brecht is trying to create?

No "I" In The Red Lady

I ended up remaking this from my first verison.
___

Had the Red Lady known what would occur, she'd never stop foot through the Wolf's realm. The day started slowly; the Red Lady had wanted to see her Grandma. She prepared snacks and was very content as she worked. After that, she put on her red cape and headed out the door, happy.

She had not known though that the mean Wolf had gone to see Grandma before her. He was always hungry. He had observed her and knew she would make a great meal. When a wolf starves, not one word stops the beast. He knocked on Grandma's door. "Who lurks at my door?, called Grandma. "The Wolf, Madame. The Red Lady sent me to tell you a message", he answered. "So long an eon!” yelled Grandma. "Come through the door, my poor one! Let me get you..." As soon as Grandma had turned around, the Wolf grabbed her by the throat and swallowed her whole. "She has to learn to not be so open to strangers", muttered the Wolf.

The Red Lady had met Wolf before. She would walk by and he would always howl at her. She knew that he had a penchant for large meals, but the thought was not a bother. There were more tasty people than her. Grandma and her had spoken about the Wolf, but never saw the creature as a threat. However, she felt puzzled when she passed by the Wolf's house (near Grandma's) and had not see the beast. "That seems very odd", the Red Lady thought.

She knocked on Grandma's door, now very alarmed. "Grandma?" "Come through the door, dear" The Wolf knew the Red Lady was ajar. He was very hungry, and even though the Red Lady wasn't much of a meal, he was hungry for a second cycle. "Grandma, you look bloated! You also are very rugged" One always assumes Grandma wouldn’t age so badly!" "Oh sweetheart, you cause me tears!" The Wolf grabbed the Red Lady and prepared to eat her. "Oh my!” yelled the Red Lady!

As the Wolf was ready to pounce, he suddenly began to feel strange. "My stomach!" Suddenly, Grandma, leaped out of the Wolf's mouth. "You never thought Grandma would make you feel awful!" The Wolf lay on the floor, no longer hungry but very sad.

"Oh Grandma", the Red Lady answered, "From now on you shall be known as the Wolf attacker!"

Workshop

This is the script that Corey asked me to put in addition to the one i already posted before. Just a not to Corey, the copy that i gave is not the same as the one i am posting i have edited it and changed a few things.

Untitled Film Project
By Jacob Kutnicki

Int. Day.

Scene Opens with black screen just dialogue. As the interview progresses the black begins to fade into the face of Sol sitting in a chair.

Sol
I only wanted one thing for my 13th birthday. I wanted a guitar. That’s it. Honestly, at first I wasn’t intent on being the next Hendrix or Stevie Ray, I just wanted to up my chances at pussy. It didn’t work that well. If anything it made me jerk off even more cause I would be home all day playing guitar.

Interviewer (Offscreen)
How did that make you feel?

Sol
How did what make me feel?

Interviwer (Offscreen)
Sitting in your room playing guitar all day.

Sol
Made me feel fuckin’ A dude. I thought I was the greatest. I had wicked ADD so it gave me something to do with my hands other then jerk off. I mean I thought it was cool. I thought I would be showered in girls, playing at budokan, fucking cock rocking you know.

Interviewer(Offscreen)
So these dreams are what made you start a Band?

Sol
No I think the band kind of started um…. It started cause of frustration you know. For the first like 4 or 5 years of playing I just kind jammed in my room or along to records or something like that. It didn’t seem logical to start anything until I had my drivers licence cause I didn’t want to just in play in like a friends garage or some shit like that I wanted to be on stage. I wanted to be a rockstar.

Interviewer
What happened to those dreams?

Sol
Well

He stares Solemnly at the floor, as if searching for a different answer than the one he was thinking in his mind.

Sol
I guess they Died.

(Screen Goes Back To black. Music starts. Queens Under Pressure. Montage of the Different characters in intimate scenes of their life. Joe at around age 16 playing guitar in his living room. He looks up reacting to yelling. His mother is yelling at him. Cut to him sleeping in class. Cut to him Fighting with his brother, running into the kitchen grabbing a knife and throwing it at the camera screen wipe to Bobby looking in the mirror flexing. Cut to him buying pills. Cut to taking them. Then fast motion of him playing drums and working out interspliced. Cut to Mike Recieveing his test back in class with a 45 on it. Cut to his father squeezing the fat on his belly. His face in a grimace. Cut to Sol at around 12 crying hiding under his desk. Cut to him in high school at around sixteen staring out the window. As the song ends cut quickly through each member in their homes practicing their instruments)




Steadicam shot entering the doors of a small building. Camera looks at an Adult reprimanding a student holding a basketball

Principle
Its class time not ball time, you want to go sit in my office or class?

