(Content Warning: Strong Language, Drug Abuse, All Sorts of Other Offensive Stuff)
The limousines roll up to my door around 9 PM, after I’ve just woken up and wandered outside to check the mail. When I first spot them, I’m wearing the same sweaty suit from the night before, and, for a moment, I freeze in place, fearing the worst (personal extermination by some discreet government acronym I’ve never heard of). I remain frozen as the driver of the frontmost limousine steps out, wearing white gloves and smiling at me as perfectly as I’ve ever seen anyone smile. Suddenly, in my ears, some kind of auditory hallucination: ecstatic violin bowing, twinkling piano triads, and the low, crushing hum of covert surveillance. I’m being watched. Continue reading “Concerning the Limousine Sighting Outside my House”
And I stood upon the sand of the sea. And I saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy… And there was given unto him a mouth, speaking great things and blasphemies, and power was given unto him to continue forty and two months.
And it was given unto him to make war with the saints and to overcome them; and power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.
If any man have an ear, let him hear:
He that leadeth into captivity shall go into captivity. He that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword. Here is the patience and the faith of the saints.
Why I Won’t Be Going To Costa Rica (Just Yet)
Content Advisory (sorry, I have to): This play has some strong (AKA a little worse than PG-13) language and some mature subject matter.
There’s a girl on a beach or what looks like a beach. She’s grateful for her amazing family who has thrown gobs of money at her and generally supported her by bankrolling this European fantasy trip. She is wearing a bikini and she looks very, very good, even though her head is to the side and her mouth is open as if to say “someone just took this, I am not posing, I swear, this is just how my life is, all looking great in bikinis in Europe.” She’s quirky, and you can tell that she’s quirky because now the beach is an underexposed leather couch and she’s holding a piece of pizza up to her mouth and her tongue is kind of out and her eyes look huge and bluer than usual and a wall of disembodied text floats under her sharpened jawline- “Watching the breakfast club [sic] because boys don’t like me. At least I have my cat.” She is an outcast just like us, this girl with a cat who’s legal name is Neveah, and we can tell because she obviously connects with a movie that we also connect with. We eat pizza. She also eats pizza!
The leaves used to be green but not anymore. Now they are red but slowly less so, slowly paling and losing. As fall goes on the leaves will subside and scatter the sidewalks and be stepped on. Some will slip into the river, the hissing river that runs right through the center of the town, consuming all sound and manifesting itself as sort of a filtered, roaring transcendence. Below the surface of the river is the real face of whoever looks. Continue reading “Homecoming (Part 3)”
There is a lot more to dress shopping than you might think; there are necklines and mermaid cuts and a-line cuts and empire waists and whatever bodices are and all sorts of sizing issues that you would never expect to have if you’re like Adam and live in a small-medium-large type of world. There are stores with long mirrors and uncomfortable benches to sit at with names that are probably not from any real language but sound fancy and french. Adam is sitting on one of these uncomfortable benches in one of these uncomfortable stores, reflecting physically on the mirrors and mentally on what he did to deserve having to take Alice dress shopping. After all, Alice is a lot of very great things, but is not exactly the fastest decision maker, as the hour and and a half they have spent in the store so far attests to. Continue reading “Homecoming (Part 2)”
Willem Mons’s head sits in a glass jar on the table, bathing in a clear-type solution that refracts differently than air or glass, inflating his eyes and nose and jowls to strange, ethereal proportions depending on where one stands. Catherine stands directly across from him, staring into those dead red things as if there was life left in them. Pyotr stands upstairs, watching his wife watch him, or the very top part of him, and pacing manically. Finally, he decides to go downstairs.