Camera continues to move, we see one student bumming a cigarette off another one. Continue moving through the school walking past each open door. See a student pushing a smaller student into a corner and squishing him as he screams. The big kid just laughs. Camera keeps moving and ends on Sol sitting in the lunch room reading the paper. A voice causes Sol to look up, Its Mike.)

Mike
The fuck you doing Betty Sue?

Sol
What does it look like I'm doing

Mike
It looks like your reading the paper

Sol
Did Watson help you figure that one out?

Mike
What? (Pause) Didn’t I ask for shit buddies like ten minutes ago?

Sol
Yea

Mike
And?

Sol
And what?

Sol is still reading the paper as this whole conversation is taking place

Mike
Im squeezing my cheeks here dude. I need to shit right now.

Sol
It went away

Mike
What went away?

Sol
The feeling

Mike
What you mean it went away?

Sol
I mean ten minutes ago I had to shit and now ten minutes later I don’t.


Mike
Well then just come in to the bathroom with me while I shit

Sol
I’m not going to stand in the bathroom smelling your shit.

Mike
Don’t be a dick dude. You said you’d come so come.

Cut to Sol looking up from his paper, his look is annoyed. Cut to Mike sitting on the toilet reading the paper this time

Mike
Holy shit did you see this dude?

Sol
I don’t wanna look at what your body produced dude

Mike
No seriously look at this.

Mike throws the papers under the stall door and they scatter across the bathroom floor. Sol looks down and processes this stupid act then leans over to pick it up. He looks at the page. It says Community center Battle of the bands in big letters

Sol
Yea so what about it

Mike
You wanna do it?

Sol
Try out for the battle of the bands? I dunno. I don’t know any drummer or bassists or anything.

Mike
So fuck it we will go just you and me. Bring your acoustic.

Sol
What are we gonna play?

Mike
I dunno, figure it out later. Listen cockmuncher it’ll be cool and there’s a $500 Prize for the winner. We should try out.

Sol
(Unenthused) Alright.

For the last couple of lines we hear the toilet paper dispenser being used. Finally we hear a flush. Mike comes out of the stall. Just then another student walks in to bathroom and walk over to the urinal. Instead of unzipping his fly, he pulls down his pants to his knees and proceeds to pee. Sol and Mike at each other puzzled by this strange event. Mike goes over behind the student and pushes him into the urinal.

Mike
Pull up your fucking pants dildo.

Out of Touch With Reality Nov 12 Workshop

Excuse me nurse, where is room 415? "It's right down the hall to your left. If you're here to see Mr. Pacino, he is in a very bad state. He suffered a serious stroke a few weeks ago. His pain is unbearable and he is unable to talk. It's a very sad moment for his close friends and family." Are you kidding. It's amazing he's still alive. I saw him get shot in the back with a double barrow shotty by Sosa's hitman, and shot in the chest by Benny Blonco from the Bronx. Im sure this stroke thing is minor and he will bounce out of it in a hurry. "What!"

Hey Mr.Pacino. Or should I call you Michael Corleone, or Tony Mantana, of Carlito Pregaunte. Man you have a lot of alias. It's a pleasure meeting you after all these years. I've been watching your reality shows since I've been alive. I don't know why just recently people are so fixed on reality shows. You were before your time. You are the pioneer because you had them for about 30 years now. I know your life by heart. The nurse breached me about your situation. I went along with the idea that you're ill, but I know the truth behind you being in the hospital. I know that you're faking your illness so that you don't have to testify in court. That's an old mafia trick. This room might be tapped, so I'll understand why you wont be able to answer some of these questions I have for you. But here they go.

The first thing I want to know is, Did you really have to kill Manny? I knew you told him to stay away from your sister, but come on man, that was your best friend."AHHHHHHOOOOOUUUHHH..." Mr. Pacino, I can't understand what your saying. Can you repeat that. "OOOOOOOUUUUUHHHHH." Oh I get it. That must be a secret code in case the Feds are listening. I don't think im familair with those codes. But I'll tell you what, I'll just ask you these questions, and when your witnesses have vanished(Eye wink), I can visit you and you'll answer them.

Okay where was I? Oh okay. In your earlier years, why didn't you just grant Sosa his request If you think about it, you've killed thousands of people with your cocaine, how much difference would it have been if you would of let the guy blow up the two girls while you continue driven behind the car with the bomb underneath it?

When you shot the guy that was supposed to detinate the bomb, you knew Sosa was going to come after you, why didn't you just leave town?

Man you are a vantrilaquist. You switched from a deep Cuban accent, to a Italian-American accent in a matter of months. In that first episode of the Godfather, why didn't you shoot McKlusky and the Turke as soon as you got out of the bathroom, just like Clemenza told you to do so? Why did you sit there and engage in the converation with them?

Why didn't you take revenge on your bodyguard who blew up your wife in the car? That was messed up man.

And why did you kill Fredo? You know he was stupid. He didn't know what he was getting involved with.

Instead you should've killed the governer. He dissed you and your family.

Why did you give Rocco that suicide job? You know Hyman Rothe was closely guarded with guys that were all packing.

Why didn't you wack your wife for aborting her pregnacy and killing your baby boy that you always wanted? I'm suprised you let her live. Come to think about it, you got soft as you got older.

You should've killed Joey Salso immediately after he arranged the hit on your nephew Vincent.

Why didn't you kill Benny Blanco? If you would've gotten rid of him earlier in the episode, he wouldn't have come to the train and shot you. Man that was stupid of you. You became a good citizen when you get old. I just realized how much of a punk you really are for faking this illness. The old Michael, or Carlito, or Tony would've just ordered the hit on the witnesses, the judge and the jury. This situation is shameful. I wish you was really sick. I would pull this little plug right here. You see I'm not a punk like you. I would've pull it just like this. Now thats a real gangsta right there. Thats something you would've did when you was young right? right? Oh shit!

Conversation with a Famous Person

Walking through the busy streets of New York City, I spot my favorite 3rd basemen. ARod from the New York Yankees. There's nothing else to do but stop him but discretely and not act like a crazy fan.

Me: (bump into him lightly) Oh i'm sorry sir.

Arod: That's okay, don't worry about it. Hey, what's your name?

Me: Angie what's your name?

Arod: You don't know who I am?

Me: No I'm sorry I don't, but you do look familiar, do you play for the Mets?

Arod: Oh man, no way. I play for the Yankees. Alex Rodriguez, but everyone calls me Arod.

Me: Oh right, yeah my dad watches one or the other I'm not sure which one, (meanwhile I'm the one with all the posters in my room).

Arod: You're probably the first person that doesn't have any idea who I am.

Me: Really? Well I'm sorry if I offended you.

Arod: Not at all. It's nice to finally meet someone that doesn't recognize you. Get to know someone as myself not as the athlete.

Me: Well I would love to get to know you as a person.

Arod: Well can I have your number and maybe call you sometime?

Me: Of course, what was your name again? (my plan worked perfectly.)

StarSTRUCK!

This is an imagined interview between myself and my favorite actor, Leonardo DiCaprio.

Trish: Hey……it’s Leonardo DiCaprio!

Leonardo: Nice to finally meet you Patricia. It’s been a long time.

Trish: I know! I’ve been a fan of yours for over ten years. I’m 21 now!

Leonardo: God, I was 21 back in 1995. I was very scrawny and skinny. I hadn’t even met Martin Scorsese yet.

Trish: Anyways, It’s an honor to meet you in person! Do you know that I had a fansite about you?

Leonardo: Yes, I did know actually. You posted the link on my website’s forum and were banned from posting pictures.

Trish: Did you ever visit it?

Leonardo: I must admit, sometimes I get curious about what other people think about me. I lie though and say that I don’t care in interviews. People would view me differently then.

Trish: You didn’t really answer my question.

Leonardo: I have such a busy schedule. I’m in Europe now promoting my new movie Body of Lies and have no time to even sleep, much less go on the internet.

Trish: There were paparazzi pictures of you leaving a London club at 4am

Leonardo: I deserve to have a good time, don’t I?

Trish: ….Speaking of Body of Lies, are you upset that more people didn’t see it?

Leonardo: Of course. Ridley was directing, and Russell Crowe was my co-star. America would rather spend their money watching trash like High School Musical 3 than a political thriller.

Trish: You know, some people still aren’t comfortable watching movies that reference the War.

Leonardo: Have you seen it?

Trish: Actually, no. I love your movies, but your political movies bore me to death. I’m excited for Revolutionary Road though

Leonardo: That’s because people assume it will be Titanic 2 because Kate and I are both starring in it. There’s an in-depth story that people won’t even care about.
Trish: ….I’ve been asking all the questions here. Do you want to say anything else?

Leonardo: People have to do more about the environment. Every reporter cares only about my love life. No one asks about the more important things.

Trish: How is your love life?

Leonardo: I don’t talk about that in interviews.

(Publicist comes in, and notions that time is up)

Trish: It was a pleasure talking to you Leo. Can I call you Leo?

Leonardo: Sure, everyone else does so it’s not the private name it used to be anymore.

Poetic Experiment

This is based on a conversation I thought that I had with Aaron Copland.


“What is it to be musical?” I asked,

“Musicality is how one lives. It is in the rhythmic knocking of the woodpecker’s beak upon a mighty redwood and the whistling of the songbird who sits in its cage in my office. It is the metered panting of a dog who is catching his breath after chasing some quick culprit and it is the calm blowing of the winds over a wide open plane in Montana or perhaps, Wyoming” He answered. I stared at him. My pupils dilate as if this answer was too great for my ears and had to be absorbed through my eyeballs.

My hand shakes as I write down the rest of his answer. I look up at him. “Who can be musical?” I ask.

His eyes slowly turned downward and finally stopped, fixed it seems on one of my untied shoelaces. After a few seconds of staring, he opened his mouth and spoke of a holy edict that said “He who is music, is god. Let all who know this be saved”. I wondered from where this law had first been written. Had it been issued by a great empire whose enormous pyramids to the gods had been bathed in the blood of the sacrifice or had it perhaps it had been said offhandedly by Bach or Schumann or Pachelbel to a street urchin who had asked for help. By now my hair had turned white with fear and it felt as if there was a thunderstorm in my chest as my heart beat louder and louder.

“I…” I am choked with terror. “I…uhm. I have one final question”

“Yes. Go on” He seems unfazed by my overt horror.

“Can I be musical as you are?”

“Levels of musicality are not subject to quantification, at least not to a certain degree. There are of course obvious difference between a novice and an expert, but how do we measure two musicians who have both obtained the level of expert. Is it speed and technique? Knowledge of theory and harmony? Is it length of time at expert level? Suppose there are two musicians both considered to be of expert level but one has furious speed and technique but lacks proper knowledge and the other has a library of knowledge but lacks speed and technique. Who is the better player? When it comes to matters of this sort, the answer becomes a subjective one. It becomes a matter of personal preference. So in the case of both you and me, I would say that subjectivity would be a great factor in measuring our artistic qualifications. Does this answer your question?”

With that, my eyes began to bleed and I succumbed to the pressure in my chest.

poetic experiment

In case you forgot, last class we talked about a poem by Roger Sedarat that was an imagined dialogue. I suggested that you try writing a poem/script that would be a dialogue between yourself and someone that you normally wouldn't be able to talk to: someone famous, or dead, or fictional. You could discuss with John McCain how it feels to have lost the election, or you could ask George Bush if he's looking forward to his vacation. You could ask Britney Spears 10 questions about Madonna, or you could have Darth Vader face off with James T. Kirk...

From Jacob for Nov. 12

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Txt msg assignment

A colorful garden
filled with big bold roses,
that are so sweetly scented ,
it burns your nose.

A piercing red arrow,
with fierce flames
hittting it's target
- which happens to be a heart!.

Wednesday

As the furious sky, set ablaze,
Voices fills into large rooms,
Sitting and listening attentively.
Waiting patiently for time to fly by.
The short boy asking questions, while
the visible hallways are filled by people,
Diverging in every directions....

Thinking of devouring hot fresh food,
Makes my stomach growls so loud.
Looking down at my oval shaped, gold toned watch,
I realised time has started to take it toll on my body......

As my body is refuled once again........ the sun returns to slumber.

Reciprocal

I tried to play around with the poem that I wrote "Reciprocal" tried to see how I can work with the two words.

This is the original:
Always and Never
Never and Always
Two words Always said
Two words that Never should be said

This is the other one:
Always and Never
or Ways and Ever
All the ways that you have ever--
well let's not go there.
Alas! You're clever
Every law is never always followed.
We should always remember never to say never.
We should remember never to say always.
I never say never but I always say always
When I say always I mean always
But when I say never I never really mean never.
What do you think?
Do you usually mean always rather than never?
Or do you usually mean never rather than always?

This is just a poem I've been working on. I would love to know what you guys think! Thanks

"Is this Normal?"

You say one thing
But do you mean another?
Sometimes I believe you
But sometimes I don’t.
There’s so much confusion
Is this normal?
One day I’m happy
But other days I’m not.
I’m emotionally unstable
Is that your fault?
You do everything right
But you do a lot of things wrong.
You know exactly how to make me smile
But you know exactly how to make me frown.
Is this normal?
Everyone must feel this way at a point in time
I should just deal with it right?
Maybe this feeling will go away soon.
When I’m with you it feels perfect
When I’m not with you it feels perfect.
What am I supposed to feel?
There’s so much confusion
Is this normal?

From Hallie: November 5th Workshop

Alice burst into the room, (or at least she thought she did). Turns out, she was in the room the entire time, her eyes were just closed.
Music brushed against her back, smooth and velvety. It made her shiver.
She was in the living room and her first instinct was to get to the couch, empty except for a cat.
But there were people and bottles and baggies scattered all over the floor, so much so that it turned into a maze in her mind.
And as she started to navigate her body past the bodies she started thinking about the couch, the end of the maze…
And if life is the maze and the end of life is death, once Alice reached the couch she would surely die.
She turned around and avoided the couch.

Just then, a little blue bird swooped down and started singing about bravery and orange marmalade.
He flew past the living room to a closed door at the end of the hallway.
She followed him to the door, and noticed a bright light shining through the keyhole. But to her dismay, the door was locked.
And there was no little bottle, no note, no way inside. She looked around for the bird, to explain to him that she’d prefer a rabbit (to get things done right) but he was already gone.
Her back slumped against the door and her body slid further and further down until she was up to her neck in carpet and despair.
After a few minutes of sitting she was exhausted and decided to move on.

Smoke drifted throughout the house, but in a good way. Like a fog machine, like a dream, like none of this was real anyway so there was no reason to be crying.
So she started laughing instead and kept on walking.
The cat from the couch walked by her and smiled, and she didn’t know whether he was smiling because she was smiling or the other way around, but either way they were both happy and things were good.
Alice crouched down next to the cat and followed him outside the house onto the porch.

It was nighttime and looking at the moon’s different colors made her happy.
(Last time she had gotten into a fight with the sun, and when the sun won she lost all of her truth.)
After a few hours, or maybe minutes, she started to feel like everyone on the deserted block was staring at her, so she went back inside.
All the people had left, and the cat was asleep,
Patterns stopped vibrating and things became so dull, so ordinary.
Her eyelids were heavy,
And her new realizations and profound understandings had left her with a headache.
So she made her way to the couch without fear of death,
Humming the blue birds song.

From Maria: Workshop November 5th

Everybody wants a body
That looks like a Covergirl body
Exercise to the day, and at night we tire
But we continue because we want that body.
We buy and ogle at those fixtures,
We fantasize, and practice their mode,
Though, don’t we know they are more than clay?
Are they not just like us? Breath, eat, begot, and beget.
Plaster anyone in that sort of pedestal and
The harder they fall: Movie stars who failed
To make their alter egos real;
James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, one you might know,
Heath Ledger, who has the last laugh now?
All who seemed to have made it,
Didn’t in their heads,
Layered by pretense, and self-hate,
Didn’t realize they were as human
As those who begot their fame.

Can we be blamed for their heartache and pain?
Prescription pills, drugs, and booze,
All they wanted was to be liked by you.

Their lives are an open book to anyone with a blog,
Turn on your T.V., who do you see?
Could you care less?
Propaganda?, maybe.
Diversion from truth and reality? Definitely.
Stand back a sec, couldn’t that be you?

Our world is placed upside down,
Those who fight, die forgotten.
Those who have money
Are forever revered.
Children dying, starving, dehydrating
While another takes his life,
Couldn’t do anything better?
Couldn’t stop thinking about himself.

We starve ourselves from lack of Knowledge,
Just can’t quench our thirst for more
Hypocrites and liars,
O wait, isn’t that their job?

What’s holding you back from
Facing the music?

From Arlene: workshop nov 5

Cigarette smoke filled the bar, my lungs

As the bodies moved in unison on the floor;

The barstool beneath me buzzed to the beat as I

Tuck my wings behind me so they didn’t get in the way.

The bartender winked at me as he passed me a Heineken, saying

“Nice outfit.” Of course.

I saw him there, standing in the corner of the room,

Looking sharp in his sharp outfit:

Pinstripe suit, porkpie hat, dragging from his cigar

As the corners of his lips spread into a grin under the red light.

Yes, his blue eyes flickered around the room,

Rubbing the burn on the ring finger

As he stood and took his time,

Spreading that demonic smile around to the masked figures around him.

Cackles from the coat room as the masks closed in on him.

Well, his hands moved slowly, stealthily,

Welcoming, enveloping

Like so many others before.

I stood, stumbled, and made my way to the floor

Fallen, disgraced, mortal

As his wandering eye finally zeroed in on me

Drawing me in.

I followed my feet as his eyes narrowed, measuring his success

Before he decided, yes, and reached out his arms.

Blurry faces obscured my vision

Sounds of dark laughter and the feel of a hand on my thigh

A tug on my tattered wings

Lips on my neck

Whispers in my ear

And that damn fucking smile

Are the only things I remember

Before I pulled the gun from my garter and shot him.